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Oh wow! Do I get to write a bunch of these? How's this one, one late night in a town I'd prefer to leave unnamed, my blood brother and I were getting pretty darn drunk with a few of our friends. I don't remember what we were waiting for really, all that I can remember is that me and my blood brother, Dopa, got pretty hungry. So sitting out in front of the grocery store, the thought didn't even occur, no words passed between us, but into the grocery store we went, he on foot and me on my bicycle. Still not a word has passed between us, but off I go on my bike riding around the grocery store, singing a bunch of rowdy, vulgar and obnoxious songs not quite at the top of my lungs. It doesn't take very long for me to attract the attention of the store manager, not to mention most of the other store employees, and developed quite the parade being me as I sing "I want to be a New York Ranger" like Bender from the Breakfast Club.

As I am riding up and down and back and forth across the store knocking things off the shelves, and unbeknownst to me, my most wonderful blood brother is filling his backpack with steaks and roasts and ribs for us to barbecue on an overturned shopping cart down on the beach. I hear the words, "I'm calling the police!" and at that moment I stop, take off my headphones, turn and say, "Hey, I'm sorry dude, I didn't know I couldn't ride my bike in here. I'll leave." and disaster was narrowly avoided once again.

I walk my bike outside only to find my brother standing just outside the store, a grin from ear to ear on his face, and we round up the others and make our way. Halfway across the bridge to the lake, I notice that his bag is bleeding, I ask what's happening and he tells me to open his bag. We laughed all the way to the shopping cart. It didn't always happen that way, but that night we ate good.

Learn more about this author, Kyle Chalmers.
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