Sunday, June 15, 2008

Death In The Family

My brother John was the baby of the family. He just passed away at 51, and I'm sorry he isn't around anymore. I love him the way brothers love one another. Rough and tumble and practical jokes and nicknames to make a Marine Drill Instructor blush. The sort of guy who believed anything other than a Zippo was simply a waste of money. Who never owned and wouldn't accept the best personal computer in the world if it were free because what the hell is there but news and Hollywood lovefests and I get enough of that crap on TV and from the papers. The man could sharpen a knife so well a Sasquatch could shave with it. Give him the meanest, most contrary dog alive and he'd have it eating out of his hand. Didn't matter if it was a one-legged Kangaroo who could only hop in circles, John would take it in and keep it until it was better. He was always faster on the draw than me but I was the better shot and we argued for decades who'd win at High Noon. I could go on for hours but then he'd be bored. When we meet again I'll be the lucky one because he'll have scoped out the best shooting ranges. But if he hands me an AR I'll kick his ass.

And if he doesn't save me a good seat I'm gonna be pissed.

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