The world fammous
Walter Miller's Homepage(TM)

If this is the 21st Century I want to go back

The Summer 2001 Update

Page 8 of 50

Dad and dropped to his knees and held his head. There was blood seeping thruogh his fingers. I hollored at Uncle Zeke who stood by half crouching, deffiant and jut jawed, pokin his lower lip at us while over his giant jar shaped head still held the golfclub aloft ready to take anothor swing.

Aftor a minute Dad got up and said it was just a graizing, despite the blood. Oh, God, there was an awful amount of blood.

Dad's Prostettic Eyebrow

I started cryin histerically and between my sobs I squeaked out some harsh words to Uncle Zeke who backed away. The damage was actualy not realy that bad. There was a small scraipe where the skin beneath Dad's fake eyebrow was tored off as the golfclub whisked past it.

Yes my father has ONE FAKE EYEBROUW. Many of my longtime readors already know this, and remember back in 1997 how he lost it when on a trip here in Texas he stood in Granfather's kitchen. You are wellcome to dig back into the archives of that year but in case you dont have time, I will encapsullate the story to say that Granfather, trapped for sevoral months in a fold out sofa bed by his jeallous girlfreind when she cought him fooling around in it with another woman, tossed a lit cigarete in the air which passed by his ass (his own ass) just at the moment he make a big fart which caused a shooting 20 foot long arching firey blaze that not only left a crusty sheen of baked-on-flux along the length of our kitchen cabinnets but burnt off pernamently one of Dad's eyebrows as he stood way off at the end of the flame.

Well anyway the eyebrouw was now missing. And since '97, allot's changed with medicol care in this country, what with the friggin HMOs which will NOT PAY FOR A REPLACEMENT.

Arrogent selfish HMO basterds.

The Houmilliation of being Me.

Some family reunion. And I mean that sarcaustically. Me and Dad clambored arround on our hands and knees to find the eyebrow, which like, cost $800 bucks to replace, and more than once while searching the palm of my hand landed square in dog crap. It began to rain. In wordless silence I wept softley and looked ovor to Dad who also had tears in his eyes, sureley for the same reason as me: that even aftor death, the legacy of GRANFATHER has continued the hatred, shame, and houmilliation of our family's incurable disfunctionallity.

We were out there a long long time looking but did not find Dad's eyebrow.

That night

The odor of the whole area arround the trailer was filled with gasoline fumes because we did not turn off the engine of the van even once. Which is just as well, because the odor masked Granp's naturel stinking stench. Madison said that if the gasoline powored electric charge disconects from the old basterd for even a second, he woud die.

Junior once agian exceeds his own boundless stupiditty

In his zeal to keep Granfather alive, and thereby ensure more years of cruelty and abuse from the old basterd, Junior quickly siphonned out the gas in his own car, and pored it into the tank of the van. This was a stupid idea, not only beccause the van got worse gas mileage than his car, but because now there was no way for Junoir to drive to town to buy more gas. And after a few hours, that is exactley what we needed: more gasoline.

So, Junior walked to town with a gas can. It was a six mile walk. In a furthor example of Junior's lamebrainedness, before he got the the end of the property he came runnin back to the house with tears runnin down his face.

"I put the gas can down to scratch mah ass, but now with all the junk on Granpy's property, I caint find it!", he wailed. Yes, Granfather's propperty is allmost a sqaure mile jungle of trash, garbage and crap.

Instead Junior took a wheelbarrow, and rolled that to town. Which once he got there he filled to the brim with Unleaded Premuim and carefully pushed it down the state route back to our trailer being carefull all the while not to splash or spill any. All told it took him about fourteen hours to do this.

A glimmor of evil

Meanwhile, Dr. Madison pefformed a delicate yet dangerous procedure. He took an ellectric plaster cast cuttor and very carefully made a few holes in the fiberglass coating that ensconced the old basterd. He opted to take it off arround his eyes, mouth and ass, (in case Granfather had to crap, which if it came out in the plastic shell risked blowin up the whole danm county).

When the crust was removed from Granfather's eyes, they just staired ahead lifelessly. About this time, the overly-drammatic Dr. Blankenship, who is one of the othor Criptozoologists, arrived back from the University where Granfather is studied. As Madison carefuley worked, Blankenship set up his laptop, where he booted up this speciel software that projected theories on how to bring toxic fermenting dormant funguses (of which Granfather is one), back to life.

Granfather sees somthing familior

Granfather staired at Blankenship's laptop screen as the software loaded in strips of blue bars on grey windows. This must of excited the old basterd cause his evil cobra eyes quivored a bit.

"I'm getting some brain activity," said Madison, "It must be be cause all these slow loading files resemble a byte-heavy high-bandwidth pornogrophy website."

Then Granfather actualy blinked.

"Aye!" Blankenship cried in his Highlandor brogue, "The wee-brained Beastie 'tis senscient. The Beastie lives!"

It was two a.m., and everyone was excited (well, mabye only Granfather), but some of us had to go to work the next day for Crying out Loud. I did not sleep well, partly cause of all the noise the Criptoes were making and also cause I was so worried that my life woud take a turn for the worse now that GRANFATHER WAS ALIVE AGIAN.

Walter Miller's Homepage(TM)