Archive for the ‘My brother Kru’ Category

The Mad Hatter

Monday, July 26th, 2010

By Tiber

At any given time, it’s pretty much a sure thing that my brother, Duncan, has pissed somebody off about something. About two weeks ago, he went after my other brother, Kru, and I have to say, Kru is getting back at him in a very creative way.

He was talking to Duncan and he adopted this tragic tone and said he’d read online where there was a new side effect of global warming.

Duncan bit.

“What is it?”

“It’s where the enhanced temperatures are actually making some people’s heads expand. It’s such a new condition, they don’t know if it will stop or if it will just continue until the victims’ heads explode.”

Duncan just rolled his eyes and left.

Of course, that was before Kru started slipping a small piece of cardboard into the inside brim of Duncan’s favorite baseball cap every day. At first, Duncan didn’t seem to notice anything but soon, there was no mistaking that his cap, for no apparent reason, was getting increasingly too small for his head. And then he remembered what Kru had said.

“Where did you read that thing about peoples’ heads expanding due to global warming? I looked online and I didn’t see anything.”

Kru just nodded. “Oh, they said they were going to delete all references to it. Why upset people when there’s no known cure? Plus, the odds of anyone getting it are so small. I mean, how many people ever win $10,000 in the lottery?”

Duncan’s eyes bugged out of his now giant head and he reminded Kru, “I did once!”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Kru, as he wandered off, “I forgot.”

The last time I saw Duncan, he was sporting three of his wife’s stretch belts tied tightly around his skull. He told her he just didn’t want to lose any more hair but I think Kru and I know better.

Don’t Be Blue

Friday, July 2nd, 2010

By Tiber

Now I feel sorry for my brother, Kru. Through his cat sand delivery business, he met a girl he liked named Pippy and he invited her over here for dinner.

Kru’s nothing if not brave. I mean…he invited Pippy over here for dinner.

Amazingly enough, everything with us went well. My sister, Iris Nell, didn’t grill her on whether or not she swats flies who get into the house or escorts them out “properly,” wearing pastel-colored cotton gloves.

Duncan’s triplets, who must have a fever or something, never once made their eyes glow red or levitated over the table.

And even Brunty, the butler, didn’t drop a soup tureen on her head.

So Kru was on his way to a second date…until we forgot about the peacock.

As I’ve written before, Mom brought home a pair of peacocks who needed a home, which was a great gesture but a bad reality. The peahen is, to put it nicely, homely, so the frustrated male tried to have a relationship instead with a blue Porsche that belonged to one of my father’s business contacts. Twice.

Ever since then, Dad’s been after Iris Nell to find the peacock a new home but, unsurprisingly, she hasn’t been successful. We should have remembered about the blue car, though. Every blue car. A blue car like the one that Pippy had driven here.

As she started to leave, we all heard that unmistakable, shrieking and peeling back of a 2 ton sardine-can lid noise and we realized that the peacock was having a ”special moment” with Pippy’s car. The difference this time, though, was that Pippy was in it.

“Oh, my God!” yelled Erin. “She’s the chewy nougat center!”

Everybody raced outside to try to yank the bird off the roof of the car, all the while with Iris Nell screaming not to hurt him.

Pippy must have felt not only assaulted by another lovelorn species but that it was all happening in the middle of a soccer riot.

Dad’s obviously going to have to pay for the damage to Pippy’s car so, once again, the money will be flowing in the wrong direction.

Since Iris Nell is already working on her pet clothing business, Dad said she’d damn well better make the peacock a little Salvation Army uniform to wear and then go and sit with him on a street corner with a tin cup.  And in front of that, she should have a big sign that reads, “Please! Give Generously to the ‘Save A Peacock Foundation.’”

It’s uncanny

Wednesday, June 30th, 2010

 

By Tiber 

Since Dad made everybody get jobs, my brother Kru’s “LitterAce Man” home delivery of cat sand business has been doing pretty well. If nothing else, I give him real points for inventiveness. It’s not, however, an invention.

Kru has always thought that inventing something is the way to go. Once you have the great idea and then you manufacture it, the money just keeps on racing in, without your having to do anything else.

The trouble today, Kru always grouses, is that since so much has already been invented, you really have to hustle to come up with anything fresh.

Evidently scientists are working right now on a Harry Potter style “invisibility cloak.“ The chances of your beating them to it by working away in your garage with an old t-shirt and your cordless drill, however, are pretty much nil.

What has my brother fired up today, is that he just read where it was 48 years after the invention of the tin can before anybody got around to inventing the can opener.

“Can you believe that?” Kru raged. “And it was worth billions! In those days, you had these completely obvious and easy-to-make possible inventions just dancing around at your feet and pulling on your toes, begging you to make them!  Hell, I could have invented a can opener. And it sure wouldn’t have taken me 48 years to do it!”

It got me thinking about what, in that long period of time, people actually did. Were a lot of them just sitting around, staring wistfully at the unopened cans’ labels for half a century while they starved?

Or did they have to smash the cans with hammers or drive over them with their buggies? (“Some spillage normal.”)

Maybe all of the women just started packing heat as soon as suppertime rolled around.

“Stand back, Abner, I don’t want to blow your head off, honey. But it’s pork and beans for dinner tonight.”

Mr. Cat Sand, bring me a dream. Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen

Tuesday, June 15th, 2010

By Tiber

My brother Kru’s new home delivery of cat sand business is still going strong, even though today, as I rode along, we did have a slight problem.

A new client had ordered a 30 lb. bag of cat sand and since the cat box was upstairs, she gave Kru a killer smile and asked if he’d carry it up for her.

He obliged and was filling the cat box in the hallway, when the woman’s husband came home. The husband paid no attention to me or to Kru’s clearly marked, “LitterAce Man” truck sitting parked in the driveway. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, since I have a feeling that many other trucks had been parked there already.

Storming into the house and racing up the stairs, the husband found Kru, standing right by the bedroom, where he innocently announced,

“I’ve given your wife the litter she wanted!”

Leaving cat litter for your wife is one thing.. A man thinking you’ve left a litter with his wife is something else again.

Kru’s a very strong guy but, in this case, I was all for his running. That’s exactly what I would have done if the husband came charging after me.

I might have been a little more careful about not hitting the cat sand spigot in the back of the truck, however. As Kru floored us out of there, we left behind a long trail of kitty litter that announced our every turn for the ten blocks that the guy followed us.

I looked back and a wind finally blew up, scattering cat sand and the husband.

The neighbors, though, were still sliding on the sidewalk and shielding their faces. And I knew they were thinking,

“Why am I in the Sahara instead of just going to Starbuck’s?”

The LitterAce Man

Wednesday, May 26th, 2010

By Tiber

Since Dad decreed that everyone in the family now has to get a job (and no one can actually do anything), my brother Duncan has managed to come up with some work  for our younger brother Kru.

Duncan happened to notice our cat, Paracelsus, heading for his cat box. And inspiration struck. Duncan got to thinking about cat sand being heavy. What a nuisance it must be, especially for women, to have to keep buying it and toting it home. Somebody should start a service that delivers cat litter directly to your door. The service could even haul the used cat sand away! Duncan ran the idea by Kru and The LitterAce Man was born.

Kru has a friend whose father loaned him an old truck that had hauled who-knows-what in its original life. But it has a handy spigot in back that allows cat sand, bought cheaply in bulk, to be poured out into any size bag requested.

And the customers have appeared. It’s hard work, toting all of that sand into homes all day long but Kru, by far the fittest of us all, has really taken to this job. And according to him, the women on his route have really taken to him.

Kru thinks there must be some sort of attraction hardwired in females, about seeing a guy lugging something heavy over his shoulder – you know, like a prehistoric alpha male hoisting a dead sabre-tooth tiger back home to the cave. I reminded Kru that he was just a guy toting dead kitty litter back to the utility room.

 “Hey, the hormones released are the same!” he snapped.

He may have a point. To be truthful, I laughed out loud when I first heard about this job. But now, suddenly, women are asking Kru if he might want to stay on for awhile and have a cup of coffee. I’m the one sitting here with the cute cat but Kru, armed only with the cat sand, may soon be getting a lot more than a sandwich.

Falling down for fun and profit

Friday, November 27th, 2009
By Tiber
My brother, Kru, being the kid who has always felt left out, likes to perform daredevil feats to prove himself.  They don’t always work out. My mother can be talking about anything and if she starts a sentence with, “Kru-,“ my father will jump in with “is an idiot!”

The truth is, over-all, Kru is pretty athletic but even the best stuntmen have to contend with the persistence of gravity.

When Kru was a kid, he and my mother were in the emergency room so much, that soon, eyes began to turn towards her.

Then one day, the hospital staff got to see what my mother was dealing with. They had gotten Kru comfortably placed in one of the cubicles and told him to wait. And they weren’t gone thirty seconds when they found that he’d climbed on top of that high cubicle curtain and was perched on that tiny bar like a vulture, peering down at the terrified woman in the other bed as if she were a carrion animal cracker.

I often wonder about that woman. This event may have scared her so much that she just died. On the other hand, it may have inspired her to get well immediately, get the hell out of that hospital and race home.

In any event, now that Dad has said that everybody had better get jobs, Kru’s been thinking that maybe he could perform some daredevil stunt and charge admission.

He decided to practice by scaling the front of the house, after prudently notifying security. They have guns. He did not, however, notify our maid, Gabby. And Gabby has rugs.

I saw it all as I was driving up. Not expecting anyone to be clinging to the outside of the second story, Gabby unfurled the rug out a window and slammed it to shake it clean.

The human fly clinging there, took what looked like a giant fly-swatter, right in the face, and down he went.

Gabby felt terrible about it but Dad reassured her to never feel bad in life when the other person is “an idiot!”

The emergency room personnel cheered my brother up though. They all called out in unison when he arrived,

 “Oh, hey, Kru!. Good to see you. Your usual room?”

Every family has one

Wednesday, November 4th, 2009

By Tiber

They say in any big family, and maybe even in smaller ones, there’s always one person who feels left out. Maybe we all feel that way at times but around here, the hands-down winner would be my younger brother, Kru.

I think this started when Kru was around 5 and Dad picked him up from some school sports event. We were all home afterwards, seated at lunch, and after tamping down most of the noise, Mom smiled at my sister, Iris Nell, who was 7, and asked,

“Why don’t you introduce us to your little friend, Iris Nell?”

My sister, way overly-sensitive in the best of times, looked up in horror. What was Mom talking about?  Was it possible to have imaginary friends around you that only others could see? Could these “friends” also be carrying  weapons that only others could see?!?

My mother was referring, of course, to the new boy, seated next to my sister. It turned out that my father had picked up the wrong kid at school. And nobody had even noticed that Kru wasn’t there. Good thing it was a simpler time. God knows what Dad would be charged with now, even with the right kids sorted out.

Mom was furious, even though Dad kept trying to defend himself with,

“They all had on the same uniform! They all looked alike!”

“They’d all look alike in the womb in the same uniform!” my mother retorted. “Not when they’re five!”

Duncan, ever the evil older sibling, whispered to Kru that Dad didn’t really mean to leave him with his coach. And just as Kru was starting to feel better, Duncan closed with,

“No, no, this was just a dry run so he could work out the timing. He really plans to leave you with vultures!”

I told Kru to just ignore Duncan but he sat paralyzed at the table for the longest time. And Iris Nell was no help. She was frozen too. Having introduced the idea of invisible friends that only she couldn’t see, brought up the possibility of invisible vultures as well.

Of course, I didn’t know any of this. Iris Nell asked me cryptically,

“Do you think if we invited some mice to the dinner table that then the little kids won”t be carried away?”

I can see her point now but at the time I thought, and not for the first time, I am related to crazy people. And will it rub off on me?