Dear World's Best Brother:

You are seriously the definition of shit awesome. I can't even believe we got so drunk that we did an interpretive napkin dance. In a bar. Where there were other people. Whom we knew. I mean, I love interpretive napkin dance and any excuse to flit about or twirl or click my heels on the floor in a semi-recognizable version of Spanish flamenco dancing, but you are 6'3" and built like a linebacker which makes it maybe the funniest thing pretty much ever that you also leapt and twirled and waved napkins in front of your face. I'm also super excited about the 4-person Conga line we did to Christmas music.

Also, thanks for rescuing me from my prison between the wall and my bar stool when I fell off that one time.

Oh, and I'm glad you didn't karate chop me into oblivion at Mom's when I took your keys out of the ignition and threw them in the yard so you couldn't go home. You looked at me and then laughed hysterically instead. More flitting ensued in the yard (me) while looking for your keys in the total darkness (you).

If I moved back to our hometown, we would cut a swath through that town the likes of which have never been seen. We would sully the good _____ name and end up in jail, dead, or maybe both. It would be pretty fantastic.

I love you and am really sad I won't see you over Christmas b/c I think we can top the napkin dance,
b