Walter Miller's Home page

Working to make the web 'That much more offensive' since 1995

Late-May/Early June 1998

Speciel Extra-Exaggorated Edition Update!

Page 2 of 8

Somtimes the sea is dark and full of wrath. Its belly swells, then crasshes down in tempestuous waves of fury. Othor times it is dark and calm, as smooth as black glass obsidien. This is how it is right now, on this day. It is now two weeks since that horribble night, the night of the party of the very last Must See TV Seinefeld Thursday...

That night 3 weeks ago was dark and teribly foggy due to those forrest fires in Mexico and Hondurros which are blowing up into Texas and obscurring the sun. (There are rumors that Granfather's gas is somehow to blaime, rumors I cannot prove but yet will not deny).

There we stood in the bastord's junkyard, bathed in the headlamps of the amboulance. As soon as we heard the forboading blast, we looked in the direction of the trailer to see a rising plume of flaime and smoke. It was a quartor of a mile away, but even still a large peice of smoking aluminum sheeting, actualy a portion of the trailer roof, fall out of the sky trailing a tail of black soot and it landed practicaly at our feet with a dull clang. Me and Granfather clamored in the ambulence to hurry back to the trailer.

"I AIN'T LIABLE!" Granpy screammed as he scramboled in, "I'D BETTER NOT GIT SUED."

Do you know when you are climbing in a vehiccle with anothor person, and he has to pass by you to get to his seat, and the space is cramped, how it is posibble to have that persen's ass pass by your face? And, do you know how carefull that persen usualy is so their ass DOSENT do that? The key word here is usualy.

Well as Granfather climbed in, he kept sayin:


...just like in that old Buggs Bunny cartoon where he is being a pain in the ass tromping thru the seats in the movie theator. Granfather was going back and fourth, giggling to himself undor his breath and he was making his ass very conspiccuously close to my face ON PURPOSE.

Then, when we reached the house to get out, he sniped to the driver that "AMBULENCE IS SPELT BACKWORDS, DUMBASS" on the front hood of the van.

But its only spelt backwords like that so drivers in front of them coud see it spelt frontwords in there rear-view mirrers.

Granfather KNOWS this too becuase hes been in an abbulence a thoasand times, but he just likes to break chops.

What caused the loudd explosion

As we aproached the house the old basterd admitted to me that the blast was in fact one of his farts. He even knew what KIND of fart: You will remmember in my last update that Granfather bought some rancid lettuce over the internet, and agianst the sceintists's advice, he ate half the box of the spoiled greens and thats what caused it. But how coud he of transported a fart a quartor of a mile away?

Well beleive it or not, this is the answor:

It was in fact a time delay-dischardge.

Yes, those who study "physics" (both the laxative kind as well as the math deffinition of the word), will know what I am talking abbout when I say that Granfather's ass is capabble of rupturing not only linolium, titanium and naugohyde, but also the Space-Time Continuum.

I have writtan many times about how bad Granfather's farts are. Even thuogh I have a repputtation for exagoration, one thing Ive never embelished in these pages, NOT ONCE, is the old bastord's gas.


Turning the Clapper(TM) on and off is one of my peurile patriarch's most simplest parler tricks. The ass on him works wondors and it has a higher I.Q. than the avorage registerred voter so I am told. Thruogh decades of consuming odorifferous foods, coupled with practice, practice, and more practicce which is the hungry fulfilment of a desire to torturre and offend his fellow man, Granfather's techniqeu has been perfected to do othor, much more amazing flattulent featts of functionol farting fanfare.

For exampol:

So, I ask, why shoud anyone be supprized when a hole is punched in time?

"I DROPPED THET AIR COOKIE NEAR THE STERNO FLAME," Granfather whispored to me at the top of his lungs, as I carryed him up the rickety wood porch stairs of our trailor, which still had black smoke bilowwing from the kitchen vent.

"GRAMPY KNOWS HIS WORST GASBOMBS KIN TRAVEL THRU TIME"," said the old basterd in his very pomppous third persen (or rathor third beast) tone.


But what abbout poor uncle Wiliam?