At the Feet of the Master

This entry has been a long time a-coming. It's hard to know where to begin, where to end and certainly what to leave out for sundry legal reasons. For these and other causes, I've always been hesitant to even begin it. However, my good friend Mike, always enamored by the use of the thumb as an alternative to a surgical vasectomy, has pressed me, so I feel I really must make some sort of attempt.

To begin, my brother Bill is the best friend I've ever had. It's not just that he took me in as a foster child after the great migration northward, or that he coached me in powerlifting, or that he later taught me the joys of plant taxonomy. No, so early on in Iowa, it's that he espoused the benefits of sociopathy and was willing to share his wisdom.

As kids, though six years apart in age, we quickly found the pleasures of throwing sand in the gearbox of society together. I was always ready to learn, and every once in a while, was able to show him something new. Pure and simple, we were just out for fun. Isn't that why we're here?

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