the shyte my brother and i go through / i rode the dare devil dive

if you’re going to go around picturing my little brother, just take everything you know about me and then move to opposite land (it’s right next to Colbert Nation).

don’t misunderstand, i love him deep-down crazy style. we come from the same twisted homelife, and he’s one of just a few people in the world who can ever know my very core.

but because we are not alike in any practical way, we’ve been through some shyte.

some throwdown, knock down, crying, yelling, I HATE YOU AND HOPE YOU DIE! shyte. the kind of shyte only a brother and sister can experience. and even then, only if they love each other. the kind of shyte that’s led us to not talk for umm, oh, i’d say about the last two years.

except of course, at great america.

at great america, we’re the same.

we ride in the front seat of vertical velocity. we pressure people into going on rides even if they’d rather live in a freezer for seven days than experience them. we even hate the same people – those stupid losers who use the flash pass to cut in line.

and because really, i love him deep-down crazy style, i eat it up.

so when he started suggesting i go on the dare devil dive with him yesterday, i didn’t say a firm NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! like i normally would.

instead, i considered it.

the ride is basically a drop to your death that stops just short of landing you in a casket.

i’d say, about six inches short.

you hook up to some wires and then, while linking arms with your partner, are jerked up about 10 stories high. after a quick confirmation from the people safely on the ground telling you it’s time to FLYYYY!!, you have to pull the rip cord so you can drop to the cement.

did you hear me?


scariest. thing. eva.

let’s be honest, my brother was in charge of that crap. if it were up to me, i’d just make a nice little house up there complete with a loofah and live in it forever because WHY WOULD I FLING MY OWNSELF TO DEATH?

my brother is the kind of guy who’s never scared. the kind of guy who talks casually while in the front seat of a coaster that shoots you toward the sky at 100 mph in less than 2 seconds. the kind of guy who the signs reading “PLEASE STAY SEATED ON THIS RIDE” are meant for.

but on this ride. he was scared. actually, he was terrified.

and so, he was terrified. and i was terrified. and for this moment, we were exactly the same.

while looking down at the cement they had lifted us over, building up to the official “rip cord moment” we examined the little tiny trees,  held our breath and tried not to pee right there from 150 feet above the ground.

then, he said to me “why the (swear word) do i have to be the one to pull the (swearing word) rip cord?!” with a panic in his voice i didn’t know was possible.

two seconds after that, he pulled the cord.

and two seconds after THAT the worst was over.

we had done it.

holy fricking crap.

we had just fallen to near death and lived to talk about it.




the two of us flew back and forth for a few minutes, and each of realized then that we really COULD do anything in life we wanted to.

and i finally felt at peace with him again.

nobody else we know has done that. nobody else we’re related too can understand that moment.

just him. and me.

and in this way, we are again, exactly the same.

i’d say it was totally worth it.

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  1. PS.
    I do have to confess that I had to look up the definition of the word “shyte” as it wasn’t in my vocabulary. It was pretty obvious once I read what it means. So I’m OLD and Old English isn’t in my background.

  2. your brother sounds like a very nice and cool guy.

    and i am glad both of you lived to blog the tale of surviving the devil dive. my six flags has one and i have never even considered going on it. funny, though because i have considered living in a freezer. or rather a very cold, walk-in refrigerator like the one they keep beer kegs in at BevMo. I just create a lot of body heat for some reason and it seems comfortable.

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