Mind Your Own God Damn Business

I know, I know – I didn’t put up a post on Monday. I know that this post is two days late, but to make up for its tardiness, it’s going to be really bad. See? It all evens out.

HA!

1) I had some homework, a blog post to write, and a run to go on last night, so, naturally, I was watching Malcolm in the Middle with my little brother. Malcolm in the Middle had a successful 6 year run, received a lot of critical acclaim including a Peabody award, a Grammy and nine Emmys. I have some vague positive feelings for the show because I associate it with my early 20′s, but I’ve probably only seen six or seven episodes and have spent the duration of them scratching my head and wondering why the fuck people loved this show so much. The only reason that I tell you that I don’t really like that show is that I want to make it clear why I was watching it instead of doing all of the other things that I needed to last night.

So anyway, after watching another relatively unfunny segment of the show and letting the sound of crickets fill the room, my brother turned to me and said “You know, this show is actually supposed to be funny”.

At first, I thought he meant “It’s not pulling it off very well, but this show is supposed to be funny”, but after a little bit more explanation from him, it became clear that he actually meant “You probably can’t even tell that they’re telling jokes. This episode is bad enough that if I don’t explicitly state that the intention of this show is to be a comedy, you will be unable to tell that it’s not a drama or a thriller.”

And that alone was way funnier than any humor they could coax out of a bitchy, overbearing mother, a well-intentioned spineless pussy father who’s always in trouble, and three kids who cause trouble in the most adorable ways!

2) As I mentioned before, my brother and I have been living together at my parent’s house while they’re on vacation, and he’s all about clogging toilets. Believe it or not, I had just finished making dinner last night, and I went into the bathroom to wash my hands and noticed that, low and behold, someone had clogged the toilet again. I decided that it was time to have a little dialog with my brother about the problem.

“I can’t help but notice that the fucking toilet is clogged again,” I said.

Once again, my brother claimed that he had no knowledge of it.

I told him that I only use the downstairs bathroom, and that the only person in the house that was using the upstairs bathroom was him.

I have to drop some kids off at the POOOOOOOL!!!

His response, and I swear that this is true, was to blame it on a ghost.

A Ghost.

It’s not him, it’s not even a stranger breaking into the house and destroying our plumbing. It’s a fucking ghost, floating through the wall, wailing, rattling chains, and then dropping some ghoulish ghost-logs into the upstairs toilet that can’t be dislodged without the use of a plunger.

After fixing the toilet for the 4th time in a week, I told him that the ghost better start eating some fucking fiber, because I was sick of having to pick up a plunger every time I set foot in the upstairs bathroom.

My brother responded “Not my problem.”

I told him I’d be showing him how to plunge the toilet himself, and then we’d see who’s fucking problem it was.

“I already know how to use a plunger,” he told me.

“Then why aren’t you taking care of this yourself?” I asked.

“Because I enjoy watching you do it,” he replied.

And just like that, the jig was up.

It hadn’t been a stranger, or a ghost! It had been my little brother the whole time! This whole time, he had been deliberately living a sedentary lifestyle, avoiding fruits and vegetables and eating a lot of dairy and meats for one reason and one reason only: so he could regularly clog the toilet and then get the satisfaction of watching me plunge it. It was the perfect crime, really.

It’s difficult to tell if I should be enraged or entertained by that conversation. On one hand, if he was being serious, that’s bullshit. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure he was just kind of embarrassed and was trying to cover it with humor. As a man who uses that same strategy frequently and can also appreciate a willingness to go for the laugh at any cost, I think that I have to give him a pass. At least, kind of. I won’t be fixing that toilet anymore. I’m making him do it next time. It looks like he’s going to have to find another way to get his kicks at my expense. Maybe he can start slashing my tires or starting kitchen fires. Anything to get a chuckle.

That son of a bitch.

EXCUUUUUUUUSE ME!!!!