I saved my brother's life once. True story.
My mom and her husband were getting geared up to go on a trip to the river. Me and my brother were allowed to stay home from this trip, and we were both excited.
No mom, no step-dad, nothing to do but swim in the pool, maybe drink a few beers, invite our friends over to watch satellite. Yeah, we had one of those gigantic satellite dishes back in the day--and the worst part about that fucker is that you had to change positions on the satellite to watch certain shows. Which meant one of you had to stand outside and make sure the fucking dish didn't fall off it's mount--and it did, often. When that happened, one of us (usually me) had to stand outside, holding the fucking gargantuan satellite dish up while my brother mashed the buttons on the box to get that fucking thing to go in the right direction.
Usually, he'd go in the wrong direction, and I'd yell at him to go the other way, he'd be in the living room, yelling at me if the satellite was fixed yet. It was like talking to each other with waxed string and fucking tin cans.
If you're picturing one of those tiny little discreet directv or dish network dishes, you're out of your fucking mind. This thing was METAL. It was heavy, and it made a kind of screeching/groaning sound when the satellite moved. It was an eyesore, but set in our backyard, among the fifteen or so acres our house was on, just a few yards over from the rose bushes, it had a kind of metal artwork appeal. Like a giant metal sunflower.
Anyway, Mom decides that we both need to clean our rooms, before she leaves. My brother was the negotiator. He'd wheedle, finagle, and try to talk my mom out of making him clean his room.
Finally, he just said that he couldn't clean his room. He told her that the mess made him comfortable, and he couldn't clean it because he was 'living an alternative lifestyle'.
I think he'd caught that phrase off Oprah.
Maybe mom was tired of arguing with him, but somehow, this explanation worked.
After they left, I looked at him, and said, "Alternative lifestyle?" He grinned, and said "Yeah, I knew that would get her."
Me: "You know what alternative lifestyle means, right?"
Him: "I can be messy, and maybe not have to do laundry. I heard that shit on Oprah."
Me: "Alternative lifestyle means gay, numbnuts."
Him: ".....Bitch. Let's go get a strawberry bar."
So, we went to the deep freeze, got our frozen strawberry bars. My brother had this theory, that the best way to eat one of those was to run it under warm water for a few seconds.
He claimed that this kept it from sticking to the sides of his mouth.
So, I open mine up, he's rinsing his under warm water like he's part raccoon.
We sit there in the kitchen, eating our popsicles, and I look over at him.
His eyes were huge, and half, no, more like three quarters of his popsicle was gone.
He started hitting himself in the chest, trying to dislodge the popsicle.
Without thinking, I ran over to him, and pounded him on the back, really hard. Immediately, the popsicle flew out of his throat, and he was okay.
He was freaked out, I was freaked out. What I wanted to say was 'I'm glad you're okay'. What I said was "Good job, deep throat. Did you learn that living your 'alternative lifestyle?"
He called me an asshole, and since his ride was there (a huff), he left in it.
Deep throat never thanked me.
To this day, if I say 'deepthroat', he still gets pissed.