I'll be honest. I never really liked my Mom. She was weird and sort of creepy and always punished me. But I was an only child and had my own room and Friday nights were sacred to me. I'd hole up in my room with a stack of the latest Marvel comics and a bag of Jelly Bellies and shit could have been worse.
This is about one Friday when shit was worse. Much worse. It all started when my Mom told me on Thursday night I'd be sleeping over Grandpa's house that Friday. I flat out refused but was threatened with seven levels of hell if I did not go and was promised that my Grandpa's creepy wife with the bouffant hairdo would not be there and that Grandpa had gotten a brand new color TV.
Big fucking shit. Grandpa was a negative dick. The kind of dick who'd give you a present and then wonder out loud, "Let's see how long it takes him to break this one...". But his daughter, my mother, was if nothing, a chip off the old dick. So it was the choice between one night in Doucheville with Color TV or a whole month of punishment.
Running away was not an option as my net worth was not quite the princely sum of $8.50 and where would I run anyway? So when Friday came and Grandpa showed up to get me out the door I went.
True to my mother's word his ghastly wife with the bouffant hairdo and giant wart on her shnozola was working the night shift somewhere; probably auditing the books at the Elvira mansion and his legless mother-in-law (more on that later) was confined to her room at the back of the bus.
So I said to myself, "Me... Looks like it might not be so bad. Watch a little telly and back tomorrow in time for baseball and that stack of comic books I was jonesin' on." At about 8pm just as we were finishing up our nutritiously delicious Hungry Man TV Dinners it seemed my biggest dilemma of the night was whether we were going to be watching Donny & Marie or The New Adventures Of Wonder Woman...
Now personally I was all about Wonder Woman but Marie did have those big DSLs so yeah... my survival was looking most assured. Grandpa who taught junior high school in the inner city was bitching about the shvartzes as usual (that's derogatory neurotic jew speak for black people) but I was more concerned with watching a big green giant at 9pm on Channel 2 known as, "The Incredible Hulk". It was the best of times. It was about to become...
The worst of times.
Just as Lynda Carter was about to make her debut the telephone rang. My grandpa answered it and came back into the living room a few minutes later just as I was starting to think impure thoughts about what I'd like Wonder Woman to do to little me with that big rope.
"Get your coat. We have to go out to Long Island. Louise's brother-in-law died."
Cock sucking mother-fuckin' two ton bitch how the fuck did I know goin' to Grandpa's house was gonna make my barely pubescent titty-balls itch?
So in the Dodge Dart we go and on to the LIE off to who can remember where. All I know is no Incredible Hulk, no Wonder Woman and there would be a corpse involved. Well on the way I notice my Grandpa is sweating profusely and guzzling cans of Diet Soda one after the other and apparently having trouble with his eyes as he is driving. That meant the car swerved once too many times and his nerves were becoming my nerves.
I curse my mother. Yet we manage to arrive in one piece to a suburban house that looks like all other suburban houses. In we go to be greeted by my Grandfather's druscilla of a wife. Turns out she had a sister with a blue bouffant to complement her white bouffant. Sorta like Marge only without the kindness.
Well it turns out Marge's husband was sitting on the porch with their developmentally disabled 20 year old son when he apparently decided, "Fuck this. I'm outta here..." and promptly had a massive coronary. Thing was because his son was not all there if you catch my drift; he just kept talking to Daddy deadest. And talking. Apparently this talking to the dead shtick went on for an hour or two till the wife got home and realized Daddy didn't really give a shit what was for dinner that Friday night.
Now the thing was the son didn't know his father wasn't just napping to escape their convo and apparently nobody thought he was capable of handling the news. So when I got there they promptly locked me in the basement with him and told me to talk to him about cars. He liked cars. I didn't know shit about cars except that I almost died myself in one just a couple of hours ago. And now I found myself trapped in a basement with a strange bird who could apparently talk grown men to death. TGI to the mother fucking F.
Yeah so for the next three hours while the "grown-ups" were taking care of shit upstairs I was a captive audience to Mario Andretti of the.... all-right... I'll keep it light. Let's just say he was a close talker and not only did I get the Car & Driver report for 1978 I got the accuweather report too. How far could $8.50 get me?
So finally, interminably, somehow it was eventually time to leave. In the car my Grandpa's scarey-ass wife started promptly yelling about him not taking his insulin (WTF?!?!) and driving. Seems Grandpa's proclivity for a lifetime of TV dinners, cigars and snickers bars had done caught up to him and like those Amazonian fish; he was in de Nile.
Well she forces him to get off the highway somewhere so she can drive and it turns out she can't really drive. I mean she has a license but that don't mean she can get the job done. So now Grandpa's sweatin' and screamin' and she's sweatin' and screamin' and the cars swervin' and screamin' and I'm sitting in the back seat thinkin', "fuck... I shoulda took the punishment..."
After what seems like a lifetime we get back to Grandpa's house and walk in the front door to a sight I will never forget. On the kitchen floor, with a pair of shit covered wooden legs is Great-granny bouffant. Now speakin' of diabetes it turns out that she had it and several years ago was gonna have to have one of her legs amputated.
Can you guess what happened?
Yeppers. Cut the wrong leg off. Now everybody hated this lady. But she was rich from the malpractice suit so they kept her around in the back room waiting for her to kick the bucket herself so's they can inherit the leg money. Only that night there was nobody to feed her so she took it upon herself to locomote to the kitchen for some snackage and her legs came out from under her and gravity can't be blamed for doing its thing.
Of course then she hadda take a big old super-sized shit (this is before super-sizing it was the shit) and since they didn't have those, "I've fallen and I can't get up" dealios she stayed down. In the shit. Yep. I shit you not.
So the house smelled like shit. I almost vomited but fuck it; I swallowed my bile; a kid's gotta become a man sometime right?
And that's why I'm never sleeping over at Grandpa's house again.
Originally posted on r/nosleep under the pen name mypumassmellfunky.
