Oh the inhumanity!
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"What hapened, Junoir?" I asked him.
"Who wuz that lady in the big station wagon?"
"That was my boss."
"Aw, well under thet towel thet lady wuz NEKKID," he drawled, then pointed to Granfather's new girlfrend, "Even MORE nekkid than YOU, Ma'am."
The poor simpol man explianed how he helped my boss get into her car; but because she is so short plus coud not climb into the huge Lincoln Navigater on her own being that she needed one hand to hold the bath towel arround her small corpulent frame, how he had to hold her arm.
"The bottom of the towel kapt opening up, and I kept seein' what wuz inside, and I did not WANT to see it, cause I'm a gentlemen. But I done DID see it," he wept, "And it were so, so nasty."
I poured Junior a three inches high of Cloony in one of the plastic World's Fair tumblers. Cloony in case you dont know it is the cheapest brand of whisky they have at the packege store out on the State route. I think its $7.99 a bottol which isnt bad for whisky.
"I done cain't bleeve whut I saw. I am so glad I am not married," Junior mumbled.
"HELL, I AIN'T MISSIN' THIS.
I KIN TAKE MY NEW LADYFREIND ON A DATE WITH FREE FOOD WHUT WON'T COST ME NOTHIN'.
"'COURSE, THE ONLY DRAWBACK IS I GOTTA SIT AN HOUR IN CHURCH."
Like I said the old profane basterd hasnt ben to church in many years. And you got to watch what kindof church it is too, because in some places theres allways someone tryin to cast demons out of him. Only problem is, with the case of Granfather, theres always more "demon" than "granfather." And so the trick is, if you want to improve the old sunoffobbich you might as well cast out the "granfather" part cause thats the lesser of the two evils.
Suposedly Nixon went to Rome and was impresed by the Swiss Gaurds who guarded the pope and he wanted to have the same thing. So he got some clothes dessigners to make these tacky yellow outfits with funny helmets and lots of braided stuff and then Nixon forced a bunch of soldiers to wear them and prance arround the White House driveway a coupel of times a day. (Probly just to make himself feel important).
Anyway the soldeirs did it only a few times cause the newspappers made fun of how ugly the uniforms were. Anyway Granfather boght one of these things over eBay for $48.75 AND HE WAS WEARIN IT RIGHT NOW.
I think the old basterd got hosed on the deal cause i dont think its real. He left the helmet at home plus the pants he ruined last year cause he crapped in them and so othor than his adult diapor he had no pants. You know i used to fight with him for wearin no pants but now I do not even bothor.
Also I put some matte contact paper in a nice neutrol color on his cardbord animal cone cause that was startin to get soggy and stained from tobaco juice spattor.
Between the monstrousley hairy legs, the simian gorillalike gait and the garish half of a dress uniform he was wearin with no trousors, the old basterd looked exactley like a picture of somthin you'd see on a brochure youd get in the mail for some charitable organization that rescues poor abused circus and zoo animols from those drab pollutted countries of the Former Soviet Unoin that are now forced to peform by dancing around in stout spiked chains in the freezing streets inhailing coal dust being whipped by cruel masters with names like Boris and Vladamir who force them to eat rancid potato skins and vodka. Exept in the case of the old basterd also wearin a cardbord animal cone.
Speakin of poor taste, Granfather insisted on doing most of the talkin. Plus he kept doin it in this high-fallutin, pompous voice, allmost as a eulogy.
"POOR DWAINE, OR DOO-WAYNE, OR WHUTEVER THE HELL HIS NAME WUZ. I AM PROUD TO SAY: HE WERE MY FREIND.
"AND HE WERE A PARTYIN' MAN. HE DONE DIED PARTYIN'."
Granfather, that is enuogh," I said. But the old basterd didnt stop, till Cathyann and her mothor were crying.
"MAH POOR, POOR FRIEND, HE DONE DIED. BUT HE AIN'T DONE DIED IN VEIN. HE DONE DIED LIVIN' LA VIDA LOCA , AND THAT HAS MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE.
Junior creid too, while I just sat there stairing at my plate in houmilliation cause all the people in there were watching. Meanwhile Granfather's small frogfaced ladyfreind sat glumly and alternatly grimacing at everyon at the table.
"Why do they call them buffalo wings?" she said, "Sombody told me why once, but i forgot."
I said to him, "Not you too, Junior, you only met Duwayne a few times."
"It ain't just that," Junoir blubbored; it was only then I noticed the giant bulge inside his dress trousors which I noticed for the first time was overflowing with green steyrofoam peanuts.
"I'm so scared of radiation on mah manly bits!" he howled very loudley, loud enuogh so allot of people in the parking lot coud hear, and not only that he gripped his crotch, waddling toword our car, "I don't want mah scrotum to git to look like your scrotum! Boo hoo hoo!"
When we walked inside the church the ministor greeted us and was shockingly tooken aback at the sight of Granfather. Like I said the old basterd has this effect on people. He is more animal than human. Yes I do exaggorrate allot but not about two things: What the old basterd looks like and smells like.
"OH, AH KNOW WHUT YER THINKIN, PREACHER," Granfather offered.
"AH MUST BE AN AGENT OF SATAN. WELL, AH ADMIT IT, AH AM.
"'COURSE, MOST O'MAH DUTIES ARE PURELY CEREMONIAL, Y'UNNERSTAND."
I did not get the joke even if it was a joke (or even if it was true -- I actualy didnt know). The ministor nodded politely and Granfather took his seat in the frontrow.
His two yellow eyes lit up like bloodshot daffodills.
"WHY, I SUTTINLY WILL INDEED!"
"Good," she said, "The minister will tell you when. Be sure to mention the part about him 'Living La Vida Loca.' -- cause that part wuz pure Duwayne."
But Granfather started the shenanigans while the ministor was talking. He started fake crying. As the ministor proceeded Granfather kept gettin louder and louder: "OH, LORDY! OH, LORDY! WHY? WHY? WHYYYYYY?"
I went up and put my arm arround him and whispored, "Granfather you are makin a scene!"
He whispored back at the top of his lungs (which is how the old basterd whispors), "NOPE, THE SCENE COMES AT THE CEMETERY, WHEN AH THROWS MUSEFF INTO THE GRAVE HOLE AND HOLLER, 'TAKE ME INSTED! TAKE ME INSTED!'
"Why are you doing this?"
"AH'M DOIN THIS FOR THE POOR BOY'S FAMBLY."
"He dont HAVE no family, Granfather."
Then the old basterd paused and said, "OH. THEN AH GUESS I'M DOIN' IT FER MUSELF: AH LOVE WHEN IT I'M THE CENTER OF ATTENTION AND CONTROVERSY ALL THE SAME TIME."
When i got back to my seat, the minister motioned to Granfather.
"OH, GOOD. IT'S TIME FOR ME TO DELIVER THE UROLOGY."
Just then the female Al Franken nudged me and looking worried said, "I hope no one asks ME to say anything."
I will not reproduce the old basterd's entire ramboling eulogy, (NOT a 'urology', howevor,, there WAS a giant wet yellow spot beneath him as he left), but here are some exerpts that he screamed out at the top of his lungs with a cigarete -- unlit cause there's no smoking allowed in church -- cletched in his teeth and amplified from the cardboard animal cone arround his neck:
DUWAYNE WERE A KIND MAN. A HUMBLE MAN. A GENEROUS MAN. HE HELPED THE POOR, AND SUPPORTED THIRD WORLD ORPHANS.DOO-WAYNE INVENTED TIN FOIL CIGARETE BAGS. NOT MANY PEOPLE KNEW THAT -- BUT I DID.
HE WAS ALSO A BILLIONAIRE, YOU KNOW. AND HE DONE GAVE IT ALL AWAY TO HEPP THE NEEDY. HE WERE AS BIG A MAN AS TO BUILD HOSPITALS FOR CHILDREN IN FAR OFF EXOTIC PLACES, LIKE FRENCH TITICACA, AND SOUTH PHALANGISTAN.
BUT HE WERE SMALL AND HUMBLE ENOUGH TO WIPE A POOR OLD MAN'S ASS. A MAN WHOSE OWN SELFISH FLESH AND BLOOD -- THIS HEAH FELLER IN THE FRONT NAMED WALTER MILLER -- ALWAYS REFUSED TO DO.
THAT POOR OLD MAN IS TALKIN TO YOU RIGHT NOW. A MAN WHO DWAINE OR DU-WAYNE -- OR WHUTEVER THE HELL HIS NAME WUZ, BEGGED NOT TO TELL ANYONE OF HOW GREAT HE WERE. BUT I SAY TO HIM NOW: 'TOO BAD, BIG FELLER: CAUSE I'M TELLIN THE WORLD."
It didnt end till the whole church was filled not only with the rancid smell of Granfather's rotton breath but were wracked with loud crying wails and sobs. Of course the only people doing this were Cathyann and her mothor and Junior. There were mabye ten othor people there and they just sat there lookin enbarassed.
"Why wont you wipe Grampy's butt, Walt?" Junior bawled. I said, shut up Junoir I DO TOO.
They asked me and Junior to be paulbearers along with 4 of the burly funerol parlor guys. Dwaine weighed at least 260 pounds and I am weak and so my end of the coffin kept slippin. Junoir is prety strong, but he was makin a weird noise. It seemed like he was chokin on somthin.
"Are you OK?" I whispored to him across the coffin.
"Aw, I'm fine," he drawled, "I done bought the most awful tasting gum back in the mensroom o'that restourant we stopped at. And one dagnab piece done cost me a whole fifty cents!"
Aftorword we went back for a supper in the church basement. Cathyann and her mothor created a slight disterbence when they dug arround the tub of ice that was filled with pop bottols, loudly complaining, "Where's the damn brewskis?"
"PREACHER, YOU DON'T WANNA BE CASTIN' NOTHIN' OUT'O ME. I DONE ET THE TEXAS SIZE ONION LOAF FER LUNCH."
He said no, he just wanted to pray for him, and Granfather said, "ALLRIGHTY, BUT ONLY IF YOU DO IT SWEET LIKE JESUS DID IT -- BECAUSE THE MINUTE YOU START PRESSIN' ON MY FORHEAD YELLING, 'YOU'RE GOING DOWN BROTHER', AH PROMISE AH'LL GO SPASTIC ON YUH BEE -HIND WITH A FOLDING CHAIR."