I told the Butcher about the review in the Scene and he basically said what Sarcastro said, which is, was it really any worse than anything he said about the play?
Then, he said, “B., I am your brother and I love you more than anyone else on this planet. If you’re going to be more hurt by what some stranger says than what I say, I’m going to leave in a huff.”
The door slammed behind him as he left in a tremendous huff. Then it opened back up.
“You don’t mind if I take the car, do you?”
Far be it from me to ruin a good huff by refusing the man the vehicle necessary for his dramatic exit.
Then, the recalcitrant brother called. He’s bound and determined to get my tub flowing again. He called to tell me that I needed to rent a… oh, shit… a… something that is basically just a snake on the end of a very powerful drill. Well, shoot, I think we all know I’m going to have to get a hold of Sarcastro tomorrow and ask him what it’s called and where I can rent one for Saturday, the day of drain reckoning.
Poor Sarcastro. If only he’d known I’d end up treating him like another sibling, and imposing on him constantly, I bet he’d have pretended to be a lot stupider–“Golly, B., I’d love to help you, but I don’t know nothing ’bout plumbing. Is that what it’s called when you pick them?”