You get what you pay for.
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I awoke in a cold swett. For all those long recent weeks I had awfull dreams that Granfather was going to die. Now I awake to the ever worse realitty that he is still alive. Also, the things I hated most abbout him: His gas and his crapping. Bolth of these functions have not been going on becuase of Granfather's curent situattion. As you know he was the victim of a sneak atack by his two brothers who sabbotaged him while he was getting an enema by forcibley administerring a half ton of specialy pattented Grout-With-Yeast(TM) mixture up his ass.
It is strange how things turn out. Or even worse: How they turn inward.
OK I was allways sort of a withdrawn persen to begin with (oh, ha ha 'withdrawn', I get it), but if you read my last update you know I ended by discribing a certain problom I was having by which, um, somthing of mine had shrunk so bad it was actualy all the way in. I think you know what I am talkin about. It is a part of my body that I never get to use. Yes, Virginia, there realy is somthing worse than 'shrinkage.' Yes, inverted. Which woud make me an Invert. (Which woud be the oposite of a pervert). Which I guess woudnt even make this an update at all but a downdate. An in-date for Godsake. Indented, inverted, and pretty danm invisible.
So, acording to these unsigned so-called "anonymuos" notes, my 'secrat admirer' asked if i woud be kind enuogh to give her a sign that I was interrested in meeting her. If the answor was yes, then I woud have to come in wearin red socks. Well I do not have red socks but I am so desperrate to meet womon that I went out and boght some.. I figoured that there was really nothin bad that coud come of this.
In fact it was prettey good: If I descided I really didnt like her, then I woudnt haveto go out with her. If she decidded she didnt like me, then it realy wasnt like her or me were actuolly gettin rejected.
And if anyone at work asked me why I was wearin red socks I coud say, none of your danm business. This way no one coud ever acuse me of sexuol harassmint -- somthing that all men in this country have to worry about. (Well mabye all of them exept me).
Me and my lovelourn problems. Yes, it never ends. Lovelorn and WITHdrawun. And I know, I just know based on a lifetime of bad luck that on the day they ever do end, I WILL STILL BE SHRUNKED BAD.
OK I am not going to write about that now. The real problem is with Granfather. You have to undorstand the position Granfather he is in. With the giant lump of Grout-With-Yeast half above him and half insidde him. If you read my last updattes you know that he has to be propped proporly in his bed as to avoid acidents. After watchin allot of daytime TV tabloid shows which profiled all those womon who are carreying 7 or 8 or 9 babies, we knew well enough to prop the old basterd up in a similor stance. His head was flat on the bed and he was unable to move. Also, there was a small steel caster wheel from a Wet-Dry vacume cleanor atached to his forhead with a rivit that his prothor nailed there with a powor tool late last year. It still oozed disgousting slime but apeared not to cause any problems.
Meanwhile Granfather was as ugly and mean as ever. If you get Nationol Geogragphic you will see in the March 1999 issue the articol on snapping turtles. There is one 90 year old turtle from Masachusetts they found who weighs, like 76 pounds and is hangin from a strap looking angrilly at the peoplle who put him there. This is Granfather on a good day.
On an avorage day, just flip a few pages back in the same issue to where there is a pitcure of an aligator snapper who is ovor 100 years old covored with crusty plates all over his face. You dont want to know what he is on a bad day. It is not bad enuogh that he smells and is ugly:
The fireproof shunt is continualy lit like a pilot light. It is atached to a hose to the headboard with a peice of silver fabric tape, and then is threadded across the room near an open window. This is to avoid the flame coming into contact with one of his upwafting rancid belches in which case hed expload his own friggin head off.
Soon aftor I was awoke by my nightmare, the old basterd began screammin because his head tipped back on the egde of the bed which was begining to cut off his breathing. I had found an old tripod-style police car jack in one of the barns out back ammidst Granfather's collections of all sorts of junk. We were keepin it in his bedroom for this type of emergencey.
"YOU DUMBASS SUMBITCH," he screammed at me, "GIT MY MAH SMOKES!", and then just when I turned arroind, his tiny skinny leg darted out from undor the sheets to kick me in the ass. His toenails are so hard and sharp. It is like gettin stabbed in the butt with a grapefriut spoon. Then also I had to give him his medocine. There is a danger that he will choke since he is layed out flat on his back. I actuoly have to put the danm pills on his hairy tounge