Hello campers! Percy’s back from his summer vacation with the son and his terrible horrible family! My grandchild Rick told me that’s how the kids are speaking these days; talking all in the third person like a goddamn fool. Fool or no fool, do I have a story to tell whoever is reading this.
Rick, you know how I told you some things aren’t meant for grandchildren? Well, this is one of those stories. I probably shouldn’t have given this internet blog post such a blue title if I didn’t want you to read this, but my Fig Newtons are jammed into the backspace key on the old keyboard and there’s no turning back.
Rick, go practice your throwing now.
Ok, so last weekend was the annual Ungrateful Children of Percy Reunion at the Olive Garden in whatever city my son, Jimmy, lives in. I like the bread sticks.
On Saturday morning, Jimmy and his wife, Deborah, along with their spoiled children, picked me up at the home they forced me into so they could steal my house. We then drove for three hours in the comfort of their children’s incessant wailing. Talk about a blast!
Finally, we arrived at the parking lot of the Olive Garden in whatever urban wasteland my spawn moved away from me for. All my kids, and their kids, were there, which for the first few minutes made me about as happy as I am on Ribeye Night at the home — just pink enough, but not too bloody! (Geri always laughs when I say that for some reason. Hmm…) — but then things turned sour. My ex-wife showed up with her batch of Percy seeds. Oh boy.
Maude is, was and forever shall be a bitch. A giant bitch. Queen bitch, with one of those fancy headdresses all the Egyptians wore. Bitchopatra or something like that.
Maude walks up with our eldest mistake, Tony, and I can tell somthing is different about him. Same jerkoff attitude and same jerkoff voice, but he’s holding a keychain in his hand. I think it’s from that group with the cars and the women with the legs. ZZ Top.
Tony has never shown an ounce of manhood since I first slapped him in the mouth for crying during the scene in On Golden Pond when Henry Fonda falls in the water. But that’s neither here nor there. See, Tony has a brand new used car he wants to show me and he’s all smiles as he walks up in his mesh tank top and shorts with lots of pockets for cargo.
He helps me walk all the way over to the parking lot to gaze upon his 1984 Camaro IRAQ. What a piece of shit. It’s got a bird on the hood, but not like in Smokey & The Bandit. Instead, it’s some chicken that’s touching itself like a damn pederast! Tony keeps telling me how much of a steal the car was, but all I can focus on is the giant fucking bird’s eyes, following me as I slowly push my walker away from the masturbating bird. I think I stopped listening to Tony describe the lamb’s wool seat covers around that time, because suddenly he grabs me and asks where I’m going. I must have hit the record button on the new phone Jimmy gave me, because the rest of my conversation with Tony went like this:
“Don’t you want to see the inside, grandpa?”
“No, Tony. Your car is shit and that bird is freaking me out. Let me grab some potato salad away from your shit ass bird rubbing itself for all the children here to see.”
“But, grandpa. I was hoping you’d be willing to lend me a few bucks for some of those sweet mudflaps with the naked ladies on them. You know how you’re always giving Rick money for baseball cards and throwing lessons? It’s not fair you never give me anything, especially since I can throw a baseball and all.”
Tony’s right on one point — he throws a baseball better than that pansy Rick can any day of the week (unless it’s in the month of Fagtober) — but Tony broke my cardinal rule: Never Ask Percy For Money. Next thing you know…
“Money? Why. I. Oughta!”
I lunged at Tony’s collared shirt and pulled. He fell into me and I kicked him in the shin. He didn’t seem fazed, but he moved out of my way, giving me a clear shot at the cock hood. I strained to lift my walker high enough, but the Lord blessed me at that moment and I hoisted my walker and dropped it with extreme prejudice on that damn chicken and his sinful appendage.
Jimmy and Deborah heard the noise of my walker scraping against the aluminum hood and ran over. Maude just stood there talking to someone else about what a shitheel I was. Tony was on his knees crying for me to stop. At least this time it’s not over Henry Fonda and Katherine Hepburn!
– Percy “Big Ups” Johanson