I am open to critticism. Send some along of you think it will help.
Page 49 of 50
Also I got allot of phonecalls and the way it ended up there was one big long conference call with the server people. Do you know how when someone is typing or talkin in a conference call you cant hear nothing else?
Well, Bourbon Boy Red, who was still nursing a broke wing from a stern Kraut box-kick, let out a wailing gobble that made it inposible for anyone else on the call (there were 9 people on it) from hearing anyone else talk.
Meanwhile, Granfather thrashed and bucked his plastic carcass to scurrey up to the phone. He poked me, with that hiddeous toothbrush still in his mouth, and pointed it at the console phone. "AIN'T THEY INVENTED A NEW PHONE YET TO HANDLE BACKGROUND NOISE?"
I said to him, "Granfather, these are INTERNET PROFESIONALS at my job! They can hear you!"
"OH YEAH?" the old beast hollored at the phone, "IF Y'ALL KIN HEAR ME, THEN WHUT THE HELL HAPPENED TO THE NASDAQ?
"WHY'S MUH FOUR-O-ONE-KAY NOW A ONE -O-ONE-KAY? I'M UNCONCIOUS FER A FEW MONTHS, I COME BACK, AND NOW IT'S NAME YER OWN PRICE FER CERTIAN STOCKS WHICH I WON'T MENTION RIGHT NOW BY NAME..."
The cruel old basterd dosent have a 401K, cause he never had a job. He just wanted to hoummilliate me in front of my co-workors. Meanwhile the turkey contieud to screech and bleat and gobble-gobble from outside and it was so loud thru the window. To his delight, Granfather realized that loud farting in close proximmity to the console speaker woud also spoil the conference call meeting. The vicious discousting horiffic old basterd contineud screamin in the phone, so now disruptive noise was comin out of both ends.
"AIN'T Y'ALL YET INVENTED A PHONE TO KEEP OUT THE LIKES O'THIS?"...said Granfather just as he let somthing go that rocked the trailer and not only that, set off the poor turkey to be screamin like crazy.
Granfather went on and on, yammering in the speakorphone, spitting as he talked about every stupid subject. Like how even CBS, which used to be the Elderly Folks Network, dropped the kindly and geriatric Diagnosis: Murder for the likes of Big Brother 2 with its lathery whipped cream nudity and blattent yet serious live TV requests for oral pleasure.
"I JUST DON'T GET IT," he grumped. "HOW COUD OUR SOCIETY OF DONE SUNK TO SUCH IMMORAL DEPTHS SO FAST?" said Granfather, looking up at me in his phoney, plastored-on-in-plasticine, sattistfied Clintonfaced crotch-level smirk.
I sprang up to get the danm turkey and move him to the othor side of the yard. As I approaced the poor traummatized animal and smiled to reassure it, it seemed only to see my now-black teeth and what looked like one big sharp fang. It mistook me for an atacking predator instead.
It raised and reared its defformed misshapen head at me and pecked a peice of flesh right out of my leg, upon which, when as it happened, alls I coud think of was, (the pain and blood be danmed), Thank God he was the Third biggest turkey In Texas and not the Fourth othorwise hed of got me right in the balls.
Staggoring back into the trailer reeling and bleeding, I colapsed on Granfather's sofa chair. The conversation inside seemed more calmed down. The old basterd was still speakin into the console phone, with both the toothbrush and the cigarete in his mouth, and this time discussing some othor form of nonsense with the people at my job with errudite, almost polite authority,
"I'LL TELL Y'ALL WHUT:
"IF'N Y'ALL KIN REALLY LEVERAGE YOUR ASSETS WHILE INTEGRATIN' YER CUSTOMER'S LEGACY SYSTEMS, YOU'LL STREAMLINE THAT SUMBITCH SUPPLY CHAIN, MULTI-PLATFORM-WISE ACROSS THE WHOLE DANM ENTERPRISE..."
...SIDE BAR THAT THOUGHT FER A SECOND, Y'ALL...
Granfather looked up at me and hollored at me from the kitchen,
"HEY, MISTER STANKEY-TEETH. WHY DON'T YOU LEVERAGE YO' ASS OUT O'MAH SEAT, 'FORE I GIVE YOU A THIRTY-OUGHT-SIX ROCKSALT SHOTGUN ENEMA?"
The trilly high pitched warble of Tilde's twang meekly tittered on the speakerphone. "Oh dear. Did everyone hear that? THATS why I had to call the authorrites on them. Walter is weak! His home home is not conducive to the eventual flowering of his poor self esteem, and...."
Seconds later, I dial Stu. "Walt," he said breathlessley, "I just stepped out of the conference room. Listen, remembor when we were on the phone before, and you were tellin me about how Spike took a few shots those former-Red Barons?"
"Damn!" Stu blurted sudenly, "I just dropped my cellphone in the urinal, I cant believ....sizzle-sizzle-sputter-pop-pop-pppppssssss...."
I wheeled Granfather out on the ricketey wood porch. The sheriff came up the creaky steps and tipped his hat, "I'll let the County Clerk do all the talkin' since he's been deputized," he drawled, and stood at atention while Hans and Fritz (whose real names I think were Horst and Gerhardt) stood scowling on eithor side of him, and folded their arms.
"Rather then fight you mit der guns, ve haff decided to call der cops," said one of the Germans.
"In OUR country, vee hapilly vork out our differences. But instead, vee shall turn to a TRADITIONAL AMERICAN SOLUTION to der problem."
"Yah," said the second German, How do you say in English? VEE VILL SUE YOUR ASS."
"Vee merely pressed Der On-Star button on der dash of der Tahoe to call der Cops, Yah." said the first.
Granfather responded with glee, "I GOT ON-STAR TOO!"
The Germans looked at eachother and their eyebrows raised in shocked suprise.
"It speaks!" said one.
"Yah. Eeet vas NOT another American lie," said the othor.
Slowly they approched Granfather and rapped their knuckles on his hard laquered surface. The two looked at eachother again, nodded and said:
"Very well then, It is agreed."
"Very well then, the Sherif's department agrees," said the Sheriff
"Very well then HOT DAMN, the County agrees too!" cried the County Clerk joyfully whuppin it like he'd just won Powerball.
The whole thing clung ireversably to his skull in thick, flowing waist length shredds of fluffy matted cloth. The guy at the Unisex gave him a choice of a short Dorothy Hamill wedge cut, with brown streaks and blond highlights, or a nice set of suprisingly authentic looking henna tinted dreadlocks, which is what he chose. An ennormous, yarn-knit Jamaican-flag-jiffypop cap held the top of the fresh 'do in place.
When they first said this I was shocked but all those present, (especialy, Spike, Zeke, the County Clerk, the Sherif...well, Okay then, everyone but ME), agreed to this with great pleasant unity.
One of the Germans came close to say soothingley, yet menacingly, "Don't cry, little fellow. You shoud wish YOU are going, Yah. Look at how your Governor, and now your President has soiled your teeth mit his Dumbkopf polluted water policies."
The other one patted me condessendingly on the head and called me, "Liebshen Ein Fang Schwartzen-Denten," or some such intentionol overly-sweet insult regarding how the black magic markor had stained my teeth into appearing as a single pointy fang.