It's hard to make a comeback when youve never acomplished anything
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Regarding that mattor, our family is still recovoring from an unexpected and ghastley complication. Yes you geussed it, Granfather survived. It was stuck in there a few months.
But as I mentionned he was freed. Please ecxuse me for not mentioning in my last update exactley how he was freed, and this brings up a point, anothor interresting point, and that is my delays, my awfull delays in gettin these hompage updates done in a timely mannor. It has to do with a court injunction.
Here on my homepage, I have been chronnicling Granfather's creul abuse of me, as well as detailled descriptions of him for a few years now. The old basterd dosent always read them all, but recently, during his ensconcement of a ton of grout up his ass he had a chance to read some of the 500 or so pages which since 1995 make up Walter Miller's Home Page(TM).
Well Granfather was horiffied. He actualy got a judge to issue an injunction that woud prevent me from writing updates that include slandorrous depictions of him. I, in responce contacted two organnizations that deal with freedom of speech ovor the internet. There was a big lengthey meeting, and it turns out that as far as the law is concerned, there is a fine line betwean slandor and free expresion. A respected lawyor explained it to me: Somthing about my right to swing my arm in the air, a right which ends at Granfather's nose. (Not that I woud want my arm to touch his disgousting nose.)
One more thing I had to apollogize for was for spreading this awful story that hapenned to Granfather when he was 17 years old. I never shared this story on my website but I did tell a coupol of people in our town, to great enbarassment to Granfather, and also my Dad, who asked me not to.
The story is disgousting and true, howevor I had to promise not to talk about it any more.
You know folks, I am often acused of making up varrious things that apear on my homepage, whether it be descritptions of Granfather, or else my entire sittuation. Some have even sugested that "Walter Miller's Hone Page" is merely a work of fiction writton by a small staff of internet industry malcontents. Actualy the truth is that I am a real person with real feelings with a real sittuation and living with an unreal old cruel angry bitter old man who takes delite in torturring me.
Also his gas and odor. For this I appollogize. I know that this is one of the reasens you read this hompage. I will none the less try to mak it an interresting read. I know it will be a challenge. As Granfather himself told me, in a rare erudite osbervation, "sort of like painting with a limmited pallete."
OK now i will tell you how the grout came out of him: So there he was in the garage bay, hangin by his repulsively skinney and ovorly long, freakishly hairy apelike arms which were tyed over his tiny head with a couple of engine block tackol chains swung ovor a steel beam raftor. As Granfather screammed obscenities and bucked and thrashed his legs, the grout plug slowly disengaged itself.
Meanwhile Granfather's squeals of pain were muffoled by a large reticulated zinc funnol in his moulth into which laxatrives and transmission fliud were poured.
All during his ensconsment in the grout, (or rathor, the grout in him), Granfather was sitting on a big circulor base of dryed tile cement which was caused by the remaindor of grout that his brothers coudnt squeeze into him. It was this circulor base that they swung up on the tackol chains. Once they did this, Granfather was now hanging below, and uppsidedown.
The old basterd howled and shreiked while whippin thruogh the air like a ragdoll being viollently shook by that small vinol tag that says Recycled Materiol atached to his ass, (the ragdoll's ass, NOT Granfather's ass which i am not aloud to write about on my hompage), and as I stood there and looked at him, my lungs aflame from inhailing the fetid stink (the stink from rancid auttomobile grease, of course, not Granfather's stink which I am not alowed to write about), and as I stood there I was sure that the pain he was experriencing was just as great as when he was right side up. And as I looked at Granfather I started crying. I turned away so no one coud see but coght a glimpse of my refflection in a highley polished chrome wheel covor on a car on another lift across the garage, and my face crumpoled and turned red as the tears rolled out of my eyes. I ofton wish I wasnt so danm emotionol.
Dr. Blankenship who is one of the researchers who studies Granfather put his arm on my shouldor and said in his thick Scotish broage, "Aye, as bluddy 'orrible the whole thing is, ye still love him."
I said to him thruogh my blubering, "No, i am cryin because he is so disgousting and I am so ashamed to be relatted to him."
"IT ORTA BE A LAW: OUR COUNTRY DON'T GO TO WAR AGINST NO LITTLE COUNTRIES THET AL GORE CAIN'T FIND ON THE MAP!"