Mr. T, aka baby brother, aka dude I have incriminating photos of in Indian headgear and my Wonder Woman undies. You forgot your bad luck. Come back and get it.
It started with a bad day at work then missing a flight on Friday night and turning an ankle running to the counter and then your bag not making it which contained of course your clothes but also the tickets to the UT/Mizzou game. Okay that wasn't bad luck, that was just stupidity.
Well as soon as you got here, things took a turn. Lucky you, able to get the tickets reprinted, your bag met you in Austin, and the Longhorns won. And then the Texans won. And then you won. Against me. In fantasy football.
I mean I know that we shared a lot when we were growing up. Barbies, baths, Beastie Boy tapes, duties at the full service pumps and secrets about my keg parties. But I'm not interested in sharing your bad luck. Which is all I've had since you've left. Sick kids, return of the exploding faucet, losing in fantasy football, the mongo zit on my cheek.
So I'm sending it back, priority mail. Because I'm done with it. But before it gets there, could you shoot me some lotto numbers?
3 comments:
thanks for the heads up... i've already set up postal block for anything coming from your address (at least until christmas present time)
brothers have a way of doing that--- beating us at everything and doing it with a snot-nosed grin! :)
Oh my! He did have a run of bad luck there! And, now? Poor you!
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