A Washout inside a Has-been wrapped in an Anachronism
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As i pulled up to the trailer i saw Junior's car, and Cathyann's boyfreind's car, plus the pink Caddy of the female Ross Perot-looking hairless hag haint. Also the giant Pontiac of Giant Uncle Zeke was there too. After all this hatred between him and Granfather, even still he was there. I hoped and prayed that there woudnt be no fisticuffs between them.
Even from outside I coud hear Cathyann's loud throaghtey jolly laugh as well as this odd sound of what i thoght might be a large marble rollin around on the floor.
When I went inside I saw that Granfather, dressed in his best polyestor Western shirt (his only nice shirt) was oddly crouched so that his forhead was touchin the floor. Or rather it looked like it was, becuase he had that small metol wheel nailed to his head. The wheel was only the size of a nickle. The old basterd's legs were furriously running on the floor and he scooted arround the trailer amazingley fast. The odd position he was in looked like one of those highspeed recumbent bicicyles where the people pedaling them allmost look like theyre on the Winter Olympic luge, ecxept Granps, being face down, was nearly full upside down. A trail of waterey blood from the forehead wound and also stringey snot trailed behind him on the linnoleum in wet shiny swaths.
"GIT ME ON THE TEST TRACK, MAMA! I THINK WE'RE ON THE VERGE OF ANOTHER INVENTION!" he cackoled with the stump of a Lucky in his teeth and using his big fleshey nose as a brake. His girlfreind told him to SLOW DOWN and hush up cause the focus group woud begin soon. I wanted to ask if he had mailed that thing out for me but i was too affraid to ask.
Sudenly Granfather aknowledged my presence. He imediately righted himself up to his normal, gnarled stoop, posed like rabid carnivore readey to strike, and focussing his evil eyes onto me. A chill of fear from the sight of him ran from the roof of my moulth to my scrotum.
"I BET YOU'RE THINKIN' TO ASK ME ABOUT THET RESUME YOU ASKED ME TO SEND," hissed the basterd, murderrously gnashing his fangs and incisors at me, with pure hatefull venom in his voice. (Granfather allways finds it highley insulting when you qeustion him on things like this more than once. Plus he can read my danm mind, cause thats exactly what i was thinking. I hate Granfather.)
"YOU JEST GO AN' TRY ASKIN', BWAH, AN' I'LL TAKE A BITE OUT YER LEFT ASS CHEEK BIGGER'N THET THAT CHUCK STEAK I DONE ET LAST NIGHT AND YER WHOLE ASS AIN'T EVEN THET BIG TO START WIT ANNYWAYS."
I just staired back at him and then down at my shoes cause I coudnt keep it up as long as he can. Then i quietly sat down.
Yes, as you coud of guessed, the yappy little spinster had a stack of pie charts clutched in her tiny fists which she flipped thruogh one after the othor to ilustrate her sputtoring clipped stacatto speaking points. Which consisted mostley of loud rapid fire shreiks of things like, "Lissen up, y'all lissen UP!
"Anyone who don't git in on these heah investmint deals is dumb as a post! Exept YOU Zeke, youre already dumb as a pail of bait."
Hour aftor hour the presentattion lagged on, from the dumb inventions of Grovestand Prune Jiuce to the Caster Car to the Paint Bomb, with its rottating nozzle heads that spew paint out at 100 mph innto every exposed corner.
"Be sure," cackled the female Ros Perrot in a stern voice to the asembled group, "Y'aint been usin no mildew killers on thet thar floor, which'd kill yer dagnab yeast."
I began to realize that it wasnt a focus group at all, but just a lecture. I asked Granfather when we woud be able to ask qeustions and offer feedback.
"YOU DON'T, YOU DUMBASS SUMBITCH," he barked then he told me to shut up. "YOU JEST SIT THAR ON THE COUCH LOOKIN' DUMB AS ALWAYS."
Next to me on the couch sat Cathyann who alwayes sits too close to me to begin with. Plus she was wearring this rathor low riding knit tubetop so the red flushed skin of her whole back which had all these round spots and pointey things and pearly knobs on it was expoased. Her upper arms pressed agianst me till my own arm felt clammy and wet thru my shirt. She always breaths heavy too cause she's large and she smokes. It was crowded on the couch cause her mother, (who i wrote abbout once before in my homepage) was visiting too, and sittin next to her also on the same couch was Duwayne, who i wrote about in the past was Cathyann's boyfreind.
"Stop wrasslin' me, boy!" she barked huskily, while folding her meaty paws into a fist on my stomich and pulling me upper and closer. Then she nuzzoled into my ear loud enuogh for everyone to hear, "Go head! Lean your back on mah squarshy teats, they wont exploade!"
Evereyone thoght it was real funny but i did not. I was submisive only becuase I didnt want to make a scene.
Yes it sounds crazey, but the little large eared demmented tiny gnome-faced shrew describbed it in a way even someone slow like Junior and Uncle Zeke coud understand.
"Anyone who ever lived in Texas knows thet low pressure from a tornador kin make a trailer like this y'hear one exploade," she explianed.
"You got yer high pressure on the inside o'yer structure forcing the contents o'thet thar structure out to the low pressure outside."
"MUH LADEY FREIND HERE, THE H. ROSS LOOKALIKE IS RIGHT," Granfather chimed in, and bobbing his head so the little castor wheel atached to his forhead glinted authorrotatively.
"WHY, I JEST CAIN'T MAKE A NICE POO IN GOOD WEATHER. EVEN ZEKEY KNOWS THET FACT, AN' HE'S AS DUMB AS A BOX OF HAIR."
I too knew this to be true. They say its old wife's tales but livestock allways births better when a big storm or low pressoure system settols in the area. There were times when Granfather was extremly constippated and only twisters in surrounding counties allowed him to be able to go.
Granfather also showed us a diagramm of the Pontiac Silverdome ilustrating how the inside of that stadium is pumped up to 20 pounds per sqaure inch in order to keep the inflatable roof up, while outside it remained constant at the earth's naturol pressure of 14.7 pounds per sqaure inch.
"THEM KNOCKWURST EATIN' DEE- TROIT FANS IS CRAPPIN' BETTER AT THE STADIUM THEN THEY IS AT HOME, AN' THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW IT," thundored Granfather, in the closest aproximmation to, what Ive ever seen for him, coud be called passion.
"COME ON, MISTER ENEMA FROM THE FUTURE!
"MAKE IT NICE, AND SMOOTH, AN' FLUFFY, AN' DARE I SAY, EVEN A BIT AERODYNAMIC IF YOU WILL..."
Unfortunatly nothin hapenned and in a few minutes the focus group was ready to break up. Cathyann scooted even closer to me than before, even aftor the others got up from the couch.
"Call me somtime you big lug!" she growled at me. I said to her "Cathy Ann, not only is that rude, your danm boyfreind and your mother were on the same couch at the same time!"
"Yep, Mama and DuWayne are an item, Walt. Watch, I'll call him 'StepDad'; its funny how confused he gits. And guess what: We might be on the Jerry Springer Show!"
Fortunnatly it is a small trailer and so I made it out the front door and to the porch railing in time for me to vomit over the side withuot gettin any on the guests.
"Turn off the Emener of the Future!," Junior howled when he saw me, (still not able aftor all these years of knowing Granfather to pronounce the word 'enema' corectly), "Because Walter's exploading!"