This past weekend was another family-filled, liquor-fueled, spanx-ridden love fest in the form of my cousin’s wedding.  It was a lovely affair, thanks in no small part to my dance moves which have been described by strangers as “aggressive,” “upsetting,” and “I think she’s hurt.”

However, before I could make it out to the dance floor, I made a rather disturbing discovery about my brother, John.

John and I are very close, almost like brothers, but better because I am a girl.  He is only two years older than I am, but significantly less attractive.  We share a lot, but never sandwiches.  He has this weird obsession with chicken that could only be described as completely unhealthy which I realize is unrelated but honestly, it’s incredibly strange and I’m worried.

I thought I knew everything about my brother, that is, until I hopped on an authentic ol’ Boston Trolley this past Saturday, and learned the truth.

I was busy taking self portraits featuring my face that will likely be worth a lot of money very soon, and unfortunately, glimpses of surrounding family members occasionally appeared in the periphery of the photo.  I was admiring one picture in particular, thinking about how I was going to crop John out of the image, when it hit me: John was in the picture TWICE.

Except one of the Johns was wearing a big dumb hat, and was glued to the side of the bus.

I made eye contact with my brother – or maybe it was the poster – and only saw fear, but I knew what I had to do.

I had to tell everyone that my brother has been sneaking off to Boston to pose in Minute Men garb for weird promotional images for the Old Town Trolley Tour.

Cool hobby, dork.


Hello, brother(s).


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