I confess...
When I was seven years of age, I used to beg my mother for a little brother or sister. My main reason, at the time, was that I desperately, desperately wanted bunk beds. Mother always said, "No," although sometimes, when I was feeling especially persistent, I would get as far as a "We'll see". And that, as every child knows, is as good as a "Yes".

I waited and waited and every day I asked my mother if there was a little brother or sister on the way. For the longest time the answer was always a stern "No!" Then one day when I asked, Mother gave a cheeky, knowing smile and her beautiul green eyes sparkled. She leaned forward so her face was inches from mine and, looking deep into my eyes she whispered, "Maybe." My heart skipped a beat. I came over all unnecessary and ran up and down the street, bleating like an asthmatic lamb. Time swiftly moved on and, after some weeks, my mother and father became certain that they were indeed expecting their second child. As a family we were as strong as ever in our mutual joy and anticipation. In his excitement, Father decided to put his well-honed DIY skills to the greatest use possible: he agreed to build bunk beds for me. "This will come in useful in a few years, son!" he gleefully told me as he set to work. I was at the peak of my happiness. I felt that life simply could not get any better. How right I was.

A few months in, Mother and Father began spending more and more time in the spare room, painting the walls in soft, pastel hues. I did all I could to gain their undivided attention, so much so that they went out and bought me a Stretch Armstrong to keep me occupied. And it did. For a while. But the novelty soon wore off and the jealousy set in again. Raging, unbridled jealousy over my womb-bound sibling. This unborn child of Hades, the progeny of selfish, unloving parents, was already beginning to ruin my life.

That evening, while my father was out buying some more paint, I was following Mother downstairs after she had given me a bath. I was in a foul mood and I was carrying a handful of toys, which meant that I was unable to wipe away an irritating bead of water that had trickled from my wet hair and onto my soft, pink cheek. The water crept further and further down my face, tickling my skin with every fractional movement until the sense of irritation turned to anger, compunding the rage that already burned inside of me like some kind of infernal, steaming hell-dog wolf-python. I exploded, throwing my toys down and striking my mother square in the back with the full force of my body weight. She tumbled awkwardly and landed with a thud at the foot of the stairs.

And that was the end of it.

Mother and Father were quiet for a long time after that. My father left us eventually. Mother started drinking a lot. I stayed in my room and played with Stretch Armstrong.

Now, almost twenty years later, my father still hasn't returned. Mother doesn't leave the house much so I go out and buy brandy every day. It keeps her from crying. I'm alright, though. I've still got my bunk beds. I sleep on the top. Stretch Armstrong goes on the bottom.
(stusut79, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:24, Reply)

I will burn in hell.
My sister is deaf, and once when she was hoovering I pulled the electrical plug out of the socket. This was unnoticed.

I am a bad person.
(Dr Slurkie Slurkie, Fri 19 Aug 2005, 16:40, Reply)

I shot my sister in the head
I would've been about 12 years old and my sister around nine.

We lived in a lovely big house in the country, surrounded by its own woods. Sis and me both had air pistols and we'd often go pigeon hunting in the woods. We never hit a single one as our pistols were pretty crap and the sights were no good.

One day, we were out with our pistols and I decided it'd be a good idea to shoot my sister. She was wearing a big puffa jacket, so I figured my air gun pellet would just bounce harmlessly off.

Lisa (my sister) stood about 20 feet from me, I took aim and fired at her torso. Half a second later, she just collapsed.

I ran over and realised that the crappy sights on my air pistol meant that I'd shot her in the head and not the body. These were only .177 calibre air guns and there was no entry wound or blood but the impact had knocked her out.

Being a kid, I just ran away. I ran home and shouted to my mum:

"Mum, if Lisa is laying on the ground somewhere in the woods, she might not have been shot; she might have just fallen over."

World's worst lier, me. And poorest shot with an air pistol.
( <>Dog www.stevelaker.blog, Fri 19 Aug 2005, 15:33, Reply)

Injured By My Brother
You'd better pull up chair, make a cup of tea, sit down 'cos this will be a long one.

My brother used to be a sadistic swine when he was younger before the Army sorted him out. I still carry many scars from his evilness.

The ones that spring to mind...


He built a tower of empty tyres and made me climb into the middle of them. Then he tried to seal it with a car wheel. I popped my head up and he dropped the car wheel on my head. Masses of blood and,if I ever go bald, I'm going to have a huge circular scar on my nut.

Shot me with his blood air guns to many times to count. He used to make me hold out match sticks and then try and shoot them out of my fingers (and on a few occasions my lips). If I refused he'd just shoot me. I remember one time he gave me 10 slugs and a crappy .177 pistol and told me I had ten seconds to run and then he was going to shoot me. He was armed with a bloody powerful .22 air rifle and he wanted blood. SO I set off running and as I got to 5, he shot me. And missed. The slug hit the butt of the pistol and buried itself and I turned and shot the twat straight in the chest. he screamed like a girl and then spent the next few hours hunting me all over the woods firing every time he caught a glimpse of me.

Tied me up and burnt with a soldering iron.

Blindfolded me and then had the rest of the kids in the street try and hit me (I got a hold of one of them and almost chocked the life from him).

Still, the worst thing he did was he chased me off a wall where I landed on a metal spike and impaled myself. He pulled me off this, got me in the house and then took off my top. The blood was pouring out of my back so he collected it in a cup and made me drink it. "To replace the blood I was losing"

I could go on but the ghosts are killing me. Yesterday, leave me alone.

More self-obsessed ramblings at:

www.livejournal.com/users/legless123/
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 13:44, Reply)

Revenge is a dish best served smack in the f*cking face
After years and years of suffering pain at the hands of elder brother - incidents including being slammed off my parents bed on to a the outstretched leg of a camp bed (aged 5, 8 stitches by the spine), having a fish knife thrown into my skull (aged 8 weeks, 4 stitches) thrown down a flight of stairs into the porch window (aged 6, multiple stitches in multiple wounds), repeatedly suffering spinal injuries due to the 'alphabet game' (I'd be bundled to the floor, kicked into a small ball and then have a chair placed on my back. He'd then go through the alphabet and, at the letter R he'd push the chair down as hard as he could so I'd go ARRRRRGH so he could continue from S onwards - educational you see?) and punched through our open front door only to sail over all three steps and onto the non-soft concrete floor (aged 12, 9 stitches in the back of the head) I decided to challenge him one night to a pillow fight.

His spotty face filled with glee as he charged towards me with his duck feathered filled delight thinking he was about to give his little brother another sound beating. I caught him square in the face as he sprinted forward and knocked the cunt spark out.

He hadn't bargained on me sticking a 2 inch thick wooden bread board inside my pillow case.

To this day my favourite noise in the whole wide world is 'thunk'.

His violent and bullying ways never stopped though and he went on to join the police.
Coincidence? Bollocks.
(Let's all have an asbo, Mon 22 Aug 2005, 12:31, Reply)

Heh.
My sisters and I used to pound on each other with unerring regularity.

My father once interrupted a knock-down, drag-out fight that had degenerated into my middle sister and I on the floor, pulling each other's hair and attempting to bite each other. Furious, he dragged us both out to the garage. As my father had a ferocious temper, we were already terrified about what kind of punishment we were about to receive.

"ALRIGHT! I'VE HAD ENOUGH!" He hands me a sledgehammer, then turns to my sister...."YOU'RE SMALLER, HERE'S AN AXE! NOW, IF YOU'RE BOTH SET ON KILLING ONE ANOTHER, JUST DO IT AND GET IT OVER WITH!"

At which point we both burst into tears and swear never to fight again. It was (relatively) effective, too...I don't think we really fought again for at least a fortnight, which was a bit of a record in our house.

Not really a physical injury, but it left lasting emotional trauma.

Oh, yes. And I once beaned the same sister with one of the large metal shoe-sizing devices they used to have in shoe stores...gave her a nasty gash on her forehead, a black eye, and turned the white of her eye an angry red. My mother was absolutely horrified, not only that I'd done it, but that I'd done it in public.

Same sister swears that I held her down and made her eat ants once, but I don't remember it.
(herbivorous, Fri 19 Aug 2005, 6:02, Reply)

I once bit a huge chunk out of my sister's left arse cheek
when we got into a terrible scrap because I was making her Sylvanian Families do 'Sylvanian Family Suicides' off the roof of their shitty farm house.

Her entire buttock went massive and there was a big ring of bleeding holes in it, the edges of which were a really odd shade of purply blue. I had little bits of arse stuck between my teeth. It was horrible.

My dad belted me halfway to Timbuctoo,and then I spent about two months being forced to attend anger management classes for the under-7s with a bunch of right fucking nutbags who'd all done really bad stuff like stapling dogs to railways and bottling their nans.

Happy days.
_____________________________________

EDIT: I also used to do 'puppet shows' for her when she shared my bunk bed for a while, which would involve me wiggling some socks (or something equally lame) over the edge of my top bunk while she giggled and leaned out of the lower bunk, watching. After about ten seconds or so, I'd let fly with an enormous sticky flob right in her chubby little face. EVERY. COCKING. TIME. And she never seemed to twig.

Kids are thick.

(Mind you, she got me back one time by just getting out of bed and doing a massive piss on my carpet. I was truly pwned there...)
( grey kid is breakdancing to save a community centre, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:52, Reply)

Cunning
I once persuaded my brother to hold a knife between the gas cooker hob and the spark mechanism jobby while I pressed the button. The shock made him throw the knife into the ceiling so hard peices of plaster rained down. I've never laughed so hard.
(donksta, Sun 21 Aug 2005, 12:39, Reply)

Look at her go!!
One time, many moons ago i was out in the garden playing with my sister. Mummy in the kitchen doing mummy work.

After a while Mum heard me laughing with some other noise in the background, through she comes to find me sitting on the floor in front of the tumble dryer, watching my sister go round through the glss door! I was laughing my arse off!!

Problem was the her weight in the dryer made the drum move down and trap the door so it wouldn't open. One crowbar later and my fun was over. I had one very hot and dizzy sister, but i did manage to make her wellies melt together with the heat!

From there things went kind of normal like fights playing snooker, she threw a ball at me, so i hit her in the face with the fat end of the snooker cue.

Normal kids stuff!
(tribal tiger, Fri 19 Aug 2005, 22:09, Reply)

Sorry!
One morning my brother and I started chasing each other round the house. We got bored of this very quickly, and decided to spice things up by using belts to whip each other whilst chasing. My brother was using the end of the belt that goes throught the loops. I decided to use the buckle end. I hit him in the back of the head and the belts teeth lodged in. He started screaming in pain and I tried to remove the belt. I pulled harder, the belt came off and a huge lump of flesh came with it and splatted onto the floor.
He passed out and I threw up.
He now has an impressive huge scar on the back of his head.
(rinkydink, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 13:18, Reply)

She wasnt injured, but she hates me telling this story
My little sister Laura, has an irrational fear of David Bowie. This started when she first saw one of the last scenes in Labyrinth, where he has very big hair and is wearing very tight tights.

Being the loving sister that i am, i started playing her bowie songs so she became petrified of his voice aswell.

Then i told her David Bowie lived under her bed. before she went to sleep at night, dad had to look under her bed to make sure that David Bowie wasnt there.

That was fun enough, but i had to take it that little bit furthur.

I heard the song 'Under Pressure' which is Bowie, but also Freddie Mercury...now laura didnt know who Freddie was, so i showed her lots of pictures of him looking relativly scary...and being about 6 or 7, she was scared. I then made sure she knew the song Under Pressure, and also realised that it was Bowie and Freddie. She became rather scared of the song and would cry every time it was on.

I then told her that Freddie Mercury lived in her wardrobe.

So now we have a young girl who is scared that David Bowie is under her bed and Freddie Mercury is in the wardrobe. Thats scary, thats mean enough...but it wasnt for me.

One night, after reinforcing her belifs about the monsters in the closet, I got up at about 3am. I sat in the hallway outside her room, and plugged in a tape player which had been set so that when i pressed play, it played about 10 seconds of silence, then Under Pressure started. I then opened her door just a crack, enough to be able to slide the tape player in, but no lights on in her room or the hallway.

I then pressed play.

She had nightmares for years.

She hates me telling people this story, but she's 19 and is still scared of David Bowie to the extent that she will cry if she sees him on tele.

Mint.
(polystyrene_daffodil, Thu 25 Aug 2005, 9:48, Reply)

An odd tale
This takes me back a few years.

Basically, i was 5, and he was a year older.
We were playing on those old fashioned wooden horses in the garden.
He was the highly succesful black team, i was the modest white team, with very few victories under my belt.
BANG BANG! He loosed a salvo of shots
BANG BANG! I came a cropper, and tumbled
BANG BANG! What a racket
The bugger had shot me down.

I have no siblings, so instead attempted to make a comical jest, based on the lyrics to a "popular music" track. However, i have failed. Please further inflate my only child ego by clicking the "i like this" icon...now.
(Nyphur, Mon 22 Aug 2005, 13:01, Reply)

My brother and I used to fight when we were little.
We were both vicious little bastards and so our fights would go on for ages and often land one or both of us in casualty. This one day when I was ten and he was six we were having a spectacular scrap and he was winning. He was beating the crap out of me. In my defence I should say that being beaten up by your six-year-old brother when you're ten is a deeply humiliating experience which I simply could not allow to happen, and that is why I clobbered him over the head with a cricket bat. It was a great shot and I'm frankly amazed he retained consciousness, but alas he did, and went screaming to mummy.

It was at this point that I realised that although he had been giving me a sound beating up until this point, I had no physical evidence of such. Therefore, when Mum came to interrogate me I was going to be in Deep Shit. I did the only thing I could do - I bit my arm. I bit my arm so hard I drew blood, so that when she thundered into my room I could say, "See what he did to me! SEE?"

All went to plan up until this point, when my mum said, "You did that yourself, didn't you?" How did she know? My brother had lost a milk tooth a couple of weeks previously. I had a complete set of toothmarks on my arm. Bugger.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Sun 21 Aug 2005, 21:02, Reply)

She deserved it!
Fought, and still fight with my evil sister (Multiple hospital visits etc). But mental anguish was our speciality. When I was a teenage porn lover (still am truth be told) my sister held me in a permanant state of blackmail, threatening to inform my parents the location of my stash, this went on for months, with me having to take the blame for anything she did or she would tell the folks. Deciding to take the stash and leave it up the woods, I brought home a few magazines, and planted them under her bed, then had a word in my parents ear about the worrying discovery, and the rumours I had heard about sis snogging one of her girly mates, she tried to deny it, and pointed out that it was my stash(now missing, ha). 15 years later, and mum still thinks she likes a bit of hairpie, despite 3 kids and 2 husbands.
Shot her once (in the arm) with a webley air pistol. Wasnt aiming for her, just one of those happy accidents.
(donny dogsbottom, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 13:31, Reply)

inferno
during the eighties and the height of big hair my sister decided to have the biggest hair of all. She would top of the barnet pudding with half a can of silvrikin hair spray. Add one naked flame and you get the picture. Imagine my delight in seeing her running round the front room with a bonfire on her head and her boyfriend smacking her with a copy of smash hits to try and put the fireball out. She battered me for it, but I have no regrets.
(dukefukem, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 13:00, Reply)

Yukka's of Mass Destruction
The incident with the Yukka

Saturday Evenings, when I was a wee laddie, always consisted of "Bathtime" after the A-team. I wasn't particulary fond of this activity, so this is normally what ensued:
Dad: "Time for you bath sonny"
Me: "No"
Dad: "Look, do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way" (Line most uttered to me in my years of existance)
Me: "no" (No was the first word I ever uttered - Think I was born to dispute)
Dad *Grabs son by the ankle and drags him up the stairs*

Cue me wriggling free, seeing the closest object to be being this Yukka plant - cue a 4year old holding the mighty plant above my head ala Heston in the 10 commandments, and launching it at my dad, who ducks, whistling past his head and then taking my 20 year old 1/2 sister out.

After realising what I did, I think the whites of my eyes were actually larger then my head.

FIN
( -:Coop:-, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 12:58, Reply)

My brother...
..Jumped on my stomach when we were wrestling. I was in a lot of pain and began to piss blood. Lots of bright red "serious" blood.
I had a tumour on my kidney which he had cracked open.

Fortunately he saved my life by letting me know it was there. The doctors said I would have lasted about a fortnight longer otherwise.
(castro, Fri 19 Aug 2005, 16:57, Reply)

snow drifts
When I was ten, there was a particularly bad snowstorm. The snow was about thigh-high, and in huge heaps thanks to the snowplow.

My older brother (who was 30 at the time; we're 20 years apart in age) was having a hard time moving his car out of the driveway; the thing wouldn't start. So I stood outside in my coat and boots and laughed at him struggle to get the car going.

I forgot that he's a lot bigger than me, and was promptly reminded not to tease him early in the morning; he picked me up and and stuck me javelin style head first in a snowbank. My arms pinned to my sides and my legs up in the air, I couldn't do crap all to free myself.

My mom laughed at me for hours.
(megomobile, Fri 19 Aug 2005, 0:12, Reply)

it was the eighties
and we wore tight, tight jeans. I got my younger brother to put his hands in his pockets and stand with his legs wide apart (trapping his hands) I stood behind him and gave a gentle push, then watched him fall flat on his nose
(lankygingerfool, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 23:04, Reply)

On the pull
Okay, stretching the question just slightly here. I could bore you with the stories of punching half of my brother's tooth out, throwing him through a glass coffee table or nearly gouging his eye out with a toy rifle but they're too similar to the other hundreds posted here. Instead I'll tell you about the time I enlisted one of his friends to ruin his holiday and cause maximum mental injury.

Imagine the scene, he's 17 and off on his first holiday (Ibiza IIRC) for a drinking, clubbing and shagging marathon. Me, his poor 15 year old brother, was sick of the constant abuse and bullying at his hands so I asked his best mate at the time to help me get a little revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.

On the first night he brings a lovely lady back to the apartment and they're getting hot and heavy. Just as they get to the good part he removes his pants and hears a disgusted 'eeeewwwwww'. Looking down he sees a massive skid mark in his underwear, looking up he sees a lovely lady disappearing into the night laughing at him.

As soon as they'd arrived, my brother had gone in the shower. His best mate, under my instructions, had taken a brown marker pen and drawn skid marks in all of his underpants.

No pulling that holiday then. Revenge is a dish best served brown. And, erm, anally.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Tue 23 Aug 2005, 16:18, Reply)

.
There was that time at the beach where I hugged my brother, and peed.
(Cabus, Sun 21 Aug 2005, 19:07, Reply)

my brother......fucking idiot
my dad used to help out on a farm once a week, so we'd also get dragged with him, to give my mum peace and quiet, bear in mind i am about 7 and my brother is about 9(a few years ago).

he was chasing me round this farm after an argument (i'm a faster runner than he is) i manage to climb on the top of this fork thing that goes on the back of a tractor (see pic)

he runs over and as his feet go in between the spikes on the fork, i jump off the back causing it to tip it over and it goes up between his legs, causing a huge scratch and lots of bleeding.
ok to cut a long story short.....
can you imagine the scream of a 9 year old with a 3 foot spike through.........yep you guessed it...his ballsack.....and people wonder why he's a queergayfag(TM)

something like this...but it had more spikes(about 8 or so):
www.hhfab.com/images/tractor_loader.gif
(VashTheStampede http://www.b3ta.com/features/howtopoachanegg/, Sun 21 Aug 2005, 2:57, Reply)

Mentally scarred
My parents asked me to babysit my little bro, who was 4 at the time. I was about 16. I was quite bored, and decided to play a little trick on him. I am so ashamed of this.... I told him I was going to go out for the evening and he wasn't to tell anyone. He looked at me with his big blue eyes and whispered "OK..." I plopped him in front of the TV, made him a bowl of cereal, kissed him goodbye, then walked out the living room. Once into the halway, I opened and then closed the front door, without actually leaving of course. Scampered back and had a quick listen at the living room door, thinking he'd be up to all sorts he wasn't supposed to, but he was actually just sitting there trembling and crying softly. I felt SO BAD!!! I still apologise to him about it to this day, whenever we go out on the lash together.

I also used to pretend I was dead... that used to cause mass panic too... I must be sick!!
(Mad McMad, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:19, Reply)

My brother moved to Canada 12 years ago...
if he ever comes back he may find out about the nine points he has on his driving license. Think of it as revenge for all the beatings he dished out to me when we were kids, although he never scarred me, the pussy.
(i anglepoise, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 13:24, Reply)

My little sister
was pissing me right off one day, you know the old repeating everthing I said.

So I gouged her eyes out with a souldering iron, and fucked the empty sockets.

We're best of friends now though.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Mon 22 Aug 2005, 15:33, Reply)

Well,

since I was an only child I had to beat myself up. And I fucking deserved it too.
(roysin, Sat 20 Aug 2005, 10:27, Reply)

More mental torture
I lay down on my brothers bed once (as you do) and to my horror the pillow was crackly. Upon investigation I discovered a pretty tame jazz mag tucked inside the pillowcase. It looked about 20 years old and really dog eared, and considering he was only 13 at the time, it was probably borrowed from a school friend.

"Hmmm", I thought to myself, "which is better, public humilation or private turmoil?".

I decided on private turmoil and carefully blacked out all the tits and fannys and gave them all beards before replacing it.

He never did mention it, but he was really stroppy for a while.
(Peelmytangerines, Fri 19 Aug 2005, 21:31, Reply)

My first memory of my brother
One of my first memories of my brother was when I was three (he was 8).

He came walking down the hall, looked at me, said "hi." I said "hi" back and promptly smashed him in the chest with a hammer.

My next memory is my brother on the floor trying to get his wind back, my parents seeing if he was okay, and me in the corner cradling and stroking my precious hammer, and what a good job we did, yes we did!

My dark side scares me sometimes.
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:20, Reply)

Defacing the property
of an older sibling is never a good plan. So anyways, myself (at the time 13) and my brother (16) had just become the proud owners of a couple of BB guns (cheers mum and dad!). Now this isn't exactly a open and shut case of 'bullet in the eye'. Oh my no.
So we're running round the garden doing the whole SAS thing, trying to blast the balls off each other. And then... I decide to go and slip on the mildly wet grass, twist my ankle round, doubling it back round to my ass with an awesome "CRACK!". So off to the hospital we go. Diagnosis: fractured ankle. Remedy: surgery, with charming metal plate.
So I'm booked in to have the operation a week after the initial A & E visit and I'm chilling at home in a soft temporary cast waiting for my appointment. Without school to keep me occupied, I had found entertainment through drawing beards on the posters on my brother's wall, most namely that of Dave Grohl of Foo Fighters fame.
So my brother gets back from school, observes my handiwork, storms down and kicks my said injury off the coffee table. Worst pain I've ever felt. Week later, after the pre-op X-ray... amended diagnosis: broken ankle, multiple fractures. Remedy: another metal plate. Ow. 4 years later and we both went to see the Foo Fighters together, and subsequently met Dave Grohl. He already had a beard. I don't think he'd have cared anyway.
(Mr. Beef studio gash stylist, Mon 22 Aug 2005, 1:49, Reply)

Too much violence
All this sibling combat. Hell, it's the mental stuff that really scars.

1) My younger brother, when he was 12 and I 15, tried to impress me by doing a series of drawings of spaceships. He spent days doing them. He left them with me for appraisal, and I wrote 'CRAP' across all of them in felt tip pen. Always was the crtic.

2) Similar age (I must have been going through a phase), parents were out. I went to the kitchen, discovered our cat had caught a rabbit and brought it in. Went back to the living room, asked my brother: 'hey, wanna see my pet rabbit?', to which he replied in the positive. So, I lead him into the kitchen to show him our cat, who had taken off the top/front of the rabbit's skull and was licking its exposed brain and eyeballs. He threw up. I laughed.

Ahh, fun times.
(jambler, Sat 20 Aug 2005, 18:51, Reply)