continued coaxingly. When we entered the room, Hilding Dahlgren, who was stark naked, wobbled and staggared around in a wet, oozing morass of shit and vomit.
—But what on earth, he clamored, rubbing his pupasack, his nipples going stiff with fear.
—Get a hold of yourself, have you gone schizo? Grandpa asked, embracing him. Hey there, Grandpa soothed, don’t you remember me?
—But is it possible that you’ve really come to visit after all these years, Hilding snuffled. It just makes me want to cry, he went on in a smokeychokey voice. God bless you, Grandpa, for thinking of a poor old man! he moaned and grabbed Grandpas chainlinksus-penders so hard he pulled him over.
—You’ve become kinda chubby, but otherwise you haven’t changed a bit, Grandpa choked out.
—And you’re a consumptive, wasted fuck, just like you always were, cackled Hilding. But plop yourself down, welcome to my rathole, make youself at home, he said and pulled himself off the floor. Black coffees all I’ve got, if that’ll do.
—Don’t bother about coffee! I said politely.
—And who’s this little shit? Hilding glared, suddenly enraged.
—I brought my calf with me, Grandpa explained and pinched my ass. In case you’re in the mood. You still got sauce in that old bag?
—Don’t take this the wrong way, Grandpageezer, but these days they ring the churchbells for a miracle if I happen to get blood in my cock. Now that I’m old, I shrivel up when some tyke grabs my fly and puckers on up. And that’s the truth.
—I know just what you mean, the same thing’s happened to me, Grandpa lied and started telling him what we’d been up to.
—Hell, you need a drink! Hilding exclaimed. And I could use a nip myself, he said. You know, I was sure it was the crimcram coming to take away my nearest and dearest. I thank God for the day that He gave me Leatherbeaver here, Hilding proclaimed sanctimoniously and fingerfucked the pulsing mooseass that had been his only sexpartner for countless years. I hit him over by Twelve Meter Basin, and no devil alive’s going to take him from me. Over my dead body! Anyway, get ready for a smoker, he said, rooting around in the mountain of bottles in the living room.
—You know, Kosken and Explorer are for old aunties. Give me Hormoslyr and antifreeze any day, Hilding babbled. But you’ll see! Drink your fill, don’t be shy, he called out.
The two old men took swigs that made their bodies shudder and thrash. Me—I dipped my blanky in paint thinner and enjoyed the sweet, sweet aroma.
—Hilding, my friend, Grandpa said, as he stretched, we brought along some snacks we’d be willing to share.
—Show me what you’ve got, Hilding hiccupped, staring glassyeyed, as I opened the basket and displayed the goodies. Rotten vealbrawn and pickled pigdick! And an old Swissroll! All this tasty stuffy for me? Thanks, thankyouthankyou, he stammered. But for the life of me, I don’t know how I’m going to keep these treats down, since I can’t even stomach dumplings, he complained and pointed to some enormous throatpuslumps, which had gone right through him. Each of them was as big as two clenched fists, had been swallowed whole, and were smeared with grease.
—Once a wackjob, always a wackjob, Grandpa sighed.
—Yeah, you are what you are, you can’t fart freely and be anal-retentive all at once, Hilding agreed and scratched at his head of German hair.
—Que será será, sweety, Grandpa muttered, taking a long drag from his ciggi and flicking ash on my fontanelle.
Senor Dahlgren set the table and Grandpa blessed our meal.
—Hold up, boy, you’re like a magpie over entrails, Hilding yelped, when he saw my mouth start to water.
—Big eyes, small gullet, Grandpa said sarcastically and rammed a fork into the roof of my mouth.
—The eyes say yes, the shithole no, Hilding declared, joining the fun.
Grandpa went at it like he was starving, but Hildings rotten piehole played it delicate.
—I have to
—But what on earth, he clamored, rubbing his pupasack, his nipples going stiff with fear.
—Get a hold of yourself, have you gone schizo? Grandpa asked, embracing him. Hey there, Grandpa soothed, don’t you remember me?
—But is it possible that you’ve really come to visit after all these years, Hilding snuffled. It just makes me want to cry, he went on in a smokeychokey voice. God bless you, Grandpa, for thinking of a poor old man! he moaned and grabbed Grandpas chainlinksus-penders so hard he pulled him over.
—You’ve become kinda chubby, but otherwise you haven’t changed a bit, Grandpa choked out.
—And you’re a consumptive, wasted fuck, just like you always were, cackled Hilding. But plop yourself down, welcome to my rathole, make youself at home, he said and pulled himself off the floor. Black coffees all I’ve got, if that’ll do.
—Don’t bother about coffee! I said politely.
—And who’s this little shit? Hilding glared, suddenly enraged.
—I brought my calf with me, Grandpa explained and pinched my ass. In case you’re in the mood. You still got sauce in that old bag?
—Don’t take this the wrong way, Grandpageezer, but these days they ring the churchbells for a miracle if I happen to get blood in my cock. Now that I’m old, I shrivel up when some tyke grabs my fly and puckers on up. And that’s the truth.
—I know just what you mean, the same thing’s happened to me, Grandpa lied and started telling him what we’d been up to.
—Hell, you need a drink! Hilding exclaimed. And I could use a nip myself, he said. You know, I was sure it was the crimcram coming to take away my nearest and dearest. I thank God for the day that He gave me Leatherbeaver here, Hilding proclaimed sanctimoniously and fingerfucked the pulsing mooseass that had been his only sexpartner for countless years. I hit him over by Twelve Meter Basin, and no devil alive’s going to take him from me. Over my dead body! Anyway, get ready for a smoker, he said, rooting around in the mountain of bottles in the living room.
—You know, Kosken and Explorer are for old aunties. Give me Hormoslyr and antifreeze any day, Hilding babbled. But you’ll see! Drink your fill, don’t be shy, he called out.
The two old men took swigs that made their bodies shudder and thrash. Me—I dipped my blanky in paint thinner and enjoyed the sweet, sweet aroma.
—Hilding, my friend, Grandpa said, as he stretched, we brought along some snacks we’d be willing to share.
—Show me what you’ve got, Hilding hiccupped, staring glassyeyed, as I opened the basket and displayed the goodies. Rotten vealbrawn and pickled pigdick! And an old Swissroll! All this tasty stuffy for me? Thanks, thankyouthankyou, he stammered. But for the life of me, I don’t know how I’m going to keep these treats down, since I can’t even stomach dumplings, he complained and pointed to some enormous throatpuslumps, which had gone right through him. Each of them was as big as two clenched fists, had been swallowed whole, and were smeared with grease.
—Once a wackjob, always a wackjob, Grandpa sighed.
—Yeah, you are what you are, you can’t fart freely and be anal-retentive all at once, Hilding agreed and scratched at his head of German hair.
—Que será será, sweety, Grandpa muttered, taking a long drag from his ciggi and flicking ash on my fontanelle.
Senor Dahlgren set the table and Grandpa blessed our meal.
—Hold up, boy, you’re like a magpie over entrails, Hilding yelped, when he saw my mouth start to water.
—Big eyes, small gullet, Grandpa said sarcastically and rammed a fork into the roof of my mouth.
—The eyes say yes, the shithole no, Hilding declared, joining the fun.
Grandpa went at it like he was starving, but Hildings rotten piehole played it delicate.
—I have to
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