What is the best/cute/funny/playful chat/conversation between brother and sister?

“It’s good for you. Puts hair on your chest,” she said.

“RJ, don’t believe everything you hear no matter how convincing it sounds,” she said.

“It means that if I’m looking after you, and I am because you’re my little brother, I can refer to clause 29 in the Big Sister Little Brother Rules and Regulations.”

Why are people of mixed race seen as more attractive than non-mixed-race people?

“Well since I’m looking after you I’m taking the Big Sister precedence over you,” she said, her eyes still on the TV.

“WHAT? What does that mean?” I asked her.

She laughed and said, “Well if there is, they should update it.” We finished the job together.

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“She told YOU to do that! I heard her,” I told her.

She looked at me for a minute, came up and put her arm around me.

Now, I knew Tracy and Lori had a version of Eidetic Memory and could remember everything they read. “Well what about the Little Brother Older Sister Act of 1925?” I asked her smugly.

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Okay, so back then I was a gullible kid and believed my sisters. I sighed, got up and walked out of the room. I walked to the garage, grabbed a couple of plants and brought them outside near the shed. I looked around and saw Tracy watching me arms crossed. She came over to me.

“Clause 29 states that if a sister is more than one year older than a younger sibling, that sister can order said sibling to do whatever she wants.”

“Well, I’ve to say, you’re pretty darn convincing Trace. I really thought there was a book like that,” I told her.

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“It’s a big, well worn leather book in the library, The Older Sister Little Brother Act 1925. I’ve read every page. There’s 2033 pages in that book.”

Mom would just close here eyes and leave saying, “Tracy Alexis, I just can’t deal this this right now!”

“That book was never used and the library discontinued it and put it in the dead pile,” she said painting another coating of nail polish on her nails as she watched TV.

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This is one of them. I’ve had many. My older sister Tracy could rattle off false statements so fast it could make your head twirl.

We were sitting on the couch watching TV. Tracy was 15 and I, her younger brother was 13.

“Come on, let’s go and get the plants. It’s not a lie if the teller confesses it was. I was just having fun with you,” she said.

Its year 2041, and president Hunter Biden has ordered every republican who sweared at him to be arrested and shot. I am on my way to the death row listening to the cheer of the Liberal mob chanting death death death. How can I escape?

“I never heard of that book,” I said.

As her younger brother, I was caught in her vocal trap many times. Like this one.

“But you’re my sister, why would you lie to me?” I asked.

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I looked at her. “Why should I do a job that mom said you’re supposed to do?” I asked her.

“Well you must have an awful hairy chest,” I said. Tracy burst out laughing. “So what happens if I don’t listen to you?” I asked.

“Oh, mom said you have to take the flowers in the garage and put them in the back yard by the potting shed,” she said to me matter of factly.

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“God I hate that smell,” I said.

I was the only one that she would let call her Trace. She’d correct anyone else who did and tell them that her name was Tracy, not Trace.

She looked at me, “They have their own police force RJ. The BSLBPF, Big Sisters Little Brothers Police Force.”

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