Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Oh Brother!

I can't resist a good joke, even if I am the only one that thinks it's funny. I don't go out of my way to create a situation, but once the thought gets into my head, it's like holding in a sneeze, or stopping myself from urinating in midstream. For example, I went out on a date with an older woman, one that was my current age fifteen years ago. We stopped for a drink at a local bar and the doorman checked her id, then, offering no explanation, lightly pinched her wrist between two fingers and his thumb. She gave me a puzzled glance, and I promptly said, "He's checking for a pulse."

She didn't think it was as funny as I did.

My step-mother made blueberry muffins when I was nine. There was one for me and one for my four year old brother, but I had already eaten mine. I was washing dishes when my brother discovered that he still had his, and was delighted to find out that his was the only one left. He held his blueberry muffin aloft and paraded around the house, chanting, "I got a blueberry muuuuu-ffin, and you don't got one." He walked past me several times, and through the living room where mom was watching television, thoroughly enjoying himself, and never took a bite.

I was getting annoyed, and told him to just eat it, which had the effect of a half twist of the volume knob. He toured the livingroom once more and headed back to the kitchen, holding the muffin before him like a candle at Christmas mass, which brought it to the level of my rear end, which coincidentally was reaching critical mass. A poetic rebuke occurred to me then, like sweet lilting music or a Shakespearian sonnet. Never had the fates been so kind. As he passed by me, his muffin in perfect position only inches away, I let it go with astounding force, and the impact was more than I could have hoped for.

He screamed, "You farted on my blueberry muffin!"

I was laughing too hard to respond.

John ran into the living room and yelled, "Mom, Scott farted on my blueberry muffin!"

She ran into the kitchen in mock rage, but I thought it was real. She stood at the entryway and yelled at me, "Scott, did you fart on John's blueberry muffin?"

I started with my dopey, I'm in trouble voice, "Yeeees." But then I saw that she could barely control her laughter, and knew that I was ok. Whew.

Ok, so I was a little mean, but that's what big brothers are for. One day, around the same time, I decided that for a whole day, I wasn't going to torture him once, and would look the other way no matter what he did to provoke it. No scaring him by sneaking around the corner and jumping out when he followed, no playing piano on his chest, and definitely no wonder punches, which is just another form of tickling, with a balled fist dug into his belly. Today was his day off.

I told him about my plan, and he was all for it. We watched a TV show together. He started poking at me, on my chest and stomach, and I was annoyed almost immediately, but I kept my cool and told him nicely to stop. Poke. I looked at him and he just smiled, but it was a sly smile.

"I'm not picking on you today John, but you need to leave me alone too."

Still the sly smile.

Poke. Poke. Poke.

"John, I'm warning you, you'd better stop."

Poke. Poke. Poke.

I looked at my shirt, which was a plain white T, and it was covered with bugars and snot.

And so ended our first and only day of peace.

13 comments:

Beth said...

OK, I thought the muffin bit was hysterical. My sister and I were a lot like that ... except she used ventriloquist's dummies, string, and the dead of night to do most of her taunting. =/

jenbeauty said...

Bwaaaa HAAaaaa!!

I would have smacked you and the ID dude!

magnetbabe said...

Eeeeeeewwww! I spent most of my childhood wanting a brother or sister. Thanks for making me not feel so bad!
BTW-What was that bouncer thinking?!

Scott said...

Knitter - Hmmm. I need to compare notes with your sister.

Jen - No kidding, how dumb was I?

MB - It gives us something to laugh about, and my sister especially loves the stories because he turned around and did most of that to her. The bouncer? Man, I have no idea!

Beth said...

And is your picture of Wyatt Earp?

Scott said...

Very good. Give yourself a pat on the back. As far as I know, you are the first to call it.

mr. schprock said...

Alright, Scott, from now on I'm not reading your posts while eating lunch.

My brother is 6 years younger than me, so, for the most part, I gave him a pass. I remember being so happy I had a brother when he was born.

It's funny, even now it feels like I'm the "big brother." I guess that doesn't change.

Scott said...

Schprock - I still feel like a big brother too. Kind of like our children are always our babies. It works for both parties.

Diana said...

I'm the oldest in my family but I feel like I was the one who was put upon by my younger siblings and not vice versa. But then, I would look at it that way, wouldn't I? *snerk*

Oh, and this was very funny, by the way. Especially the aromatic blueberry muffin. *grin*

trinamick said...

Holy crap, I nearly hurled when I got to the end of that. I can handle a lot of gross stuff, but I draw the line at anything that is expelled through the nostrils.

Scott said...

S - I hope nothing came out your nose. Believe me, there is no way to give my brother a pass, even he will tell you that.

Which leads to my response to Diane, that the pendulum swung both ways. I'm just being a big fella and taking the rap. We had a lot of fun together too, and even he will tell you that.

Lastly, Trin, sorry about your lunch too. Believe me, I was none to happy about it myself.

John said...

mmm....fart muffins.

The pulse thing reminded me a nit of something that happened a few years ago. One of my friends' aunts asked me one time if I thought she still looked good (she was probablly in her mid to late 40s) It wasn't my intent to be malicious or anything, but we were outside and the sun had set, so I just said, "Well, everyone looks good in the dark." She didn't take that very well.

Scott said...

Yeah John! That's the spirit, and how I always eat my foot.