It Was The Night Before Thanksgiving

I will be skimming details. It is late...or, guess early, now.
I have been laughing so hard the muscles in my face and ribs are sore.
Fired up the smoke pit around noon. The meat will be ready about feeding time tomorrow...or, I guess today now.
A dear friend, might as well be my brother...haven't seen him in years, showed up.
Much beer and whiskey were consumed.
He passed out sitting up in chair.
I remembered back a couple of decades. I told him then I was going to get even after he drew a penis on my forehead with a permanent marker while I was in a comparable state of unconsciousness.
I drew a Hitler moustache on him. I figured that was a fair trade.
Wait...the story continues.
I went away for a bit and then came back to put a blanket on him.
My young nephew had been drawing on his face, permanent marker, and he looked like a psychedelic Maori warrior.
About this time, Mullen, my Irish ape brother, walks in and takes the marker away from the kid.
The victim wakes up, sees Mullen holding a marker, starts swinging knuckle-sandwhiches.
Mullen easily restrains him, taking two good hooks in the process.
He just puts him on his back, sits on him, holds his arms, and tries to explain that he didn't do anything and asks the other to stop swinging.
As he is doing a fine job of being a physically superior diplomat in the squab, I receive a command from God.
The guy on top has about a half foot of ass-crack hanging out. I have a beer in my hand.
I'm sorry, but I had to. I dumped half a bottle down the chasm.
He spun around and bitch slapped me to the floor.
All at once the entire 3-Stoogieness of the entire situation hit the three of us simultaneously.
We all hugged and laughed until we cried.

That's what mates are for hey, the male bonding process is a wonderful thing.