An Internet Established Brand. Sort of.
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Anyway after a while the girl sort of disapeared (as they allways do) and I ovbiously coud not drive in the shape i was in. I didnt find out much about her ecxept that she wasnt invited eithor. In fact she didnt even work at Cyberblop, which in a way, made her in an odd way somwhat more welcome than me at the party.
I allways have this teribble fear that I am going to make out with a strange persen at a party who turns out to be someone I know who I do NOT want to make out with, or else a relative. Or a man dressed like a womon. Its enuogh to make you not want to drink. Now i remmembered why I drink so seldom. I am the kind of person who dosent need alchohol to do normolly dumb things.
And so i went upstairs and fell asleep on the bed where evereyone had layed there coats, becuase it was cold outside. Tom's party was a big waste for me. Mabye I passed out i dont remembor.
I missed them ringing in the New Year. We saw them do it on TV in New york, but I missed it in real life in the Centrel Time Zone.
While i was sleepin I had a teribble dream where there was a big mean man smacking me. Then when I woke up I was actualy inside the bathtub. My moulth was bleeding cause i rolled over my head and banged my lip agianst my tooth on the side of the tub. It realy hurt like hell. My watch said it was 4:06 AM and by this time i was awake. I looked up and I saw there was somone peeing in the toilat. I scrambeld to close the shower curtein but instead I pulled too hard and the rod fell onto the bathroom floor. I starrtoled the man who was peeing, and so he said to me, "Who the hell are you?", and he did not say it in a nice way.
He looked over his shouldor at me and when i saw his face I coud see that it was the man in my dream who was smackin me arround!
I said to him, "Who the hell are YOU?"
He said to me, "I am Tom."
I did not have aneything to say ecxept that I do not apreciate being smacked aruond. Also I said that I didnt rememmber climbing in the bathtub, and Tom told me that he put me in the bathtub becuase I puked on all the danm coats plus also he said if he ever shoud run into me at work he will kick my ass arround the block and if he ever sees me in his house agian he will shoot me in the balls with his partrigde gun.
No, insted of a comedy they coud make it a tragedey. And they coud make it disgousting; not disgousting like South Park, but considdering how frighteningley reppulsive and scientificly unexplained Granfather is, more like the X-Files.
It woud be the world's first prime time drammatic horror cartoon, and they coud put all of those cool TV warnings about Veiwer Discretion Advised.
Mabye I shoudnt hope for it. Because you know what woud happen. Some idiot network executtive woud put my show up agianst Dilbert which woud kick my ass in the ratings and cause it to be cancelled after two episodes. Aftor which time I woud of alreadey quit my job to work on the script. And then be out on my ass agian. Yes there is nothing that annoys you like the sucess of others. If there is somone out there readin this who works for the FOX Network: PLEASE DO A CARTOON TV SHOW ON ME.
Oh, the Miracle. Aneyway here is how the Miracle took place. How Granfather came out of the coma. (Howevor in the medical comunitty not everyone is happy about it; among some people in the Bio-Phennomena field it is being called "An Event". Also an "Incident." More specificaly, a "Cattostrophic Non-Extinction Incident" )
On Janaury 6th, Granfather was prone in the hospitol bed and the Life Suport was disconected. And so we took him home to die. (The County Clerk, a man who mutually and viciousley hates Granfather's guts for many years now, actualy declaired a speciel holiday for all local goverment employees on that day, plus another holidday for the day he actualy dies.
We were all ready to rent a flatbed truck when I remmembered the scientists who study Granfather. They woud probly want to be on hand when Granps actualy dies, and posibly do the autopsey. (As far as the corpse itself: A rich businesman in Hong Kong who is planning to open a taxyderm freak show in a tourist area alredy has purchased the rights to Granfather's skeletol remains. My family is suposed to get $12,000 for it, but only $4,000 if we dont boil all the disgousting flesh off it first.)
Madison was the only one who was on hand to help us move the dying beast. Him and my brother are the strongest ones, and so while they wresslted the snoring heaving basterd off of the hand truck onto the big white Ford van that the sceintists drive, me and Junior, who is a local neighbor who lives in town, carreid all of the tubes and intravenuos atachments.
Yes, I know i said that there was no Life Support -- the I.V. hookup consisted of a liqiud drip of Beano(R) which is a widely avialable consumable product that helps break down carboniferous molecule chains of gas in your small intestine. People take it when dining out to avoid farting. (And the danm hospital overchardged for it too, just like they do with asprin).
There was no way we coud get Granfather up the porch steps and into the trailer and so we layed him on an old tracter frame and wheeled him into the shed. The basterd himself didnt weigh much, it was the cement, and also the steel barrel. Plus Granfather was seated in this cast iron tub which was filled with those deodoront stones which are suposed to be made of pure potassium sulfate that you somtimes see for sale on late night infommercials. They are suposed to absorb foul bodly odors.
I ran an extention cord into the window of the shed to set up a light bulb and also for the monitorring equipmint that woud be used by Madison, Ripke and Blankenship.
Also, Granfather had one grisly last reqeust:
He allways had told us that if he was ever truly on his deathbed, that he wanted a speciel music cassette to play. It was a tape of "I Feel Pretty" from West Side Story.
Not the regulor soundtrack, but this awful, horiffic rendition of "I Feel Prettey" being sung in German. It is the most horroble ghastley excuse for a song I have ever heard in my life. It is not realy sung so much as loudley shouted out by a whole chorus of baritone Krouts in what sounds like a large echoing beer hall. The tempo of the song is quick and perkey and abbout the same as in the Westside Story film, but the beat is a very heavy German, "Ooom-Pah-Pah, Ooom-Pah-Pah."
It is enuogh to make you want to puke. I am not sure if they ever had any Halftime Floor Shows at any of those Nouremberg rallies Hitler had back in the '30s but if they did this woud of been it.