Sibling Submission.

Dear GAG,
Okay, this is a question for anyone working at GAG that has a younger sibling: What is the best way to control your younger brother/sister into respectful submission?

~The unsuccessful Sibling

Dear unsuccessful, (I note the irregular capitalization there, very nice), as you may have noticed, we here at GAG have been in a sort of sibling tizzy as of late. And as such I believe it is a perfect time to end it by answering your question. And I shall do so very simply.

Firstly, bribery never works. Save your money for kids your not related to.

Secondly, memorize the location, weight and throwing range of every brick, pole, baseball bat, hockey stick, and cylindrical object in the house.

Third. Don't, under any circumstance, let your parents know you've read this.


-Space

Dear unsuccessful,

In addition to the above advice: I think it's inherently impossible to control a younger sibling into respectful submission. They have to choose to do it...or at least pretend to when said parents are around.
However, I do believe it's a part of their make up to be as annoying as humanly possible and to drive you crazy(er) in the fastest way possible.
In view of that: First: Try ignoring them.
Second: Take some sort of self-defense class and learn how to use any said previously memorized location of possible weapons in said house.
Third: Secretly order a zapper, tranquilizer, long rope or super soaker (if above methods don't work).
Fourth: Use said weapon on said sibling or hire someone discreet to use said weapon on said sibling (so if your parents do find out, you can say you didn't exactly do it.)
Fifth: Try pleading insanity if your parents do find out.
Sixth: I second and repeat: Don't, under any circumstance, let your parents know you've read this.

~ Aranel

The fine print: GAG is not legally or otherwise responsible for any actions you may or may not choose to take in light of given advice. Also GAG's advice is not guaranteed to work. GAG's advice may contain peanuts.

In Which I (Tyler) Rant:

Little Brothers Are Gifts From God. You have no idea how many times I hear people tell me that, and I must say that I agree. Little brothers are an extremely thoughtful gift from the Lord. They are proof that God loves us, and wants us to stay humble, alert, paranoid and irritable.

Let me explain.

Yesterday, my younger brother somehow sprains his ankle while playing in the back yard. I cannot for sure say whether or not this is actually true, firstly because I wasn't there, secondly because I have no medical aptitude to tell such things. Validity, notwithstanding, we patch him up, put an ace bandage on it and everything, and everything's fine. Or so it would seem... Not two hours later (an hour after bedtime, mind you, due to extremely fortuitous feats of timing), said little brothers comes into the living room with a roll of gauze, describing vividly to us the discomfort it's causing him that his "feet don't match," and that we should wrap the other one. My parents rebutted this plea (and I must be careful here, because they read this occasionally) with a simple, "I'm sorry, deary, but I'm afraid afterwards you won't be able to walk." Which was replied to with, "Oh yeeeeeaaah..."

And if you mind, allow me to digress for a moment (incidentally, if you're reading this and do mind if I digress, you're reading the entirely wrong blog), the combinations of the words "Oh," and "yeah," coming from an eight year old mouth is, to parents, the deadliest utterance known to man. If executed properly, it instantly erases all memory of innocent mistake or wrongdoing, replaced solely by the sensation of utter cuteness in the child. And furthermore, the primal urge to give said child anything his little heart desires. Such as: A drink (Which takes forty-two minutes to substantially "sip"), a story (Which takes anywhere from fifteen to fifty-four minutes depending on how many times the parent falls for "read it again, mommy!"), a hug (which turns into a cuddle, which turns into watching television/listening to the radio/reading a book depending on the parent's activity, a good forty minutes in and of itself) or, as my brother so eloquently introduced, medical attention (a swift thirty-six minutes).

The purpose of that digression in fact leads to the summary of the current digression: Little kids (particularly brothers and particularly mine) get away with anything in the name of attention. Particularly getting out of bedtime, so said sibling may watch TV, etc., and therefore stay up substantially later than a little body should, and therefore wake up substantially later as well, causing everyone else to be late, miserable, grumpy, and completely prepared for it happening again that night.

May I also add that younger brothers are masters of the art of fooling everyone but the people they don't have to listen to.

So next time someone tells you that a little brother is a gift from God, laugh in their face and run into the setting sun, because you have to babysit.


On a side note, just listened to "Clint Eastwood" by The Gorillaz again. Turns out it's not actually about Clint Eastwood. Go figure.


-Space

A Very Special Day

Hi Sarah! ( or Aranel ;) )
Happy 18th birthday! Your two GAG colleagues decided that they wanted to do something uber-special for your 18th birthday, so they went behind your back and engaged in top secret covert operations to produce a three-page birthday card with contributions from lots of your friends! It doesn’t have any money in it, but we think the comments are nice enough that you’d probably rather have them than moula, aye? Then we decided to post a sample of the card here on GAG so that even MORE people could add to it! We’ll be e-mailing you a copy of the card too (with pictures!) and if more comments come you can add them and then print the card out on pretty paper and frame it or make it into a book (or perform experiments with it =D).

We love you and wish you the best on your 18th birthday!!!!

Without further ado, here’s your card!

-GAG


HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH!!

18 Years


Sarah, you’re so sweet, funny and an awesome person. I’m so glad we became friends!!
You add a lot of color (literally and figuratively!) to wherever we happen to be (and whatever mischief we are in to =D), and your personality is ‘electrifying’ ;-). May the Lord bless you and reveal Himself to you more this new year of your life.
Happy 18th, Sarah! Love ya!

-Holly Trujillo


Sarah's a well-developed, thoughtful, caring person. I wish her a great 18th!
-Travis


Happy 18th, Sarah. Your gentle spirit and loving demeanor are appreciated by all of us; ay God bless you as you enter legal adulthood. -Cody Herche


Sarahhh Hiura!
Rumors are going around that you're turning 18. That means you can vote, and be held fully resonsible for any crimes you commit. I just want to let you know that whatever anyone else says, I still say that you're not guilty.
You're a great debater, and you're braver than I am. And even though you don't like onions, and sometimes can't tell what color a flyer is, I still think you're cool. Have a Happy Birthday! Or, en Español, tenga un feliz cumpleaños!

Your friend,
-Steven Reynolds



Sarah is compassionate and graceful. She is a ton of fun to be around and a great friend!
Happy Birthday Sarah!!!
Your Friend,
- Isabella

Sarah I think you are very sweet and I loved sharing a hotel with you and your mom. Happy Birthday!!!

-Lauren


Happy 18th Birthday Sarah!!!!!
I can't believe I known you not even a year yet!! I feel like we've known each other forever- it's been so fun knowing you and hanging out at tournaments, RRs, and at camp. You are so sweet and encouraging to everyone at tournaments- and we all love you for that! So here's to saying- have a great birthday, and hope to see you weally, weally soon!!!! Love ya'! God Bless
~ Kate :-)


"Happy Birthday! May turtles never steal your clothing in public."
-Tyler


Sarah Hiura,
Although I haven't known you for long, it was pleasant to meet and hang out with you and Holly. I hope you have an excellent birthday, may God bless you this year :).
-Mark




Dear Sarah,
Thanks for being such an amazing friend. I enjoyed getting to know you this year, and I can't wait to see you again! Have a great birthday!
Your Friend,
~Deborah


You are such an awesome person I don't know where to begin. I thought about mentioning your creative xanga name, but decided that that wasn't good enough. i could talk about you skill as an LDer, but we don't want to make others feel jealous;-). So I decided to tell you about how much you mean to me as a friend. You always somehow seem to be there right when I need you most. Whether it's you thoughtful comment on my xanga or your always uplifting smile, you have been a beautiful ray of sunshine in my life and I know that you will become brighter every year. Happy Birthday, and may God bless you with enough years to brighten the lives of all those damp souls in this world. You have brightened mine. =D

-(Inherently) Mary York




Sarah,
I’m very happy that you turned 18 and I love you very much.
We have lots and lots in store for the Colorful, cheerful, scientist :D
-Claire.

Sibling Rivalries

Dear Give A Gripe,

A certain younger sibling of mine and I are having a little disagreement, and I'm wondering what your thoughts on the matter are. Which would be more intellectual, relatively speaking? Is it a spazzy, beetle-headed doofus with the intellect of a cantelopue, or a spazzy beetle-headed doofus with the intellect of a dung beetle? I hope you can help resolve our little spat (or possibly make it worse.)

-Agent J.

Dear Agent J,
I would have to say that since you've already established that in either scenario, said person (assuming this certain little sibling), is beetle-headed, then calling him (or her) a dung beetle would be rather redundant, and therefore, a very lame comeback. Since the giver of the lame comeback must've been the spazzy beetle-headed doofus with the intellect of a canteloupe, that means that the dung beetle is more intellectual, by calling his (or her) opponent, not only a bug, but a rather large fruit. Brilliant.
Hopefully this has settled the argument, and will prevent any further silly sibling rivalries between the two of you.

Nay! I must disagree, my illogically-minded little friend. It is indeed the cantaloupe that is more intellectual! Firstly, it should be pointed out that the melon we in America commonly refer to as cantaloupes are indeed a completely different species from the actual thing. The real cantaloupe is a rare European genera, rarely found on our borders. Now then, we can extrapolate solely from that firstly that since true genius is rare, and actual cantaloupe is rare, we can directly correspond the two and come to the conclusion that cantaloupe itself is true genius! Secondly, to prove its genius, it has led us all on to believe that this other melon was it all the time! Meanwhile, the actual melon itself is off vacationing in the British Isles somewhere! Genius, I say!

...

Tyler. You are invading my post. The worst part of it is, You are wrong. Allow me to rebut.

1) Just because something is rare doesn't mean it is intelligent. In fact, it proves the opposite. The fact that real canteloupe can't figure out how to keep itself alive means that it lacks the intelligence necessary for basic survival. From what I know, dung beetles are still at large
2) Any fruit with half a brain who would have the chance to go anywhere in the world would NOT choose the British Isles as a vacation spot.
3) You're a silly fruitcake. Of course your going to side with the melon as opposed to accepting common sense.

Now that Tyler stands corrected...

I do NOT stand corrected! Nor do I sit corrected, nor lie in a prone position remotely corrected! Firstly, my dear incoherent hexapedophile, I fear you have your brain stuck a bit too far behind your antennae for once. One, rarity does not in any way shape or form mean borderline extinction. For example, there is only one Lindsay Lohan in the world, but clearly she is not borderli-- okay, bad example. The truth, however, my dear psychopathic pill bug, is that they are merely in hiding. And the fact that no one would go to the British Isles on vacation is exactly why they are there! Added genius! Thirdly, a brain does not automatically mean intelligence! The dung beetle, while apparently gaining the advantage in having an actual mind, has a mind completely obsessed with poop! If you call that intelligence, my friend, I'm afraid we'll have to look more closely at your psychologically stability, instead. Fourth and lastly, you are an insignificant part of the food chain, a proprietor of dung-heaps, you have no sense of fashion and you smell.

...

We've been colleagues on this site for a while now. Working with you is what proved a brain does not mean intelligence. I may be an insignificant part of the food chain, but at least I use adverbs correctly (psychologically stability?) So dung beetles have poo on their mind. What does canteloupe have on its mind? Wait! CANTELOUPES DONT HAVE MINDS!! JUST LIKE YOUUU!!!!!!

And I do NOT smell! 0^0

Precisely cantaloupes don't have minds! That is what gives them their sheer brilliance! No mental stress to keep them down, keeping them in a constant state of blissful nirvana... can you do that? I think NOT! And I'll have you know that that brain-removal operation was a very risky government-funded operation!

Only you'd know! Mushy fruit head!

Hard-headed arthropod!

Cucumis melobrain!

Ye-- Yeah? Oh yeah?! OH YEAH?!?!?! Well... *sniff* okay! *sob* *Sob*

...

*Breaks down crying*

Oh...

Oh, this is awkward.

There there, Tyler, take this tissue. It's ok, you're not a fruitcake. Now you go sit over there and have some ice cream.

Well, getting back to you, Agent J, essentially, my main point is that it is simply not worth getting into such petty sibling rivalries. In fact, I don't even remember what you were arguing about. That's how silly it was. And I can guarantee we here at GAG would never engage or endorse such behaviour.

"Oh, Tyler, stop your blubbering and eat your ice cream."

-GAG.

Dental *AND* Mental.

Yesterday I went to the dentists office

This would be the first time I’d see Dr. Danford ever since he saw my Open interpretation, “Dental or Mental”. I’d given him about 2 years to prepare some form of torture on me.

Dr. Danford loves to torture me. And since hearing my speech, he’s been looking forward to it immensely.

I sat in the waiting room, reading a current events magazine.

“Holly?”

I looked up. A pleasant young lady with glasses was standing there with a clipboard in her hand. She seemed nice. Not evil. No, not evil at all.

‘Yes?”

“Hi” she smiled

“Hi” Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. I followed her into the back and took a seat in the dental chair. She gently clipped a little paper ‘bib’, if you will, around my neck. See? Dentists aren’t so bad! She said something else to me. I can’t remember what it was, but that’s the point when I realized she had some kind of foreign accent. Now I think accents are awesome, but last time I dealt with someone with a similar accent, I got viciously shanghaied into blowing 25 dollars for a small jar of goo. I’m not sure I want the same kind of disaster especially when she has many sharp objects and I’m strapped helplessly into a chair.

And that’s when things went downhill. She grabbed a large plastic apron-type thing and dropped it on me. It was quite heavy. I wondered if this was what wearing a straight jacket would feel like. She then opened a cabinet and pulled out an electronic device with a camera lense on it. It looked frightening. She stuck a little card into my mouth.

“Bite down” she said.

She had all the weapons, I was sitting in the chair; therefore, I didn’t dare disobey. She walked away and pressed a button. I guess the card thing was film and the electronic thing was a high tech camera. She came back, pulled the card out and got another one. This time, she placed it even further back in my mouth. She was only centimeters away from activating my gag reflex. She did the same thing on the other side of my mouth. Not fun.

She then leaned my chair back and pulled down a bright blinding light from the ceiling. At that moment, Dr. Danford called from the cubicle next to us

“Make sure to use all the pointy sharp things on her!”
My orthodontist looked puzzled.
“Why?” she asked.
“Just because.”
“You’re da boss”

Dr. Danford loved to joke like that, but the young lady’s innocent and naïve response made me worried that she took him seriously.
“Well, it looks like you haven’t had cleaning for very long time” she said, pulling out a file. “Four years!”
“Well actually, we did have a cleaning recently, just not here.”
“Oh? Where was dat?”
“A dentists office….in… the mall”
‘Oh…da mall.” she didn't sound like she believed me at all.
She proceeded to pull out a double-edged hook thing and start picking away at my teeth.

This is when things really went downhill.

Each time she scraped a tooth, it sounded like she was chiseling granite off my teeth, and then the hook would go somewhere into my gum. I started getting a little nervous when I saw some blood on her gloved hands. She seemed to be scratching my gums more than my teeth. I was hoping either my winces or my blood curdling screams would give her a clue that I didn’t like getting scratched with the hook. At one point, her hand jerked suddenly and poked my gum. Ironically, this accident didn’t hurt me half as much as the actual procedure.

“Sorry, I hurt you?”

I didn’t really know how to answer this question. At that moment, no, she didn’t hurt me. But every other moment she did. Fortunately, she was still sticking things in my mouth, so a mere “ungha” satisfied her. One thing I love about going to the dentists, you can just answer “ungha” to all their questions. You can’t do that anywhere else.

“Like Dr. Danford say, I use sharp pokes” she laughed
UUNNNGGHHAAAA!! my mind screamed.

She then took this buzzing thing and began running it over my teeth with some strange Martian toothpaste. It tasted weird. Then she squirted water into my mouth and vacuumed it up with a little tube.
Then she pulled the hook out again and continued her architecture. I wondered what the Venus de Milo would look like in my mouth.

“When was this visit to…da mall?”
“Uh, about a year ago”
“Ya, you got lot of stuff in here”

A classic and literal example of adding insult to injury.

“You floss?”

Darn, I was hoping to avoid this question. To be honest, I’m not a huge believer in flossing. You run string through sewing machines, not people.

“Ungha.”

I looked at my teeth in the reflection of her glasses as she continued with her hook. Every tooth was covered in blood. I looked at my blood dripping off of the hook as she lifted it from my mouth.

This was probably the point at which I mercifully went into a coma.

“Dr. Danford examine you in few minutes, m’K?”

Great. Terrific. Fantastic.

I’m Gonna Die.

He actually wasn’t so bad. No death threats this time. He asked me if I was excited about Nationals, and we talked a little about debate (or he did, and I’d agree with an “uunngh”). He used the hook on me too, but he aimed for my teeth, not my gums.

He then took at look at my X-rays

“Oh my gosh!” he exclaimed.

I closed my eyes. Not good.

“Just kidding.”

Very funny, Dr. Danford.

So my teeth are looking ok now that they’ve been chipped, squirted, grinded and thoroughly tortured, but apparently my wisdom teeth are coming in and will need to be removed within a year. And yes, I know that "getting your wisdom teeth pulled is easy, it's the recovery that's excruciating!!" is what all my friends are going to tell me. So please, just let me bear it silently and don't remind me.

Ok?

~*Hol