Horton Hears a Hookah

My brother and I don't usually get along very well. Most people don't pick up on that. (Those who have seen it come to blows, excluded.) I think the reason we're so covert about our squabbles is that they're pretty entertaining to watch, like this one from two nights ago in the kitchen.

Scott: "I do keep a few items of clothing out of centimental value, but I am not a pack rat"

Ross:"Yeah, like your scouts shirt."

Scott:"Yea... how do you know about that"

Ross:"Because I wore it. And sorry man, but I ripped it. Just a little too small you know. Me and Katie like to role play. She was the scout master I was the scout."

Scott:"What a shame you didn't have enough rope for her to do any tricks."

And the other people in the kitchen thought it was funny, just some harmless sibling banter. What they don't know is that the bastard really does take things and use them, often destroying them. I don't say this so you can marvel at how tolerant I am not to have smothered him in his sleep at the earliest opportunity, but so you can understand the context of our getting along yesterday. It was like that Christmas Eve in World War I when the Germans and British stopped shooting at each other, shook hands, and sang carols. Of exactly the same magnitude.

My brother, scamp that he is, had purchased a hookah pipe/bong and while we were getting along we had every intention to spark that thing. Thinking ahead we decided to go out back so the entire house didn't smell like flavored tobacco. Sitting on the back porch in the shade we lit the charcoal atop the foil screen, allowed the sisha tobacco to start to smoke, and passed that toke back and forth for about ten minutes.

Our veritable peace pipe.

For whatever reason we were having a really good time. Taking a hit, blowing deformed smoke rings, and passing it back to the other. We happened to be laughing pretty loudly at some of the ridiculous banter we had going just as our elderly neighbor came out onto her porch. Ross saw her, I only heard her. Apparently she steped out onto her deck, saw the two of us laughing hysterically and taking hits from a bong like device, contorted her face into utter shock (Ross's report) gasped audibly (from roughly 150 yards away) and slammed her door as she huffed back inside.

If we were laughing before that point, afterwards I was in pain because I just couldn't laugh hard enough. It's moments like those that make getting along with a sibling worthwhile. Hell, it even justified the expense and difficulty of hookah smoking. In short, the key to bridging the divde between yourself and your siblings is illicit seeming substances and the distain of the elderly.

- Scott