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...Oh, that's what i forgot: A spellchecker

Part II of the Speciel Double December 1998 Update

Page 6 of 6

We have to call the Garage to get Granfather to the hospitol

When i tell you what my Uncles did to Granfather you willnot beleive it. It apears that Granfather and his girlfreind were watchin a tape of Melrose Place -- in the middol of the afternoon for Godsake. What a coupel of pervorts. As usuol, Granfather started screamin at the TV. (He alwayes screams at the TV when Melrose place is on. Aftor watching a half hour or so of it, he gets frustratted because it seems that every peice of dialog on the entire show sounds like the first 2 minutes of a porn film, exept that all you get is the sugestive lustfull dialog but never any of the porn.)

Anyway there was Granfather relaxing in the living room hooked up to the new Atmosphereic Enema with the motor gently running, looking like a nakad man wearing a barrel -- which in this case was a 55-gallon drum which was providding a low presure atmosphere around his scraggly carcass.

Just like the Air Force writes nasty and funny sayings on bombs that they drop on Saddam Hussein, there were all sorts of rude sayings that Granfather and the Female version of perenniol Presidential candidate H. Ross Perrot has scrawled on the outside of the barrel, such as:

I don't Give A Flying

Crap (But I soon will

thanks to This great

new enema-invention).

and also:
"No More Enema-Nems," ...(which is sort of a gross word Granfather made up years ago to discribe small dark round chocollatly looking diaper pellets he usualy gets as a result of conventionol, constant air-presure peristaltic asistance devices already curently on the market now for decades).

When the basterd and his lady freind were suficiantly distracted Uncle Zeke snuck up behind him to whack him unconscous with an ax handle. Then him and Uncle Will (with his last dying strenth) manhandled the female Perote and locked her in the crawlspace below the trailor. (We found this out later. The little hag was plentey pissed when we pulled her out too).

It seems what hapened was that Granfather's brothers took Granfather and dragged him into his bedroom. There the old basterd awoke and treid to fight them off. The Atmospheric Enema(R) was still atached up his butt and so they dumped anothor one of the harebrained inventions into the big steel drum which had been full only of air.
They inventtion they filled it with was the Grout-With-Yeast.

Aparantly Granfather's last words beffore being stuffed was, "HE'PP! SOMEONE HEPP ME!

THEY DONE FILLED MUH BEE -HIND FULL O' CEE -MENT!"

I didnt have no one else to call to take Granfather to the hospitall and so I called the auto reppair garage in town. It cost $300 for them to send 4 guys over to spend 2 hours geting Granfather out the front door and onto the danm truck. They had to put a tow hook and steel cable onto the lip of the 55 gallen drum.

But the way it ended up he fell off the flatbed when we were halfway there and the old basterd fell on the road and so they chardged us only half.

Good thing Granp had that caster wheel nailed to his head othorwise his face woud of had a nice scuff on from draggin on the pavement. You shoud of seen him whip arround on the road fishtailing on the end of that hook at 30 miles per hour behind that truck.

In the hospitol

At the end of this writing, Granfather is in a coma. I am dead serrious. It is now more than a month. They are giving him until Janaury 6, 1999 to come out of it, or else they will pull the plug on him. (Not the plug in his ass, which is now over 40 feet long as it winds thru his intestinnes, and in fact is still expanding from the yeast in the Grout as it gets harder and harder as it dryes). -- No, I mean, realy realy kill him.

The family is curently havin a big fight over it.

It is now in the hands of the lawyors

The female Perott was resceud two full days later, because as Granfather langiushed in groggy lethargy, we all forgot abbout her.

Me and Uncle Zeke went back to the trailor to pull her out of the crawlspace. Her tiny little head had been bound with masking tape to keep the little twit quiet. But now she was yappin like Dino the Flintstone's dog.

"Who the hell you think you are?" she snapped.

"Lock me in the basement, willya? Lock me in the basement like I wus the deficit -- like I wuz some crazy old aunt you coud lock up? Like them politicians in Warshington who pretend there's no Fed'rol Budget deficit?

"You IS the crazy old aunt," barked Uncle Zeke, "And there aint no deficit, cause the Rebuplicans done balanced the budget."

Well the last thing we needed in my familly was anothor politticol argument and so I made them stop.

Like i said the lawyors are now involved.

They let all of us vote on whether or not we shoud pull the plug on Granfather or not, in order to decide whethor we keep him alive by extroddinary means or else let him die in peace.

There were originaly 8 votes: On the one side, Granfather's two brothers voted to pull the plug and for him to die, and so did my brothor and sister in law. That made four votes.

Those who voted to allow Granfather to remain to live on life suport after January 6th if he does not come out of the coma, are me and Dad and my stepmom, and also Granfather, (with his attorny voting "Yes" by proxy, on behalf of the old basterd). That also made 4 votes.

But then somthing crazy hapenned:

Granfather's girlfreind sugested that she be allowed to vote also if she agreed not to testiffy agianst my two uncles for lockin her in the crawlspace for 2 days. The alternattive was a capiitol offense and 20 years in prison for kidnapping. So the two old geezers agreed.

The female version of Ross Perot, (not actually Ross Perot, just the female versien of him) was all readdy to vote YES, and that woud of made 9 votes, with our side winning.

Howevor: Just when she was all ready to vote YES, Dad switched his vote.

I am so pissed at him

It is like he is a turncoat. It is his own father for Godsake. Me and him had a big fight. We both ended up screammin at each other and cryin. I asked hom HOW he coud do it. And he said he felt teribble about it, but that Granpy woud probly no longer suffer, and be going to a better place.

I said to him, "do you realy bellieve that," and he said, "Nah, the old basterd is probly goin to Hell," but in any case he was sure it was for the best becuase Granfather surely woudnt want to stay on life support, and it looked eviddent that he was really a goner.

In tears, I begged my familly to PLEASE let Granfather live. I know i complain abbout him, but I dont realy want him to die. (Aftor all what woud i write about?)

I begged them that insted of Youthanasia, to at least perhaps considor Censure. But the lawyors said that Censure is not in the tradition of youthenasia law, (and besides I do not have the votes for it anyway).

Please stay tuned.

The Grout-With-Yeast keeps expannding in Granfather's intestines. Even if he does come out of the coma, he will probly exploade anyway. There is no way to remove the mass from the old basterd's gut. From the waist down he looks like he swalowwed a blimp. Plus the 55-gallen drum is propped up in anothor hospital bed in the same room because it is still atached to his ass. (Good thing Medicade is paying for the second bed). From the waist up he is blue and pale. I am affraid even the non-human animal stregnth of the old monster can not rally a recovory. If he does not wake up like I said he will die.