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Please. I know it's late. But don't gorge yourself and read it all at once.

The Summer 2001 Update

Page 3 of 50

It was an entire Granfather Display

The evil (and presummably dead) troll, his lifeless flesh ensconsed within, as well as upon on its highly painted polished surface with many layors of rock hard resins and fiberglass putty, was molded into a vicious attack stance. All the DNA tests prove he is not humen, but insted is part reptile, insect, primate, and "new speceis."

Granfather was mounted with his eyes and jaws open, legs apart, knees slightley bent, hands above his head, fingers splayed, and teeth, fangs and claws all baired and sharpened. Yes a savage carnivore ready to pounce. It is a common stance for him and how we all chose to remember him. In ordor to get the old basterd to stay in this stance, some custom-bent metol bars and wire were drilled into the hard, beef jerkylike textoure of his dry stringy musculature.

Granfather was dressed in some sort of raggody furry animal skin. The old basterd's bare feet were glued to a small kidney shaped island of resin, the sort of small platform you see suporting the feet of a tiny plastic toy soldier. The idea was to eventualy place him a diorama with paintings of spewing volcanoes in the backround, and titled:

"Earth In The Age of the Pliostene Mega Fauna."

But alass, like my TV series, it was not to be -- at least not yet

My faithful freind Stu was there too

One more person came along: My co-worker Stu, and we were very glad to have him. Stu is fluent in Spanish and is a great negotiater. The museum people in Costarica nicknamed him "El Chorizo" because he hapens to resemble a pig. (It is not Stu's fault.) And it is because of Stu, and Stu alone, that we are not all sittin in some jail down there. Yes, Granfather truly is *that* repulsive, and without Stu's neggotiating skills, we risked jail merely for being in possession of him.

Stu's fee

Dispite having the face and body of a pig, Stu is very sucesfull and so his time is worth money. Stu is already Director of Marketing at, the place I work, and he earns allot. For this trip he was paid $2,000 which my family conveniently collected at the time of Granfather's death. This was EXTRA money above and beyond our deal with the Canadien investors.

How Stu was paid

This $2,000 was paid out of a municipol bond set up back in our tiny Texas county back in the 1970s. Property owners actualy agreed to a tax increase which assured a cash bonus to be paid to our family upon the old basterd's death to assure that his stinking grisly remains woud not be buried anywhere within 1,000 miles of the County Line as not to contamminate our groundwater. Can you imagine rurol folk in the inflation plaugued 1970s voting FOR a tax increase? If the answor is "no" then youve never lived within 50 miles downwind of Granfather.

Sometimes when you are driving around the back roads of Latin America there are problems with bandits and crooked cops, so bringing somone like Stu who can negotiate was neccessary. Fortunatlely we had no problems like that.

Howevor we had othor problems

One problem was the burning question: How do we sneak Granps back into the US? When you drive into Mexico from the US, they usualy just wave you in. But crossing back they somtimes search your van.

Stu had the idea of saying that the "Granfather statue" was actualy just a "large tasteless souveneir" we had bought. We coud see how the border guards might think there was an illegol alien hiding in all those layers of plastic and paint. (Yes, Granfather is partly alein, but a diferent kind of alien).

But before we resolved this problem we had a much biggor one.

It hapenned on the way back, in the middle of nowhere deep in northern Mexico still a 2 day's drive from our home. The criptozoological research van that bellongs to Madison, Ripke and Blankenship broke down on a deserted unpaved track.

Madison was driving. Stu was in the back cargo area, leaning on his elbows and, poking his snout thru the space betwean the two front seats. He was naviggating the trip but was very carefull not to let the sensitive pink porcine skin of his face get sunburned.

The van has a very low idle stalled in the middle of a breif downhill turn around a small canyon. We rolled to a sudden dead stop. Junior pitched foward, his pale flabby torso bouncing into the plump stout Stu and the two jiggoled and reverberrated against each other like two loose wobbly silicon breast inplants still at the factory falling off the asembly line and onto the floor one atop the othor at the same time.

The Granfather statue josseled sightley from the van's lack of shocks, and it too lurched around a bit, its ghastley lifeless frozon face stairing blankly at us, its dead eyes appearing to mock us: the living.

"Danm!" Madison spat.

Exiting the van, Me, Stu, Madison and Junior all stood there dumstruck in the hot silent sun.

Tension and Drama in the Dessert

In a few minnutes Dr. Madison found out what the problem was: The alternator, which powers the battory had slid loose on its bracket. The fan belt that recharges it went slack and so the danm battory went dead.

I am delicate

I am not proud of the fact that I am dellicate. Well, not in an effemminite sence of the word, but I am sort of frail, thin and do not take pain well. My arms are weak and I burn in the sun easily. Also I have emmotionol problems and are sensitive. I am lactose intollorant too and also shallow chested plus have thin enemel on my teeth. Okay, I will stop because none of this adds anything to the story.

But I was the only one with arms skinny enuogh go in there with a wrench and re-tighten the alternator on its bracket. Did you ever work on a van's engine? There is no room and you nevor see what youre doing. Madison kept hollerin at me cause I was doing it wrong while him and Stu tried to direct me what to do. Junior meanwhile just sat on a rock and cried and creid.

Anothor mishap: I recieve a burn

I was deep undor the narrow hood nearly up to my shouldors. I am closstrophobic to begin with. In order to reach inside I had to climb in deep and so lifted one leg off the ground and rested it on the front bumpor. I am not mechannically inclined bit the van howevor was inclined, but in this case, inclined on a slight dip in the dirt road.

When I lifted my second leg off the ground for a second that was just enough weight to make the van start rolling backwords. It rolled 10 feet and sudenly stopped short when the back wheel hit a big rock. My head slammed hard into a burning hot valve covor. OK I admit it I started screamin like a girl.

Even though I was undor the hood I coud feel the whole van buckle and hear the sounds of the Granfather statue slide out of the back cargo bay and burst thru the back van doors onto the rocky shouldor of the road with a loud fiberglassy thump.

Stu, Junior and Madison pulled me out histerical and shreiking and flailing and kicking. It is a moment I am not proud of. As soon as they saw I was OK, they went to retreive the old basterd who'd fallen in a dry gully.

"He's chipped!" I heard Madison call out, upon inspecting the Granfather statue.

"What about me, dammit!" I wailed. Stu gentley cleaned the oil and grease off my head and dabbed at my sore wound with two or three Wet Ones clutched in his cloven porcine hoof, as he peered at me quizically. While we are on the subject of moist towellettes, I suppose I shoud interject this advice: Take it from me, Wet Ones are a nessessity if you ever are in anothor country especialy a hot foreign one and while you are there plan to wipe your ass.

Junoir makes us an offer