By Eavin Moore 
I’ve got an idiot brother-in-law. You may have one yourself. Mine is a fat slob, who had the good fortune to not only be the child of wealthy parents, but also to have landed my beautiful, but long suffering sister. I don’t have to worry about offending him in print because I’m not sure he can read. His name is Ted.
Ted is an incompetent buffoon and the bane of my existence. He figured out early in our relationship that he doesn’t really need to know anything besides who to call when he’s in a jam. You guessed it, he calls me.
Last Saturday was a perfect example. He called as I was having my first cup of coffee of the morning. My wife answered and handed the phone to me. She knew if I had seen the caller ID, I’d have just let it ring.
“Good Morning Sport,” he said. He knows I hate when he calls me that.
He wanted to know if I could come out to L.A. (lower Amazonia), with my trailer and haul his sorry butt and his even sorrier riding mower in to town for repair. You would think someone in his financial position would just hire a lawn service to take care of the grounds, but no, he makes Sis do it. My guess is that she treasures the time in the saddle, where the noise from the engine drowns out the sound of his voice.
Anyway, he has this old 60’s model rider he got from his folks, that is basically held together with baling wire and duct tape. He insists it will last forever, but my guess is that he could have replaced it with new for what he keeps spending on repairs. Obviously you can’t reason with an idiot. (Full story)
Posted by: admin on Thursday, May 15th, 2008
Filed under: Come look at my stuff!,
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