Snap Studios

If you're lucky, very, very lucky, you get to grow up with siblings that you, for lack of a better word, you love.

And growing up, I didn't say, hey, knucklehead brothers, I love you.

But in time I've come to realize that I do, in fact, love them.

More than love them.

And there are lots of horrors associated with trauma.

I know this, but the gift of trauma at an early age is that it forges a type of sibling relationship that sometimes I don't see from families that had an easier go of it.

I've witnessed brothers, grown men who grew up together in the same home after a long time apart, greet each other by shaking hands, by nodding hello. What? Those of us that emerge from trauma households, we greet each other with bear hugs, jumping on each other's

backs, suplexes, and atomic wedges, every touch, every smack upside the head, a reminder,

a celebration that we made it through. And my brothers, they both passed on too early, far, far too early.

But if I get to see them again in the next life, one thing I can absolutely guarantee is that day.

That day, there won't be no shaking hands.

No polite nods, no way.

There will be joy.

And for everyone

that has been to the

edge and looked over,

the Dan Snap judgment,

we proudly present

into the abyss.

My name is in Washington.

And if you've never dipped your siblings' hands in hot sauce while they were sleeping,

...