Q: Mr. Wayne, first let me state that I find your life story--the obstacles you've overcome, your impressive achievements, the manner in which you've handled yourself at each stage of your career--inspiring.

A: Thank you. I'm quite partial as well to that fourth-grade book report on Where the Red Fern Grows.

Q: What I'm asking you is a very simple question. Does your treatment of your younger brother from the years 1987 to 1995 constitute torture?

A: I don't know.

Q: Let me be more specific. On September 2, 1990, you initiated what is known in intrafraternal warfare parlance as so-called "watercupping."

A: I don't know what is involved in the techniques.

Q: I'll refresh your memory. In watercupping, the sleeping hand of a younger sibling is submerged in a cup of warm water to reproduce the sensation of total relaxation.

A: If watercupping is torture, torture is unconstitutional.

Q: That transitive logic doesn't really answer the question, sir. One suspects you are loath to define it as such because it would commit you to persecuting others who have engaged in the tactic, such as your sleep-away camp counselor Danny, from whom you and the rest of the 10- and 11-year-old boys bunk learned its nuances--water temperature, duration of immersion, cup depth, etc. Moreover, you yourself frequently referred to another barbaric act, in which the victim is pinned down by your knees while you vigorously palpate his exposed underarms, as "tickle-torture."

A: I don't recall.

Q: That begs the question of whether these practices--however you define them--even produce accurate, usable intelligence. Haven't we established that a victim will respond with virtually anything to arrest an interrogator's incessant prompts of "Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?"

A: In my experience, he will often simply answer, at high volume, "Mommy."

Q: My point exactly. A better question is, should you, as an older relative, even be sending the message to cousins and nephews that Indian burns, noogies, and, in particular, wedgies--of the conventional or atomic variety--are acceptable forms of behavior towards younger brothers?

A: Mind you, I operated fully within bounds of the Lake Geneva Conventions, drawn up in July 1992 on an especially disastrous family vacation to southern Wisconsin. As per article 49: "Any act of physical or projectile salivary contact across the middle seat shall result in both parties being forced to look out their own respective windows," with additional sanctions resulting from deprivation of anything sugary to "turn[ing] this car around"--a fairly empty threat considering we were 900 miles from home, though at the time the ban on desserts in a dairy-based state made a distinct impression.

Q: We have not yet even touched upon the psychological torture you conducted throughout the vulnerable preadolescent years. Precisely what effect did you intend to have by telling your biological brother he was not merely adopted, but was, in fact, born on the seventh planet from the sun?

A: It's dependent on a rather puerile pun.

Q:...Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Ur --oh, I get it. Ha. Pretty good. Nevertheless, the committee has no option but to send your confirmation to the maternal board for further review. In the meantime, you are grounded for two weeks.

A: Two weeks! So unfair.

Q: And to teach you the importance of family, you're going to spend all of Saturday and Sunday with Great Aunt Martha.

A: The whole weekend with Great Aunt Martha? That's absolute tort--never mind.