I hated being teased growing up. Fuck did I hate it. I even wrote a poem about it once... sort of.
But like all things in life, eventually you get your karmic justice. I got mine.
Growing up in a large family in a three-bedroom apartment as I did (I was the second youngest of seven), you develop a full appreciation for the word co-habitation. That was the operative word for me for several years in the 1970s, when I shared a room with my brothers Ralph and Louie. Ralph and I shared a bunk bed, while Louie had the twin bed next to ours. I used the top bunk.
Being the oldest of us three, Louie took charge of the room. He's a natural leader to begin with, which at the age of 16 translates into "really bossy." Most nights, we watched what he wanted on our little 19-inch black-and-white television. He also told us when it was time for bed. And he meant it. You see, Louie was also our "A" student. Part of the reason he did well in school was because he stuck to a routine. That meant lights out at 10PM, no exceptions.
Me and Ralph had other plans. Lights out for us meant keep Louie up all hours of the night. We'd make up stupid songs or make noises that would drive him bonkers. The sound he hated most was "peep." Here's how a typical weekday evening went in our room:
Louie: Would you guys shut the fuck up! I'm trying to sleep.
Me: I'm sorry. We'll shut up. 'night Ralphie (snicker...)
Ralphie: 'night Johnny. Me: 'night, Ralphie....It was at this point Louie would jump out of bed and threaten us with bodily harm.
Louie: I swear if I hear another peep out of you.
Ralphie: Sorry.Moments later......
Ralphie: Peep.
Me: Peep. Peep
Ralphie: Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep
Me: Peep. Peep,Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep.Peep. Peep
Louie would pummel us both with punches after that and try as we might to feel the pain of being hit on the arms, legs, and chest, we would simply laugh our asses off.
Years later, Louie still can't live it down. What makes telling this story even more fun is that my brother Louie is a died-in-the-wool Republican. We haven't had a chance to discuss the selection of Sarah Palin as McCain's VP running mate, but I can't imagine him not being energized by her selection. No doubt, he's one of the "base" who admires her 
So, here's my advice to Obama's campaign team:
Keep peeping her.
Peep her until she fucking cracks.
Then laugh your ass off while you take your lumps.
Trust me. It works.
