From upon a bad couch

Honestly, for being the weird little social butterfly he seems to be, my brother can be incredibly tactless. I believe that every time he tries to persuade my mother of something, he only manages to anger her. I know this would upset him, because it always upsets him when I mention it, but it's true. I think what it boils down to is that I'm more world-wise and know how to handle people better, how to sympathize with them. Basically, I know how to be manipulative. It doesn't really matter if the cause is for good or ill, because that's only a justification of the means. Semantics aside, Tom just doesn't get it. True, he can infuriate me as well, and that is often intentional. In that case, bravo, but he needs to learn the finer sides of the art of manipulation. That, and he still lives with my mom, which is a pretty steep handicap. They have to put up with each other all the time (I love my family, of course), and so I seem like an island resort by comparison.

I can't believe it's already the eve of blowing crap up day and I don't even have a decent crane-game grade stuffed toy to blow the hell up. I always have at least one that's ready for the ultimate end, but this year, I've been lazy. Sure, I tried to win one at the mall a couple weeks back, but everyone knows those cranes have the gripping power of an ancient white woman (I specify white here because I assume that other ethnicities have way cooler old people than the whities). My brother suggested I blow up the stuffed corn doll I have (yes, I do own one; yes, it was from a crane game; yes, it is both disturbing and hilarious). Kids just don't get it. The reason I didn't blow it up four years ago is the same reason I still have it: it's amazingly high wtf factor deems it a worthwhile possession.

For those curious, when I say I blow up stuffed animals, I really do. Mid-size ones are the best, and the weirder the better. I saved a Betty Boop doll for six months once, just to blow it up. It was, by the way, amazing. Let's set things straight though--second graders blow things up by piling firecrackers around the target. Kids a few years older might graduate to flares, maybe ground bloom flowers (no, toys never spin like you want them to when you strap them to one of those). Those only ever serve to singe, maybe melt the things. Artillery shells. That's what it has to be.

Well, at least having a day off is nice. Unless you're walmart, and you only acknowledge Christmas as a holiday worth closing for. Those poor people. I guess there are always dregs though. Times change, but the stories never do.