Walter Miller's Homepage

Loads fast. Makes a nice night-light.
Even thogh we all know its August this is


Page 3 of 7

Granfather insisted I wheel him out there to see it too.

A "Number Two" emergencey.

Where it landed made a ten foot crator in the prairie, nearly 4 feet deep. A plume of awful brownish puffs rose from the smoking caldera. Somwhere off in the distence, the sirens of rescue vehicles wailed, as the firehorn in town blared a repeatting pattorn of two very long blasts for "Code 2" -- our county's fire squad code for "Granfather-related percussive intestinal emergency".

Ground Zero

Aproaching the scene of impact, Blankenship jumped in the hole, and fell to his knees beside it. He held this weird mass-and-weight gauge, a stainless steel measurring aparrattus that looks like a cross between a pair of ice tongs and one of those sliding metol things the guy at the shoe store uses to see what size your feet are.

"Aye," marvelled the dramatic Scotsman, as he knelt over the fuming glowing meteor, "'Tis nearly a full one eighth of the subject's corporeal weight!"

A large grin spread on Granps' snaggol-toothed face as the old basterd replied,


Stairing at the giant load the old basterd then looked up at me and aped exactley in the voice of the little Taco Bell dog, "Loco Grande!"

Back inside the house the old basterd sort of lost it. There was a Poloroid of the creattion and Granfather insisted I thumtack it to the wall.

" IT'S BEE-YOO-TIFUL!" he wept, over and ovor in this anoying Italian accent, "LIFE IS BEE-YOOTIFUL!"

The next day, Madison and Ripke, the othor two criptozollogists came by to assist. As Granfathor rambolled and screamed on and on, still in an Italien accent, Madison whispored to me somthin about how the "walls of the colon are highly vascular" or some such, and that the old basterd would be sufferin for a number of weeks with this, as he called it, "acute, ass related cognitive-disfunctional psychodementia."

What he kept hollerin out with the acent was all the lines of Mr. Martini, the immigrant tavern ownor in It's A Wonderful Life:




The thing with Granfather is that you never know how mutch of what he does is out of mental defficiency or on purpose just to annoy the crap out of us.

As usuol the he made a fast recovory.

For the next few weeks he still had to stay in the wheelchair and also wear his giant cardbord pet collar cone cause he kept scratchin and biting himself. Unlike humans, whose brain is there greatest organ, with Granfather's species it is his ass. Once he was crapping agian and excersizing all the muscles down there, he got the dexterrity back in his fingers. And yes, he also got back on the web in a greator frenzy. Enuogh so that only week later the old basterd beeped me out of a meeting to scream at me over the phone when I called him back, "GARRRDAMMIT! DOES WINDOWS 98 ABUSE THE WHOLE DANM WORLD LIKE THIS, OR ONLY ME?"

Granfather somtimes has a teribble self-persecution parranoia. (Especialy when using Micrasoft products). And so I asurred him that Bill Gates WAS indeed out to get the whole world in generol, and not just him in particulor.

Poor, reclusive, lamentably lonesome unloved paranoid misorable creature. (Uh, Granfather, not Mr. Gates.)

Somthing else I got in trouble about

Granfather called me again later in the day to holler at me more. He was extremly angry with me because I did not documment the giant skid mark that his flaming missile left.



Aparantly the Guiness Book of Record people want to see doccumentation before they put an entry in the book. I treid to tell Granfather that the skidmark, if they indeed kept such a record, woud probly be confined just to someone's underwear --NOT someone's living room carpet and residuol quarter-mile scorched area of external landscape.

Trying to be sarcaustic, I said to him, "Dont worrey, Granfather, they probly still have the record open for 'The Most Disgousting Human in the world'." -- But the maniacol old basterd actualy took what I said seriously.


In any case my jobs ben a pain in the ass.

I have to share my cubicol with this jerk consultant who is very creepy. We both cannot fit in the cube and so when he does his work I must go to the kitchenette and work on my laptop. I cannot get onto the network or the lan from the kitchennette, and so I have been working late just to get my work done.

This consultent explained to my boss that anything he has to do, takes pressidence over anything that I have to do. And so, whenevor I have to use my workstation, he has the right to throw me off it. Also he is allways using my phone.

The othor reasen why I hate workin in the kitchenette is that my anoying boss, the squat little toadfaced woman with the chirpey voice works near there and she is allways dropping in to the kitchenete to annoy me.

When I am sitin there she has to sit next to me and ask me abuot my problems and, (Ugh), "counsel" me. She is an anoying condessending codependent little nag.

She has these danm power bars she keeps in the fridge. They are suposed to be fat free and have no calories and she keeps braggin about how they are helpin her to lose weight and she keeps them frozon like a rock in the little tiny freezor part of the kitchenete fridge. You know how little the freezer area is on those fridges. No one else can put nothin in there. And when she eats them, solid like a rock it sounds like that awful scraiping crunching sound in Titanic when the ship grinds agianst the iceberg.

"Now, WHEL-ter", she says to me, (she calls me 'WHELter' cause she has this screechy high pitched Chicago acent), "We cannot complain about the consultants! We must give them free reign, because they are going to save this company!

"No more beeching and moaning about the consultants!"

The pain in the ass womon had to say it so loud that one of those creepey consultents actualy heard her say this as he walked past the kitchenete. He was one of the most feared of the consultents, this sadistic cross eyed guy with funny ears and eyes extremly close togethor who looks allot like Prince Charles. He gave me a real angrey look. He pointed at me, and silentley mouthed, "I will get you for this!"

Later on in the day, it was payback time. The consultent barged into my cubicol, and threw me off my phone so HE coud use it. I stood outside the cube and heard very clearley that he was making a personol long distence call. Later on I complained to Personell but I was the one who got in truoble for this. "I hate you, your stupid-crap related homepage, AND that pain in the ass who sits with you in the kitchenette," he said to me, turning arround as he dialed. His evil, Windsor-like eyes burned at me like two black coals.

"Right now I am calling my personal mentor who's in India. I will say it was your phonecall. It's MY word agianst YOURS."

High paid consultent jerks

Anyway, lator on we were sittin in a meeting. It was this awfull, awfull meeting. As you know I work for an internet startup company. As far as the purpose of the company, well, there isnt any. So they hired all these danm consultents to come in and give us a danm purpoce. The consultents make, like $500 a day. They are also flown in at our companies' expense from places like Mountian View and Conecticut.

To make mattors worse, the consultents are very mean and also they act like they are smart and WE are stupid. They casually suggest that this person or that, or even a whole deppartment, SHOUD BE FIRED. Most of the time our company listens to them so your ass is allways in danger.

Whenevor sombody IS fired, they bring one of their own stooges in his place. Of cource, this new persen is allways so, quote, "smart and cutting edge."

And whenevor any of us reguler employes complains about how mean the consultents are, our managers say, "Harumph! We have to learn from these people! The truth hurts, and we are paying them to give it to us!"

Oh, they are givin it to us allright. You know what? They ARE smart and we ARE stupid.

When I was down in Personnell complaining that I got thrown out of my cube so this consultent coud use my phone, I also complained that the consultent spent two hours playin Hearts on my machine DOING NO WORK. Plus I had to stay late to get my work done cause he was on my danm machine.

The Personnel guy, (who is a mean, man-bitch), told me that, "Even the consultent's goofing off activities far outweigh my work activitties," because THAT is how much more value to the company he is than me, and also he said, "No one likes a tattol-tail, Mr. Miller."

It is not fair.

Next, the Personell Man-Bitch told me nevor to complain about that consultent's activities ever agian, because, "His time is gold!"

Then I said, "yeah right, its gold cause I know what that guy gets paid."

I said it undor my breath so he woudnt hear me, but in any case the danm man-bitch then wrote up an Officla Lettor of Reprimand and put it in my file. This is my second one. One more mark on my record for the rest of 1999 and i am out of there on my ass.

Then when I got back to my desk, the Prince of Wails was gone, howevor, there is this othor consultent in the cube next to me, this ugly donkeyfaced David Hartman lookin guy. This guy also does nothin but make personal calls all day. So he is on the phone with some friend of his talkin about the Blair Witch movie. I tell you i saw the film and it scaired the hell out of me.

He was on the phone with his freind makin these scary noises from the film. I told him, "Please dont make those noises, it scaires me."

He laughed, and then made more noises. I complained and he said, "I am no longer doing monstor noises--these are the sounds of the poor girl breathing and hyperventillating."

I said "Please stop doin that TOO," and insted he luaghed his ass off and kept doin it more and more. I said "QUIT IT!" and then the donkeytoothed basterd hollored back at me,