Finally, it's done. Sorry for the wait, but I'll be shipping everything out Friday. Thanks for the support, and hopefully you'll like it.

The check was sent last week for getting the book printed up. It should be ready by mid next month. Everything in the packages like the posters and such will be sent with them.

I could see the rage in his eyes, so with my quick wits I grabbed the lighter for the grill. It was the one that was about as long as a bubble gum cigar, but contained more unhealthy content. Once I got it lit there was an immediate relief of tension. As I watched him smoking, I realized that it was Grandpa’s last cigarette accompanied by the last time that I’d ever talk to him again. Maybe I should’ve told him how much he had meant to me, but then I thought that was just “pussy talk” as Grandpa would say. So I grabbed myself a hot dog from the fridge that I left unpackaged for such an occasion and continued with my daily life. I watched him as his eyes slowly closed. The cigarette butt teetered between his lips before slowly slipping out of his mouth.

Just when I was starting to relax in my brown leather recliner, that I had to talk Grandpa into freeing from the dumpster for me, he initiated the convulsing like he had rabies, except with no foaming of the mouth. As he sat there shaking, I swear I heard every bone in his body crack; it was disgusting. I’ve had pop rocks that made less noise. I went into the other room to call the hospital so they could come and body bag Gramps, but when I got back into the living room, he had vanished.

I knew that something was wrong, I wasn’t the smartest kid in class but I definitely wasn’t the dumbest. I knew he was dead; I witnessed his death. If he wasn’t dead he would’ve inhaled the last couple of drags himself instead of feeding the rest to the carpet. Immediately I got into my dark gray sweat pants that expanded four extra sizes because I knew I was in for a journey. You never know how much will be eaten after an extended period of time. I was tying the strings that ran along the elastic band in my pants when the dog started to bark outside. That mutt could never keep his trap shut, but due to the certain circumstances, I resolved that it might be in my best interest to check it out.

I ran to the window rubbing away the thin layer of brown dust in a circular motion. I peered through the smudges from my oily hands and there was Gramps, for some bizarre reason devouring the dog tail first. This was by no means an attractive dog either. Trash was a floppy eared Basset Hound that was severely overweight because I liked to feed him for the week all at once. Grandpa was always a bit of a moron, but come on, everyone knows that if you’re going to eat a live dog, you submerge its head into your mouth first. It should’ve been common sense that devouring a dog bottom first was a bad idea. I scurried down the creaking stairs before stumbling out of the front door to nab Grandpa and bring him back inside. By the time I got over to Trash’s violated body, his tail was all bone with a few strings of mangled flesh dripping the blood that pulsed out just above his rear end. Grandpa’s hand was in the exact same condition from the dog chomping on it the whole time. His fingers clung onto the hand by threads of skin, juices draining from the puncture wounds that invaded his arthritis.