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...Hell, Y2K will fall arround six months early if i keep on this schedule
Try to prettend its not October and this is instead:

The August 1999 section of the big doubel JuLY - August '99 Update

Page 2 of 4 of Update 2 of 2


Also during the meeting break I also ran back to my cube to see if I had anymore phonmails. There was one more from the County Clerk who said that he was thinkin of gettin Granfather to confess on hiddon wire to some vandolism of County property, mostley from 1997 and 1998. He told me he was planning to drop by in the next week or so. It seems that Granfather likes to taunt and boast to the Countey Clerk more than anyone, and therefore he had the greatest chance of gettin him to confess on tape. A typicol conversation of Granfather and the County Clerk is this:

Couty Clerk: "Grampy, now, you are also a suspect in the case of that obscene grafitti on the town water tower."

Granfather: SUS -PECT? ARE YOU THAT DUMB? I NOT ONLY WROTE THET STUFF, IT'S ABOUT YO MAMA. AN' I NOT ONLY WROTE IT, WHILE I WUZ UP THAR, I PEED IN THE WATER TOWER. BUT YOU AIN'T NEVER GONNA PROVE IT CAUSE I'LL DENY IT. HEH! HEH! HEH!

The county Clerk told me that when he was hoping to get Granfather on tape, he wanted ME to cooporate. If I did, and I coud get Granfather on tape conffessing, then he woud drop the lean agianst me for damaging the county vehicol.

Hmm. This was somthing I woud have to think about. On the one hand, Granfather woud blame me for life if he had to go to jail agian. On the othor I woud be free from him. My family woud hail me as a hero. Howevor I was probly the only person in the world who truly cared for him. Somthin deep inside me loved and cared for the old basterd. Probly it was just my teribble codependency.

No. I coudnt do it.

Maybe I coud go my family and have them pay the $6000. It was such an awfull mess. There was no way out. All of it coud be resolved if Granfather left the county, but all of his collectible crap is there and he'd never do it.

The second half of the meeting was less horibble.

We all took our places back in the meeting room. The same frowning group asembled in the front. They told us that next week we woud be going to an offsite meeting. This was suposed to inprove morale. Also it woud help us focus our energies on our work.

I dont know what the hell an offsite meeting is suposed to acomplish. Especialy an overnight one at a fancy hotel, which is what they said it woud be. Remmember, we are suposed to be an effin' countrey club of a company with not enuogh money and no purpose. Oh well.

The last thing on the agenda was when the Lady Who Screams at Evereyone got up to speak. She spoke to us in this odd, subdeued scream as opposed to her normol wailing angry screech. I was sittin way in the back so I didnt see that her son was there, sittin on the carpet in the very front. The kid's mabye 8 or 9 and hes been to the office beffore and is sort of a pain in the ass. He stood up silentley before the group smirkin at us with this face that just begged to be slapped while his mothor held up this stupid ass brochure which was full of candy and jams and holliday wrapping paper and a whole lot of othor overpriced crap that the little basterd was selling to raise money for the school.

You know what I am talkin about. Mabye your own boss pulls this sort of thing where you work. Its not like you can say to the kids GET LOST YOU LITLE SNOT WHAT ARE SCHOOL TAXES FOR DANMMIT.

The Lady who Screams at Evereyone told us that her kid woud be makin the rounds the folowing afternoon, so start thinkin about what we were goingto buy. I am not the Amazing Creskin but I predicted that the kid was gonna sell allot of that crap.

Stu was sittin next to me and I leaned ovor to whispor to him, "THANKS." He looked at me with a quizzicol look on his porky face and said "thanks for what?" and I said, Thanks for takin the blame for that big .WAV file fart that Granfather sent to my computor, and he said, "Oh THAT?"

"Walt, I apologized for that becuase I really thoght I MADE that fart."

"I have no sence of smell, remember?"

He looked at me as sincearly as somone whose profession is Internet Marketing, and so he looked beleivable enough. I dont know how he thoght he coud of made it. Stu was just bein a good freind. Beleive me, that is all that mattored becuase that's what I needed most of all.

"The bosses are a little pissed at me for disrupting the demo in your cube," Stu explianed, "But my numbers this quartor are pretty good. I'll get thruogh it."

That night back home with Granfather

When I walked in the old basterd was on the phone with his older brothor, Uncle Zeke. Not a good sign. Uncle Zeke and Granfather hate eachothor. He lives on the East coast on a farm somwhere outside of Baltamore and you woud not beleive how much they go at it on the phone for hours. Perhaps the only thing in this world they agree on is is the savings they bolth enjoy by dialling Ten-Ten Three Two One, then 1 and the area code beffore tellin one anothor "KISS MY ASS."

They mostley love to fight about politics being that Granfather is a Democrat and his brothor a Rebuplican. Seven years of Clintin have providded lots of fodder on both sides letme tell you.

This latest fight was about our Govoner, George W Bush known afectionattly in our county and surounding areas as "George Dubya." Granfather was givin his brother Zeke a hard time becuase 'Dubya' used the "F" word casualy a few times in a magozine article not long ago.

"So whut, Dubya used the 'F' word," I heard Zeke's voice crackol over the speakorphone, "Clinton's whole dang LIFE is the 'F' word.

"I TELL YUH, THET BOY DUBYA WUS BORNED WITH A SILVER SPOON IN HIS NOSE," Granfather shot back.

Truth be told, the govorner's approvol rating is actaully quite high in our home and Granpy will probly vote for him in 2000, if he is the candidate agianst Gore. (Granfather fears Gore's strong envoromentol stance -- toxic locations like Granfather are at risk if Gore knew how much one man coud damage the ozone layor).

In any case the old basterd just likes to fight with his brothor and get him all upset. Most of their convorsations dessend into curses and screams and violant threats. Like the old Woodey Allen routine the two of them have been known to place obscene calls to one anothor collect, while the othor one is happy to acept the charges.

The only time Granfather was ever the slightest unhappey with 'Dubya' was abbout a year ago when his idea for the new Texas lisence plate slogan was politely turned down. The old basterd had sugested, "First State To Use Lethal Injection"

Granfather slammed the phone down and shot me an evil glaire. It was only then i noticed the slight odor of gunpowdor in the room. I asked the old beast what it was from.

"COUPLE O' DUMBASS KIDS COME 'ROUND SELLIN' CANDY FER THE SCHOOL AND SOME SUCH.

" I DONE SHOT OVER THERE HEADS TO SCAIRE THE LIL' CRITTERS."

Sudenly Granfather switched gears and began to speak in a freindly manner. He also tried to smile. The old basterd never smiles, he frowns even when he laughs, but he was tryin to muster up at least a merrey smirk from the deppths of his black hole of a heart.

"SAY BOY. HERE'S AN ANDY JACKSON," he said, tossin a filthey crumpoled $20 bill at me.

"GO BUY ME A SOME SMOKES. KEEP THE CHANGE, AN' BUY SOME BEER FER YUHSELF."

It is not like Granfather to be gennerous with money. He also seemed nervuos.

I went in my room to get changed and when I came out Granfather was just stairin at me. When he closes his mouth these two bottom fangs stick up and he can make his face freeze withuot blinking, just gloworing his reptillian eyes at me. As ive mentionned in the past his irises are a bright piss yellow and his red pupils are shaped like skinney diamonds.

"WHUT THE HAYLE YOU LOOKIN, AT?" he finaly spoke.

His face seemed oddley streaked with somthin, perhaps blood. Granfather's face is allways streaked, stained and spattored with somthin, usualy a combinative encrustation of blood, snot, food, actual crap, (yes dont ask why or how), medicine, tobacco juice, and somtimes orenge flavored sugar-free Metamucil.

Living with Granfather is like livin with one of those publicly funded banned paintings where the only reason why they make it is to piss off and offend people to stress the point of First Amendmant free expression where the main componants of the peice are the artist's crap and bodily fluids haphazerdly splattored onto the canvas. Ecxept in the case of Granfather the exibit is three dimensionol, alive, and it farts, calls you names and hits you.

Somthing was wrong

The cardbord cone arround his neck seemed wet and soggy. Also Granfather apeared to be bleeding. But he is always bleeding. (Erupting sores, acidents, scratchin himself too hard, and the like). Howevor Granfather's blood has a greenish blackish quallity with a gooey molasses like consistency. This was bright red arteriol blood, human blood.

"HERE, BWAH. GIMME THET TWENTY BACK, AND HERE'S A FIFTY. GO BUY ME A SLIM JIM AT THE MINI MART AN' YOU KIN KEEP THE CHANGE."

Somtimes Granfather is a good liar an somtimes he stinks. (Who am I kiding, he ALWAYS stinks but you know what i mean. His lying was absolutly shamefull in light of what a good World class liar he realy is).

I get adammant.