My brother is getting married next week. This is good. He’s been a bum for far too long: Sleeping in gutters and smoking heroin through his butt. Drinking out of the toilet because he’s too hungover to stand up and reach the sink. Killing deer with no intention of ever making them into venison jerky. Sometimes in the morning, he turns off his clock radio by vomiting on it so hard that it malfunctions. So getting married is a good thing for him. He now has someone else with which to share these precious moments.
Can you smoke heroin? And if so, can you smoke it through your butt? Can you smoke anything through your butt? I’m not a smoker, so I don’t know. I’m just a simple boy from the suburbs. The D.A.R.E. program in my grade school didn’t specifically address butt smoking. Someone please write a letter to the Reader Weekly – or better yet, the Duluth News-Tribune – and discuss these theories at length. A five-to-ten page letter, hand-written in crayon, ought to work nicely.
I would say I’m excited to attend my brother’s wedding, but 99 percent of the people there will either be related to me or soon be related to me, so there’s really no chance of getting laid. This is in contrast to my brother, who is the one person at the event guaranteed to get laid, and for that, I salute him. Enjoy it while it lasts, my friend. After a year or two, your sex life will be limited to anniversaries, birthdays, and times when you bring her to a Johnny Depp movie. And in the third option, she will make you talk like a pirate, then stop halfway through because you can’t do the voice properly.
I’m actually excited to see my brother get hitched. His bride-to-be is smart, funny and very sarcastic, so she gets the Paul Ryan Seal of Approval. The only thing that would make her better is if she worked at a Gamestop, so I could get video games a week before they’re released to everyone else. I’ve submitted an employment application in her name. She is unaware. This kind deed is one of her wedding gifts.
Their main wedding gift was difficult to choose. The usual array of pots and pans, bath towels and other quaint items that Martha Stewart jerks off to are boring. I was going to be tacky and give them cash, but years of abusing my credit cards has resulted in American Express limiting my cash withdrawals to $12 per year. Since I live in Los Angeles, I was going to bring them some film memorabilia, but Sonny Bono’s star in the Walk of Fame is stuck in there pretty good. I broke two chisels trying to remove it, wasting all $12 of my American Express cash withdrawals. So I gave up and got them the boring bedsheets from their gift registry. I may cover the sheets in glitter before wrapping them. Glitter sheets seems like the sort of thing Elton John might have in his house, so that ties in with the Hollywood memorabilia idea.
The best gift of all is reserved for my parents and me. After years of bugging my brother and me to produce wives and grandchildren, my parents are finally getting one step closer to having one. That’s their gift. My gift is that my parents will now focus solely on my brother as their last great hope for grandchildren, giving me a “Get out of having grandchildren free” card. It’s for the best. As I’ve told my parents in the past, I’ll give them grandchildren when I get the childhood dog I always asked for but never received. Once they buy a dog, I will knock up some lady and trade the baby for the dog.
The scary thing is I think my mom would actually be thrilled with that deal. My dad, not so much.
Dad: What the hell is that?
Mom: Paul gave us a baby to raise!
Dad: Ugh! Throw it away! It’s loud!
Mom: Fine. It’s an interracial baby anyway. *throws baby in garbage can*
For the record, my mom isn’t racist and my dad likes babies, but creative license helps boring stories become more interesting. Ask the Duluth News-Tribune or Rolling Stone Magazine for more information about using creative license in news articles.
In all seriousness, I wish my brother nothing but the best in married life. He’s a great guy who’s helped me out more often than I can count. If anyone in this world has the ability to provide for someone else, it’s him. He’s had years of practice with his little brother. Also, I think I may actually still owe him $40. He’s never asked for it back. He’s never getting it back, either. He can go straight to hell if he thinks I have that kind of cash just carousing around in my pants. Regardless, his fiancee can add that to the list of ways he is helpful: You can steal money from him. If anything comes in handy during a marriage, it’s that.