My brother was an sob, the worst word available to my seven year old vocabular, and one I knew wasnt

good because the use of it once resulted in an unpleasant snack on an Ivory Soap bar from my mother, plus the word clearly implicated her because my brother was he son, so it was an insult not only to my brother but to mom, but I didnt care at this point, and I gladly hurled it at him over and over again in my mind as he dangled the chocolate dip crunch cone just inches above my verticle leap, which probably was no more than four feet, even with my arms outstretched, making me feel like a lousy dog trying to leap up and fetch a treat out of its owner's hand, but no he wouldn't give me even a taste of his beloved ice cream cone; morevoer, the sob didn't have any money left to buy me one, so he took it upon himself to torture me by slowly eating it and letting it melt in the 90 degree heat and giggling as I practically droolled, watching the hard chocolate exterior shell begin to break up and slide down a vanilla flow onto the sugar cone base, only to be stopped by that sob's hand, which firmly grasped the delicious cone as he took his deliberate time eating it and savoring every divine nibble; thus, I abandoned my vain attempts to snatch it from the sob; instead, I held my steaming, parched tongue open, like a dehydrated man hoping to quench his thirst with mere raindrops, praying a stray drop of vanilla, maybe even with a small fragment of chocolate coating attached to it, might descend like an angel and pardon my eternally suffering soul, but, alas, that sob hoarded every single stray drop for himself, letting the precious nector run onto and pool among his greedy fingers, and finally when the sob ultimately began chomping on the sugar cone, he had the gaul to say, "okay, if you really want some, I guess you can lick my fingers."