Oh my dear sweet Lord! My younger brother is a fool....

For the sake of this column, let's call my brother Bert (of Bert & Ernie). You remember, Bert was the puppet with the big pointy head.....

My brother is 15 and a sophomore in high school.... which means he thinks the world is his to scorn at.

::rolls eyes::

He has almost no friends and is actually despised around the school. Anytime you mention his name (which consequently isn't really Bert) people will be like "oh...him..." and then they'll get this look like they just swallowed something bad.

That's my brother, a nasty flavor. I imagine he tastes like kidney beans....

I don't know how it's even possible to have the reputation of "incompetant boob" but Bert is such a jackass that the title seems to have found him on it's own. Whether he is alienating his fellow peers by badgering them with his narrow, misguided views of "leave poor Iraq alone" and "those dumb firefighters in 9/11", or pestering teachers with constant questions testing to see if they measure up to his standard, he is considered annoying and arrogant by everyone who comes in contact with him.

(I realize the above sentence is onerous and an ugly run-on but I frankly don't give a damn. So there.)

A day with Bert wouldn't be complete until he had objected at least fourteen times during each class. In Bert's dark, cobwebbed mind, he imagines that his teachers don't know how to do their jobs and he, a boy bestowed with unusual insight and exceptional genius can right their errors and make them see the truth - that he is Bert, and he knows All.

I swear, the boy is certifiably an idiot.

He swaggers around, spewing out opinions that aren't really his, but those of upperclassman in drama who he idolizes with a frightening fervor. It really is quite pathetic.

I could almost feel sorry for him, but everytime he opens his mouth, the preposterous, irrational dribble that tumbles out is more than my pity can stand.

Certain days I can almost tolerate him (if he keeps his mouth shut), but most of the week is filled with thoughts of pushing him out into a traffic-filled road. (I wouldn't actually want him to get run over by a speeding car, but a little tumble with an out-of-control golf cart would do him some good.)

In the words of everyone I know, "he brings it on himself". (Including being maimed by mentioned golf cart)

Anyway, I think the title of this week's fume is fitting. In the case of Bert and I, the notion of blood relating us together is absolutely, 110% pure horse shit.

Thank you. That's is all……