He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared

There’s no question I’m a backbiting SOB, but little brothers learn to fight like the Taliban; stick and move, utilizing mobility to strike where your opponent is weakest – never hanging around for a static defense, as the size of your opponent is overwhelming.

All warfare is based on deception.

I called Older Bro to mention the creek was dead, water flow that of a garden hose, mentioning his new reel had arrived, but as I was distraught over the demise of my fetid little trickle – I was to mourn its passing by getting gloriously drunk.

Peace proposals unaccompanied by a sworn covenant indicate a plot.

Knowing Older Bro was keenly reading slurred speech and apparent sloth, but was fat and soft from year’s of non-competition, he’d lower his guard just enough not to set the alarm clock.

Now in order to kill the enemy, our men must be roused to anger; that there may be advantage from defeating the enemy, they must have their rewards.

Mother’s Day dawns with my ample hams perched in Ma’s bounteous kitchen – surveying the Golden Fleece, a pound of Ma’s famous Lemon Cake with nary a scratch to mar its surface.

No ruler should put troops into the field merely to gratify his own waistline; no general should fight a battle simply out of greed.

I feign disinterest, despite the insistence of the Cook whose delight at seeing the prodigal son (who lives hours away) requires her to bundle the entire .. blessed .. whole.. dessert – without thought to Older Bro; whose scouts alert him far too late to marshal his forces in time for my blazing .. fast .. getaway.

If it is to your advantage, make a forward move; if not, stay where you are

A couple of zipcodes later, I checked my dust for signs of pursuit. Seeing none I make a reasonable Chipmunk imitation; cheeks bulging with golden baked goodness. – intent on despoiling my prize, as fingers is the least of an older brother’s worries.

To Sun Tsu’s legacy I’ll add:

Damn, Ma’s Lemon Cake is sure tasty.