My brother is probably one of the most fun people I know. For sure. Among his efforts to be a punk and his refusal to drive my manual-shift Pontiac, he's highly enjoyable.
For example, this morning we were pulling weeds out in the rock garden in front of our house. There we were, bent over, rear ends in the air and pointed to the street as we pulled the obnoxious plants out of the rain-softened soil. My brother straightened up, his hand full of leafy green, and shielded his eyes from the sun. He stood there for a moment, and I just knew there was something coming. As he leaned down again, he shook his head and pulled up another weed.
"Dude, I just hope a prison van doesn't drive by."
My brother is so great.