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It used to be just crappy and spelt wrong. Now its allways late too.

November can mean only one thing:

the Septembor 1999 Update

Page 3 of 6

OK, so the next day me and the ghastly monstrous unexplainned biophenomena known as Granfather were ready to go to the doctor. First I had to gas the car up and I told the old basterd to PLEASE stay in the car while i went in and paid for the gas. Granfather's behavoir is really awfull lately. He is unruly and starts fights with strangors in public.

Advice from the Criptos

Madison, Ripke and Blankenship are the three cryptozoology researchers from the Universitty and while they are not medicol doctors they did tell me to secure the old basterd in a seatbelt that only I can unlock as long as I am not away from the car for more than five minuttes and also leave the window open a crack. Granfather squeals and thrashes allot in the car and so theres a bunch of basterd toys in there for him to play with like a rawhide bone and a squeakey rubber porkchop. Also this othor item he referrs to as, "MAH FAKE RUBBER BITCH" that Im not suposed to talk abbout. (No, it is NOT what you are thinking -- lets just put it this way, it is more imatture than dsgousting).

As far as lockin the old basterd in the car, I am not being mean or inhumaine here. You haveto understand that Granfather is not entireley human. He is mostly a savage animol.

So anyway I am inside the Mini Mart paying and dont you know thruogh the glass I see the old basterd outside of the car. He is sneakey and oily and slithored out of his locked seatbelt like a slippory eel or greasy snake.

An argeument with a stranger

Grampy is standing there tryin to prop himself up on wobboly legs, and still wearing the cardboard animal cone around his neck which hes had on for the past few weeks. Tha old basterd is havin some harsh words with this big burly man. The arguement was about the man's car. The big burley man parked next to us was drivin a hot rod.

Granfather hates hot rods.

This particulor hotrod looked like a very nice Ford Model A from the 1930s that was chopped and lowored and repainted and had the engine chromed. Granfather likes old cars but once you chop a hot rod you cannot restore it as an originol old car. Granps thinks that a hotrod is not originol and is a mutilation. Why the old basterd takes such an extream view is in my mind sick and obbsesive. Granfather screamed at the man and even spit on the man's car.

"LOOK WHUT YOU DONE TO THET PURTY FORD!

"IT'S LIKE CUTTIN' PIECES OFF ONE O' GOD'S PERFICT CREATURES!" he screammed, "YOU FREAKIN' GHOUL!"

Also the word Granfather used was MUCH WORSER than 'Freakin' and so I was really hummilliatted. The big burley man was not goingto take this layin down and so he started fightin back with Granfather, pushing him and hollerin at him. The old basterd's responce to this was to spit more on the car and this time also he held one nostril shut and with a loud honking grunt blew an awfull stringy thread of luminnous emerald snot which leaped and looped and arked in the air to land upside the like a gummy lanyard across all the custom paint and he said to mock the man:
"AAA-OOO -GAAH!"
just like the horns on the old cars. I am sure if Granfather was not an ancient withered old man he woud of got his ass kicked. And when I say "emerald colored" snot I dont mean it as a comploment, it is really more like the color of a disease carreying greenbottol horsefly.

"IT'S AIN'T A WORK OF ART! IT'S A TRAVESTY!" he shouted. After they argue som more the old basterd bursts in the front door of the Mini Mart and lunges his disgousting twiglike hand across the countor and grabs one of those prehistoric blistery hot dogs which is roatating under the heatlamp. Then just as quick he exits by kickin the door open, and the big burley man who is now lovingly wiping Granfather's vennemous spew off his car with a peice of soft chammy cloth rears up just as the old basterd throws the weener at his face, "HERE! I DONE CUT OFF PART O' MYSEFF!"

The man reared up and cowored cause he didnt know what the hell it was the old basterd throwed at him. The Asian man behind the countor at the Mini Mart used to threaton us with an ax handel everytime Granfather took somthin without paying but today he stood there calmley. That is because now we have a running tab with him deducted strait from a court ordered debit card acount at 19% interest compounded weekly and begining at the day of theivery.

On the way to the doctor

I was so upset I treid to hold back my tears as I drove and Granfather still hollored like crazy about how angrey he was.

It is a 37 mile drive to the new HMO we go to and the whole drive the evil brutish annimal hissed and rambleled on poisionously about everything under the sun: His hatred for hotrods, his hatred toword his brothors on the East Coast, his hatred toword the County Clerk, (even thuogh he was now a vanquished enemy who lived in raw fear of him), all the while rattoling the windows with the violent fury of him screamin at the top of his lungs with a cigarete cletched in his teeth and spraying toxic saliva that spattored on the back of my neck and even the winsheild ahead of me as I drove that burnt my skin with a freezing caustic cold.

I said "How coud you pick a fight with that big man, Granfather?"

The beastly geezer muttored back, "GOLLDANG, DAD-BURNED HOT RODDERS.

"I ONLY DONE DID IT IN THE NAME OF ART.

Oh, Hm, Yeah, right , Granfather knows about art. How DARE he sugest he knows about art.

My latest peverse fantacy

On the first busines trip I take to New york City I have this peverse fantacy of leaving the old basterd on the sidewalk infront of the Modern Art Museam. Where soon afterword he is captured by these artsy-fartsy musculor art Goons who mistake him for a foulsmelling feces-smeared controvercial Federaly funded modern art exibit made of excrement that somehow ended up not in its proper place inside the gallery wing and so they grab Gramps by his arms and drag him off up the stairs of the museam kicking and screamming in protest where he is then ensconced alive in a block of liqiud clear plastic lucite while fearfully and desperately thrashing arround as to save his life. And as the final liqued hardens and dries crystol clear and rock hard arround his howling gasping face, immobbilizing his repulsive visage into a a scream of death, the artsy-fartsy musculor art Goons harshly say in there purpocely offensive yet artisticly Bohemian way, "STAY STILL, MISTER POO, or else the frigin exibit wont dry right."

I am sort of the sensitive type, (and, OK, ashamedly I admit it, Im also a bit of a codependent), and I treid so hard to get the old basterd to admitt to me what was the danm problem with his atittude. But he woud not budge.

"YEP, I'LL CONFESS, I GOT A BURR UP MAH ASS ABOUT SOMTHIN ," the old monster conseeded, "BUT WHUT 'ZACTLY THET IS, IS NONE O'YOUR BEE - EYE BIDNESS!"

All along the state highway as I drove and treid to ignore Granfather's savage wails I also noticed a few cars that passed me make some angry gestoures my way, and then I realized that the creul antique ogre was throwin somthin out the car window at othor motorists.

"What are you throwin at other cars?", i demanded.