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Oh, we think outside of the box allright...And outside the bowl...And on the floor...And...

Late-May/Early June 1998

Speciel Extra-Exaggorated Edition Update!

Page 7 of 8

Suddenly The inside of the trailer seemed oddly cold.

I dont know WHY it was cold, but it just was. Infact it was actualy chilly. I heard the splashing sound of autommobile wheels outside in the muckey cesspool goo, and looking thru the window I saw that the medicol photographors had arrived. Yes, even though it was the middol of the night, they were happey to come, because Granfather truely is a sceintific phenomona that warrents immediate atention. Also, most of the time the bastord does not allow gawkers, so peoplle rush to see him when they can.

I went outside to see them wading knee-deep through the quickley rising liquid. I noticed it was much more colder outside as well. I saw a big long coat hangin by a peg in the living room and on my way outside I took it and put it on. Then I threw out that nylon rope we resceud Ripke with to help tow our newley arrived guests up the porch steps.

Speaking of Ripke...

The poor traumattized cryptozoologist was wandering in a stupor and he pushed past me on his way out to the small rickety porch. There he collapsed on the planks, and held his head.

The two phottographers were women, and one was actualy an artist as well, and carried an art case and large tablet of papper. They shook my hand saying that it woud be "an extreme pleasure" to meet Granfather, who has been a legend in the feild of biologicol mysterious beings for sevoral decades. Yes, they were thrilled to be abble to document on film, for the first time in there careers, a true "Third Class Being."

...But their minds quickley changed when the screendoor openned agian, and who sudenly burst through onto the porch, but the Subject Itself: Granfather.

He was conpletly buck ass nakad too

Like a deranged howler monkey, Granfather leaped in the air and landed in an all fours squat right in front of poor Ripke who, locking eyes with the grinning monstrossity shreiked and wailed and blubbored, "I shoud of gone to law school!"

Seeing the grisly "Subject" for the first time, both of the women, obviously feeling some regret ovor their career choices as well, leant over the egde of the porch to barf into the smelly bubbling lake which surounded us, and which was still rising.

The bastord then vaulted up, and with one movemant flew upword through space and landed directley onto his clawed non-human insectlike feet, which both gripped at the same time the woodan porch railing.

Thrusting his scraggly ribcage in the air, he flung his long taipered orangutan like arms apart, faced the sky and howled,


Just then Uncle Zeke stomped out onto the onto the porch.

"Boy, you got muh danm coat on!" he barked, flapping his big clown shoes up and down as he strode toword me. I told him that I did not mean to STEAL his coat, just that it was gettin gold. Then he roughley grabbed me and pulled at the coat.

""An' whut in hell an' tarnation is THIS," he cryed, plunging his giant hand into the pocket, then pulling somthing out to hold aloft. It is a narrow steel chain...The chain threads out as my uncle pulls it, as a woolly lump from the pocket rises and then it emerges, catching the lavendor glint from the bug zapper which makes it shine in the near darkness. No one said a word, but we all knew what it was:

The necklace which was made from the coveted Duke of Windser pot metal crown atachment!

"I swear i didnt steal it Uncle Zeke," I said, stairing up into his angrey walleyed face. I hate bawling in front of womon becuase it makes me feel like such a wuss. But I did start cryin. In any case those women were puking, so i am sure they felt as badley embarassed as i did....

And now, here in the present, back inside the boat three weeks lator, we who are crowded onto this worthey floating craft, take a break from the underwator Catfish Cam(TM). The fuzzey black and white monitor which has been giving us live pictures from deep inside the murkey depths, is turned off. Our atention is insted turned to the captian of the ship. Well, not a ship, but a boat really, a midsize cabin cruisor. A boat which carreys the flag of the Texas State Department of Septic and Cesspool Disastor Recovery.

"And now for our computer simulation," said the khacki-clad State enployee in a dry monotone as he tapped at the keyboard, switching ovor to a full color animatted presentattion that was built in Shockwave by Cyberblop's Graphics Departmant, (in case, of cuorse, that that client of ours wishes to load it on their website.)

"With all of the structoral supports gone, the trailer then collapsed, probably with an undramatic flat splash, around 1 AM.

"Leaning on the bow, she listed, and slowly sank forward," he said, as a small familior looking object apeared on the screen in a full color palette of 256 shades of brown. He contineud the presentation.

"The stern, where the porch is located, pitched upword: up, up, up, until the weight of the rest of the trailer caused it to break in the middle. The front half, up to the bow, went under first, as the stern, now standing completely vertical..."

(Um, Okay, I am sure you have seen and heard it beffore atleast once, and you alredy know how it sank.)

Angrily pulling the wool coat off of me, Uncle Zeke grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, calling me "a golldang Liar and a theif."

As he dragged me off the porch into the trailer, Granfather agian leaped into the air. This time he flew off the railing, landing back onto the porch planks, but not beffore the bare assed bastord grabbed the crown necklace right from Zeke's hand in mid-air with his wizened lihgtning quick hairy monkey paw. Then the nakad sonofobich hooted and shreiked, and busted back in over the threshhold, and scampored down the hall. He flung open the trapdoor which led to the tornado celler below, and dived in. From all the way in the living room i heard the splash and saw the shooting sprey thru the trap hatch which surely meant that the sewage level had rose allot in the past few minutts.

Uncle Zeke stomped off after him, but then halted in in midstride, and wheeled arround to face me.

"Boy," he gruffed at me, tossing me his car keys, "Park muh car up on the canyon bluff yonder."

This was the highest point on our propperty. Zeke had a realy nice old Pontiac Cattalina that he didnt want to get wrecked by the rising tide of sewege. Then my Uncle headed back down the hall with his fists cletched screaming "Git over here, little brothor!" as he chased aftor Granfather.

On my way out to move the car, I went back on the porch and noticed the two poor women phottographers, still retching and trembolling. (Granfather DOES have that effect on people). I coudnt just leave them there, so I broght them inside. Madison, who is a also medicol doctor, treated them for shock, or ('Basterd Relatted Syndrome', or probly both.)

One of the woman was realy too upset to go on, but in just a few minuttes the other was willing to photograph The Subject. Granfather, anxiousley waiting to get his picture taken, was jumpin up and down hollaring "TAKE MUH PITCHER! TAKE MUH PITCHER!" and becuase he was still bucknakad all parts of his expoased body shook and dangoled and danced so very disgoustingly and repulsively: Oh, beleive me, more reppulsively than any camera coud of ever captoured.

Like a deleriously happy spider monkey, Granfather scurried and scooted on his knuckels ahead of us into his bedroom. When we walked in, the old bastord was wrapped in his bedspread, and posing in a somwhat half-efemminate way, hand on one hip, knee slightley up, and prissy preening smirk on his face, sortof exactly like Gainesborogh's painting of Blue Boy.

"DON'T I LOOK PURTY?" he gushed.

Just as the medicol photograher started to set up her tripod, Granfather noticed the portfolio case and tablet of paper she also carreid.

"WHUT THE HELL IS THAT?" he asked.

She told him that she was also a medicol illustrator. And boy, now Granfather was REALY thrilled. He insisted that the woman draw him insted of photograpgh him.


When the woman stuck to her guns and said "NO," Granfather threw off the beddspread, grabbed the camera, and pulled out the film in one long shiny strip.


It was just me, her and Granfather in the room with the door closed, and I begged her to do as he said, and not to upset the old bastord anymore. Or do somthing that woud cause him to burp of fart, or elsewise put us all in more peril than we alreaddy were. So slowley, she got out her charcoals and told Granfather to assume the same pose that he was just making.

But Granfather changes his mind

"WHY, ABSOLUTLEY NOT YOUNG LADY," Granfather began in an articulate, and allmost polite, patronizing condescending tone,

I told her she bettor do it. And so she did agree, but thruogh tears. Then, just at the instant where she was abbout to touch charcole to the paper for the first time, Granfather reached under his bed to pull out a cigar box. Inside the cigar box, was the Duke of Windsor crown atachment on that chain that he had stole from his brothor just moments before.

"THIS ORTA PISS OFF ZEKE AN' WILLY!" he cryed, draiping the necklace arround his neck.

The bastord assumes his pose

Then Granfather hopped up onto this authentic Edwardian burgundy colorred velvet settee with a lace doily on top, and posed in a perfectley still attack stance: Resting on craned toes, crouching low, leanning foward, every muscle clenched, long sinewy arms high abbove his head, palms open, fingers apart, claws splayed, eyes bulged, nostrills flaired, moulth extremly wide, and every tooth bared and gnashing.

"MAKE ME LOOK LIKE ONE O'THEM SCARY SAVAGE FIBERGLASS BEASTS IN THE STATE MUSEUM DIORAMAS!" he exulted thruogh the wide open mouth. The only time he so much as flinched during the posing session was one time early on when he beckoned me over to modestly whispor in my ear if I coud please suggest to the artist that she portray his "male particulors" just a slight bit larger than they actualy were in real life.

I realy didnt want to stick around for this, and so after a few minutes of watching Granfather pose, (just long enuogh for the frozen image of him abbout to attack was burned on my brain to cause me bad dreams for the rest of my life), I left the bastord's bedroom. And I tell you, if somone in that trailer right then needed a drink, it was me.

I went in the kitchon to puor myself a gin and tonic. From inside the living room, Uncle Will and Junior were still sittin there watchin TV, looking very glaized, and smoking those big homegrown rolled smokes that they thuoght were cigars.

Both of them were talking abbout how, thanks to these newfangoled stogies, they were able to perceive details that they never did beffore. I heard Junior say, "I dont know whut it is, but I never did notice thet these here Eggo comercials indeed insult my meager intelligence."

Uncle Wilaim, alert and seemingley maintaining his strenth piped up, "Damn thet Tom Snyder! He done pronounced 'herbal' with the 'H' aginn!

"You say 'Erbal', not Herbal, you dumbass NBC Re-Tread!"

I reached behind me for the bottol of gin, and somone had pulled it away from me. It was Cathyann.

Oh, crap...