My Brother, Casanova

My cousin recently got married in Sutter Creek, an old mining town in the Sierra Nevada Foothills that features nothing but bars, antique shops, and slutty girls in its historic downtown area. My family spent an entire weekend drinking that little town dry, and it is quite possible that my brother single-handedly did fifty percent of the work.

The night before the wedding there was a "Martini Party" for out of town guests. The bride's father's first mistake was allowing this event to be Open Bar, and his second mistake was inviting my family. There was only one way this evening was going to end, and it wouldn't be sober.

I drank with my family, went to a pretty PG-13 bachelorette party, and then crashed early, gearing up for the wedding extravaganza the following day. Despite the earplugs that I had shoved into my head I was jolted awake when my very large, very drunk brother, and just as drunk (but not quite as large) cousin came barreling into our hotel room at full speed trailed by beer-farts.

I peeled one eye open to see my brother lying on his back on the adjacent bed with two muffins: one clutched in his giant hand and the other shoved entirely in his mouth.
"Hey, Bren..." I asked, "Where'd you get those muffins?"

Through a fine spray of crumbs he slurred, "I have NO IDEA."

"Great." I thought, "Just great. Not only is he drunk and loud, he is also a muffin thief."

Unprovoked, he launched into a long and strange story about how he managed to woo some towney-chick by flashing his friend's NFL player card, and telling her he played for the Miami Dolphins. The story concluded with him saying, "On a scale of one to ten...I'd give her a four." Umm...what? He lied so he could make out with a FOUR?

Once the muffins had been consumed/ground into the carpet my brother and cousin passed out to the sound of their own OUTRAGEOUS snores. They snored so loud I was tempted to further my attempts at muffling the sound by shoving bits of muffin in my ears, but I chose zero sleep instead.