The Big D'Oh

My great-Aunt E and I celebrate the same birthday, March 27.

Aunt E's got me by, like, 32 years but she's cool as shit, which is why I can't understand how she could beget a goober like her son, my Cousin Bruce. (He's my step-cousin, really, but it's impolite to not claim blood relations for the stupid ones.)

I called to wish Aunt E a happy B-day on our day, especially because she's going in for some major surgery soon. Anyhoo, Cousin Bruce picked up the phone first. Damn.

"Hey, Val. Yeah, Mom's here. She can't wait to talk to you. So, guess what? The "O" in the Hollywood sign burnt out, and I was supposed to drive the replacement out to Cali but they needed 24 feet on the trailer and my rig is only 20 feet. Fuck! Oh, and I'm buying you a gun for Christmas."

Hey, my pretties, I love me some truckers. Lookin' down ain't what this is about.

But Cousin Bruce lost his CDL license more than a few years ago due to some dranking and mouthing off to coppers, um, six times in a two-year period. After his truck sat parked in Aunt E's driveway for several consecutive months, he finally sold his rig three years ago, so ain't no one asking him to drive nothing nowhere.

Apparently, though, Cousin Bruce can time travel. Or he was hopped up on some major goofballs that were taking him back to 2004.

I don't know. I suspect that he doesn't either.

The moral of the story? Don't call my Aunt E's house when Cousin Bruce is awake.

In the Comments section, tell me about your "Cousin Bruce." We all got one.