Oh Grandpa, patron saint of the Cults! You used to be such a spicy bite of Vegamite. What on Earth happened to you? One day you were hobbling around like a drunken pirate with termites in his peg leg, and the next day, there was no sign of you anywhere. There was only a lumpy piece of rolled up carpeting in the back of RichEdie's truck, and Nurseboy Nick was driving your jalopy off into the nearest ravine. I just can't figure out where you might have gone!
It was me, wasn't it? No, do not deny it. I must accept the consequences, though I shall not be happy with them. I must have scared you off when you caught me peering at you from behind the blinds. It enraged you to the point of kicking a field goal with the cat that was walking across your front yard at the time. At least you could have called and told me where you were going. You could have told me why you felt that we needed time apart. I'm an accommodating person. I would have given you space if you had only asked for it. But look at what happens when you don't ask for space. How much space do you have inside that carpet roll now, you greasy haired little man?
I can't help but to think of all the times we spent together! I remember how you used to lurch your truck out of the driveway and it would make me blush and titter. You would try to run over the kids walking to the bus stop while leering out the window, watching me as I watched you, and it made the bottom of my feet sweat. I remember the way you used to situate that wooden lump you called a wig on top of your head, positioning it just so, and how Nurseboy Nick would just sit on the front stoop looking like a lonely six year old girl with a beard, and he would watch you with eyes full of admiration and shorts full of pudding.
Hey! What about that time you and the rest of the Cults left your front porch light on Halloween night? Every time some little kids would come up to receive their complimentary bit of Cult-ure, you would throw the door open and scream at them to go away and threaten them with your own bag of flaming poo! Oh, that was an awesome display of mental prowess, good sir! I will never forget the sense of wonder and lunacy you instilled in me. You were brilliant! Who would think that on Halloween night, of all nights, would be a good time to leave your front porch light on, especially if you didn't want little satanic hoodlums running up and beating on your door every three and a half seconds to get your secret stash of Grandpa's Goodies(tm)? You, sir! That's who! And of course, that was the night I knew. That was the night I understood why you call yourselves the Cults, and it made my heart flutter. I called 911.
The day I came home from the hospital, I no longer felt your harsh stare on the back of my neck as I walked back in from getting my mail. I didn't want to believe it. I hoped and prayed that you would return to me, as I did for you, bringing your once boundless joy, mirth and hair tonic stained shirts back to the community, but alas, my heart remains lonely and my hopes are unfulfilled. But fear not, Grandpa! I will wait for you with Cheeto stained fingers, you god of men.
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