My eldest sister
I have one younger sister, a psychiatric nurse, and an older sister, a psychiatric case.

Over the years, my elder sister:

Left home at 15, shoplifting (she's a strong girl) and burgling houses to make a living.

Came back home at 17, with two years of probation, and was then sectioned at 3:15am one June morning - hallucinating in our parents room, she hurled a bottle of whiskey through their bedroom window, after stabbing my wisely locked bedroom door with a kitchen knife.

We couldn't save the whiskey (which was probably full of cold tea anyway, as I'd been secretly consuming and replacing the contents over the previous six months. OK, because Dad didn't drink spirits - but bad because he periodically gave them away as presents).

Went to visit her at the local sanitarium, and have an abiding memory of her zombie like state, and a man somersaulting around the room giggling - Father would never take anything seriously. Sorry, I'm being flippant, we were all taking it all very seriously indeed.

She met her future husband there and got married shortly after she turned 18, moving into his house. I would go round to visit her with Dad, but never saw her husband again after the wedding - as soon as her front door bell rang, he'd leg it off down the garden and jump over the hedge.

She had two children, and when they were 2 and 3, she left him because her husband refused to put the heating on (and kept somersaulting around the room giggling), and moved back in with our ever forgiving parents.

When the kids were 7 and 8, I went to the cinema with her. She announced to the lady behind the food counter, confidently and very loudly, that she would like "Two large cockporns for the children, and one for myself".

Six months later, more sectioning ensued. We couldn't get her to leave the garage, as she thought there were crocodiles and lions in the garden - not reasonable as it was a garage in England, nowhere near a zoo. That happened quite quickly: pop out to the freezer in the garage for a pizza, get sectioned a few hours later.

More time in hospital.

The kids moved away at 18 and 19, and elder sister got a job for the first time in her life, at a care home. She's been working for 6 years now and we're very proud of that.

She's now left home (yay for Dad!) to live with an alcoholic whose suffering from pancreatitis, has one kidney, and who is in the process of spending all of her money.

Still, at least he doesn't jump over the garden hedge when I pop round to visit, and I've yet to see him somersaulting around the room giggling.
(Mucky has squinted at the screen with one eye shut since, Tue 30 Dec 2008, 9:06, 2 replies)

I have a twin brother
and once he hooked up with my boyfriend of (then) two weeks. From what I later came to find out, my boy-toy stopped by unannounced one day and though I wasn't in, my twin was, and took advantage of the situation since boyfriend couldn't yet tell us apart.

I found out a week later during foreplay when the boy-toy said something like, "...but I loved it that one time you let me top you."
(Ay, Why, Kay, Jee, Oh, Tee, Ell bcdefhijmnpqrsuvwxz, Tue 30 Dec 2008, 8:33, Reply)

I don't have any siblings
.... so I treat my closest mates like brothers and sisters.

Best part is that you can have psuedo-family rows in the pub or whatever and then bugger off home while they're still argueing.

It's even better when some of the mates are related.. they go home argueing and falling out and, I'm told, riots ensue. (for days at times.... I feel guiltily proud when that happens)

I feel my demonic task for the day is done when I hear these things. Bless em. They're easy to wind up.

Ho-hum.
(biased did [verb] a [noun] in a [adjective] way on, Tue 30 Dec 2008, 1:44, Reply)

My brother dropped out of university, but told my parents he was still there so he could keep getting money.
Deep down I think they know he never got a degree.
( mike woz ere 7442200 & 7696970 getter, Tue 30 Dec 2008, 1:41, Reply)

I am the stupid brother.
Both my brothers have pulled straight A's in school all their lives. I haven't, but I'm not really that far behind.

Today I was talking to my little brother (Fourteen, almost fifteen.) about Zeno's arrow paradox. We had a heated argument about it, that basically ended in him shouting "OF COURSE THE ARROW IS MOVING IT JUST IS."

Cue my big brother walking in, and me and him having a bigger debate about logic and the concept of infinity and zero, whilst my little brother got more frustrated and stormed off to bed, this time angry at the dichotomy paradox.

Is this normal?

I love my brothers.
(Angry Beaver, Tue 30 Dec 2008, 0:25, 10 replies)

Childhood cookery
I have two cousins who were more like siblings when we were very young. Me and Cousin B spent many an hour concocting evil deeds against Cousin S. The best part of that being that she fell for every trick we pulled, with the desired wailing, snivelling reaction.
Our finest Kitchen Cookery session involved the making of a delicious creamy fruit 'cocktail'. This was a base of liberally heaped spoons of Andrews Liver Salts with milk, orange squash (cheap nasty type), sugar, salt, ketchup and flour.
She drank it all up much to our shock horror.
Apparently the puke was better than a jet propelled rocket and must have helped speed the car on the journey home, sadly I was being bollocked for the whole unfortunate Kitchen Caper to relish the humour that night, Cousin B doing his best 'it wasn't me' impression.
(wodalling_spirie, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 23:48, Reply)

Me and my brother get on really well and badly at the same time
We argued just before his 21st birthday so I was told not to come to his gathering. More fool him as it halved the attendance (bitter, me?)

We "cat" each other, which involves, throwing a cat at the other.

I spent my adolescence either picking on him or being fiercely protective.

He once hid behind a door with a walking stick and knocked me clean out as I walked through the door.

We have a standing agreement of taking it in turns to pay for fast food.

I hate his friends, he likes all of mine except my best ones.

We used to play in a band together but he wasn't dedicated to practicing enough. Except for on his Playstation.

Once he killed Benny Hill and totally got away with it and everyone thinks it was natural causes, whereas I murdered Peter Cook. We constantly argue over who killed the genius.

I like Bill Hicks, he hates Dennis Leary. So do I but he doesn't like Hicks.

Football is my first love, Final Fantasy is his.
(Dangerous Disco Trev Isn't my real name, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 23:31, 6 replies)

Herman Munster
My brother Des had all the best genetics in my family, he was (and still is) a really pretty boy, blond hair, blue eyes, and well muscled (due to being in a wheelchair as a nipper), so one ofthe names Dad called him (affecionatley) was Herman the German, as he looked like an Aryan poster boy.

When Des was 14 (and desparate to hang out with his Brothers and thier mates, drinking cider in the park) a local shoe warehouse burned down. We all did the sensible thing, and robbed the place blind of anything that could be considered remotely useful (all the local dads wore bright orange, smokey industrian trainers for ages after),

What I stole was OK, but I managed to pick up a pair of 14 lace holed walking boots with 5mm steel spikes in the sole. I have never seen the like of these things. They fitted my size 10 feet, but I couldnt wear them, as I would look a proper twat. They were religated to the shoe cupboard, awaiting inspiration, or the first Mackrill attempt on K2.

A month or so goes past, and I am looking for my leather bike jacket "Dessie took it, and went down the park" said Mam.

Bastard.

So I go off looking for him. As I took the corner there he is. Wearing my Jacket that is 6 sizes too big, and those stupid boots on his size 4 feet. He wanted Doc Martens, but we were skint. To a 14 year old, those boots were nearly the same thing.

He had zipped the coat up, and laced the boots tight, to try and keep the oversized garment from falling off his shoulders, however, the stiff leather made him keep his elbows and knees straight. All my mates were there, laughing so hard at him, they were falling off the bench.

When he tried to walk, he looked like Fankenstiens' Monster, and made a loud cliking noise. From Herman the German, to Herman Munster.

In a rare moment(up to that point)of brotherly love, I went to him and said "Take my Jacket off, you prick, and dump those shoes, you look like a twat"

He didn't even tell me to fuck off he was so humiliated.

Strangley enough, that incident awoke the ghost of Brotherly concern and love which changed our relationship from squabling kids to adults.

Dessie is now the least twattish guy you could meet, and a real star, but whenever I see him, I can still see that 14 year old, who wanted so badly to fit in he turned himself into an object of ridicule.
(micmac is happy as a pig in shite, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 23:16, Reply)

Smelly poo
When my youngest sister was born, my parents decided to partition my big bedroom into two small bedrooms to give the little sister somewhere to sleep. The paper-thin partition wall meant that you could hear everything from one room in the other.

My little sister was 12 years younger than me, and being a good older brother, I looked after her and made sure she was okay. When she was still very young, she took to knocking on the partition wall if she couldn't sleep, and I'd go and read her a story or have a chat until she dropped off.

One evening, just after my mate Dave had come round for a two-player game of Daley Thompson's Decathlon, there was a knock on the wall from next door. I paused the game, and went to see what was up. In a sad but crystal clear voice, my sister pointed towards the floor and declared "There's a smelly poo in my potty, and it won't go away!" She was, of course, factually correct.

Having made the smelly poo go away, I returned to my room next door to find my mate Dave crying with laughter, and rolling on the floor clutching his sides. To this day, the phrase "there's a smelly poo in my potty and it won't go away" gets a regular outing whenever I meet with Dave.

My sister is now 21, and I haven't yet reminded her of this story. I figure she'll get married sooner or later, and these things are worth saving.
( Tunstall, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 23:01, Reply)

Short and succinct.
When asked how to improve the local Cineworld complex that he works at, my brother - who is 20 - suggested Braille subtitles "so that the blind could understand what was being said."

Bless 'im.
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 21:40, Reply)

We might have been separated for our own good... well, his good anyway...
First let me just say that I've grown up as a reasonably well adjusted, vegetarian, all round nice guy. But my mother has a theory that horrid children turn into easy-going adults... and vice versa.

I treated my brother in a beastly way. When I was nearly four and he was nearly two, my mother heard a commotion upstairs and ran up to find me hard at work trying to push him out of the window. He wasn't having any of it, of course, and was fighting to stay in the bedroom, but still.... I don't know if he'd been annoying me (which he did often) or it was revenge for his lack of interest when I'd fallen head first from a climbing frame.

A year later and I'm at school where I'd worked out that you could get the sharp bit out of a plastic bodied pencil sharpener by stamping on it and picking the blade out of the remnants. Lovely. Of course, what to do with a sharp blade? Well... cut things! I tried me. That hurt. Then my brother gleefully comes bounding up to annoy me and... well, a quick flick of the blade later and thirty years later he still has a fetching little scar on his cheek. There was hell to pay for that.

Then my mum and dad separated, and I went with my dad, and bro with my mum. I thought it was because the folks couldn't stand each other, but I sometimes think they were just protecting my brother.

We get on fine now, though he still has a wary look on him if we're anywhere high, or in the kitchen....
(clopinettes, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 21:36, Reply)

My l'il Bro
I love my l'il bro to bits, and get on really well with him, and am a bit proud of the fact that he's now a Dad to my gorgeous little niece, and is doing really well with everything.

However when we lived together we were either best mates or killing each other, there was no in between, which I guess is common as I'm only 18 months older than him.

We used to do allsorts to each other to wind each other and other people up, like the time we chased each other round the sitting room with knives because the double decker bus had stopped at the bus stop outside our house and all the passengers were staring in.

As the older brother I had a stash of items that it was prudent to hide in a secret sneaky hiding place, stuff like cigarettes, porn and my party booze (I would be about 15 at the time and Matt would be 13) I came home one day to get something out of the hiding place to find one of my cans of party booze had been pierced at the bottom by a compass and had been emptied.

'Mum' I stormed down the hallway 'Matt has stolen my booze'
'You have booze hidden in your bedroom?' Mum was not happy ' Grounded'

So i was confined to quarters for a week whilst my bro who'd stolen my booze got away with it. i was not happy.
(Lord Monkey of Yorkshire,OBE killed a gipsy on...., Mon 29 Dec 2008, 19:02, Reply)

Karen and Steve
I am the eldest, below me are me Sister Karen (3 years diff) Brother Steve (5yd) and Dessie (6yd). One day Steve is being irritated by Karen, who was, and sometimes still is, a right mouthy cow.

Steve threatens Karen with violence unless she leaves him alone (I'll punch you in the face, go away!) Karen dares him to do it (Do it!, You don't have the balls!) so

Smack!!

A peach of a right cross, square on Karens nose. Result, Karen runs upstairs crying. I chuckle, because violence is big and clever. Steve however, is wracked with guilt.
Oh fuck, I think I hurt her, I can hear her crying, I'm going upstairs to say sorry. "Don't" said I "She will kill you, she is waiting with a chair leg, or a knife, and she will hurt you badly, she is a devious, cold hearted, calculating shit and she is playing to your sense of basic decency to have her revenge" said I.

Did he listen?

No!

So up he goes, Karen is by a door, weeping softly, Steve beds down to apologize "Karen, I am really s.." Like a snake, Karen grabs his hair, and pulls his head into the door frame, and proceeds to give him the full Vinnie "smack..Don't...smack... You...smack...Ever...smack Touch...My...smack...Face...Again...smack" Karen, however, had to dodge a very angry Steve screaming "I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU YOU SNEAKY BITCH"

I would have broken it up, but I was laughing too hard. Eventually Dad broke it up, after he was able to stop laughing for a minute.

We all love each other now mind
(micmac is happy as a pig in shite, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 18:26, 1 reply)

Repost *cough*
When my brother and I were all little (I was about 8, him 4) my ever loving, caring, responsible parents used to go out on the lash every saturday and invite one of the (rather naive) grandparents round to kip at our gaff i.e. look after us and make sure we dont kill each other.

This was the greatest night of the week. Basically no matter which grandparent was staying, they'd always go to have a sleep after tea.

Brilliant.

What did me and my brother do? Eat a shed load of chocolate, pull all the cushions off the sofas, make assault courses (using the cushions, tables, lamps, cats etc), don our swimming costumes and re-enact the goings on of Gladiators!!.. To the backing music of REM and the Beautiful South. (eh?!)

Anyway, one fateful night I ended up cracking my brothers head open on the fire place and we had an impromptu visit to casualty. That was the end of that.

Damn it!
(i should have joined myspace, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 18:19, Reply)

Middle Child.
No, I don't have any issues. Wibble.

But I do have fun stories. Mostly involving injuries passed back and forth between me and my older brother.

He once shot me in the arse with a pellet gun. So I shot him in the face with a plastic BB gun.

We used to get carried away watching Jackie Chan movies and tried to incorporate over-the-top moves into our fights.

The pinnacle was when I picked up a small table and swang it for his head. He caught the top and pushed the base into my face, splitting my lip and causing us both to laugh so much and get over excited that our mum couldn't punish us because we thought it was great!

We were odd kids.
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 17:53, 1 reply)

My Uncle, right
He's a cross dresser... called Sybil...

Right... stay with me....

Once, I sucked his cock.. and he ejaculated in my mouth so much...

I couldn't keep all of SYBIL IN!

Sybil in! Sibling!!

Sibling!!

Apologies for length, but his cock was huge!!

Haha! LENGTH!
(__, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 16:58, 10 replies)

My older sister
I had an older sister once. I've also got a twin brother. We got on like 3 cats in a sack.

We were on holiday one year and my sister just spent the entire day being a whingeing spoilt brat. I mean really bad.

So that night, Dad hit her over the head with a spade and threw her into the sea and then went off with some friends for tapas to make it look like an accident.

/Hull.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Mon 29 Dec 2008, 16:19, 2 replies)

oh just fucking post already, shitty computer *angry face*
I have too many siblings, producing too many funny stories to tell you them all, so here are the best...

my all time favourite sibling fuck ups


****waaaaaaaaaaaavy time lines****

Getting out of the car after a 4 hour stint of 'are we there yet' drowning out anything i attempted to drown them out with [i.e heapdohnes], we arrive. Hayling bloody Island. This is what i suffered for? a wooden outhouse and a muddy field? fucksocks.

But alas, Laura, in all her blondeness, rescued the day with such a stupid act, i laughed till i was actually sick.....upon attempting to get out of the car, she shut her thumb in the door. Not just a little bit, near decaptiation of everything above the joint. (not the funny bit, i love that kid)

Now, at the time, in the other hand, she had a cheese sandwhich. "what to do" thinks she...
I KNOW, i'll keep hold of my sandwhich and WRENCH my thumb out, removing any semblance of flesh, muscle or nail above the joint.....

then run around, pissing blood from one hand and a cheese sandwhich in the other.

she never ever once dropped the sandwhich.

you had to be there.

she also walked barefoot straight through a red hot disposable barbeque without so much as wincing, and then went on (a few years later) to attempt to run backwards on wet concrete, fall and break both her arms.

This kid has 10 A-B grade GCSE's, speaks 3 languages and is now getting straight As in 5 genuine academic A levels (i.e not fucking 'media studies').


&& as for my brother, i have actual proof of at least 3 different trips to A&E on the grounds of him getting something stuck somewhere it really shouldn't be (and we are talking EVERY orifice at this point)

Oh and Claire (the older, slightly retarded one?) has fairly chronic asthma. She's had it all of her 20 years, she knows how bad it is, she knows what sets it off and what to avoid at all costs, i.e hot, dusty places, cigarettes & feather pillows.

So imagine my mirth ( i really cant stand her) when we get a phonecall from Egypt(Claires choice of hoiday location) informing us she is in intensive care and will probably die as a result of an attack brought on by...oh yeah, you guessed, her smoking cigarettes, in bed, lying back, on a feather pillow, in Egypt.

like i said, they're a odd bunch, but at least they're not boring.
(dresden, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 15:43, Reply)

Poo Story Pearoast?
Gotta repost the first story for relevance.

My younger brother was now I think about it 5 or 6, whilst it was actually me about 9 or 10 years old.
He had a liking for prunes and I didn't cos they smell horrible and look like shrivelled bollocks.

Nonetheless, he eats them, so more fool him.

Our mum had bought one of those 1kg tubs of prunes the size of a paint can, and he decided to eat as many as he could.

"Don't eat too many," I said, "You'll get the shits really bad."

"No I won't!"

"Ok, your funeral," says mum.

Sure enough, about 30 minutes later, there are about 20 left from this huge tub.

We continue, sitting around watching tv, when all of a sudden, he sits bolt upright, screams "OHMYGOD" and runs up the stairs, clutching his arse.

He rushed into the bathroom, and hurriedly took his trousers down, heading for the toilet.

However, the jet-propelled Niagara Falls of liquid shit started coming hurriedly out BEFORE he managed to properly sit on the toilet, meaning that his arsehole was directly above the toilet seat as he started.

As such, he slipped off the seat, and spun 180 degrees, landing on his chest, whilst the shit was still fountaining out of him.

He slid across the floor, propelled by the frictionless diarrohea and the sheer force of it still coming out.

"Mum!" he yelled, "Help!"

Needless to say, we both ran to see, and found it an extremely funny and sickening sight to behold.

There was shit everywhere. He sandblasted the walls, the floor, himself, even THE CEILING, with shit.

It was sickening. Yet very funny.

Length? About an hour cleaning up.

**********

More recently he has turned into and slightly out of being a bastardly chav child.

Example being him accompanying me to lug equipment whilst I Djed a private party, getting utterly sauced on others drinks (at 14 years old) and copping off with a 14-year-old oompa loompa girl with a fat black eye.

Then proceeding to piss all over my floor when waking up in a drunken stupor at 5am.


Most recent thing he did was knit me a nice jumper though, so thats ok.

He'll do.
(fantomex, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 15:24, 1 reply)

A lesson for the nation
My younger brother left school during the era where you were scarcely taught but they wanted to give everyone a qualification so someone somewhere could say everyone leaving this school has proof of education. (And someone in the government would get a knighthood for raising educational standards).
So it was that my brother's final act on leaving school was to take the 'Basic Numeracy Test' (imagine what you will what this involved). He duly received a letter congratulating him on his outstanding performance on having achieved the pass mark, he scored 29%. My mum asked, '29% is that good.' (why did she need to be told? FFS) to which my brother replied, 'No it's wank.' I'm sure if a representative of the Education Authority had been there he would've been made a Professor of English to go with his maths qualification.
Scoot forward to Xmas 2008 and he's just been made redundant for the second time in his life; since the age of 16 he has worked 20 out of 21 years give or take a month or so. He has never risen to anything higher than QA at the factory where he worked (the bloke who checks the mouldings to say if they are ok or not) and although saving as much cash as he can lives in an area where the council drop all the people who disrupt normal folks lives.
And when he lost his job he phoned mum to tell her but broke down in tears as he felt being unemployed was shameful.
He's never saved anybody's life, discovered or invented something fantastic and he isn't even the sort of hero who picks up 130k a week for kicking a football but f*ck me purple, i'm so proud that someone with so little going for them can just knuckle down and work and he just happens to be my brother.
(Discreditor wants the dream to come true, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 15:21, 4 replies)

My gullible little sister
When I was five my sister was just two. My bedroom at the time doubled as an overflow for my dad's library. My dad had but one rule: "Don't touch daddy's books". Presumably, his idea of showing who’s in charge was to leave me alone with his books and hope that his authority alone was sufficient to act as a shield for his precious books. This wishful thinking on his part was insufficient to prevent me from taking his books and opening them spread-eagled on the bed. It took a while and many sore buttocks to sink in, but I soon learned not to play with my dad's books.

My sister on the other hand was the little angel of the family. Unlike me, she'd never get into trouble. But I made up in my lack of angelicness by being the cunning one. I hatched a plan that would achieve the following:

• My dad's books would be removed from the shelf and played with.
• My sister would hopefully lose her status as the angel of the family.
• This would fulfil my role in the time-honoured tradition of older brothers teasing their younger sisters.

Basically, I'd just persuade my sister to play with the books and then get my parents to witness the crime. So when we were next sitting on my bed, I went up to her and whispered:

"Touch Daddy's books"

She soon complied, and I would shout:

"Mum! Mum! sistaspakkalass is playing with Daddy's books".

Result!

This went on for a few more times. Each time, my sister would become more wary of my motives, but my loud imperative whispering voice had a strangely hypnotic effect on her.

"Touch Daddy's books"

"Touch Daddy's books"

But one day, her resistance would build up to the point where she would not move. No matter howmany times I tried to plant that suggestion inside her head, she did not lay a finger on my father’s books. I kept whispering the three words to her over and over again. My mum soon came in and caught me in the act. All of a sudden, all my attempts to become the little angel of the family came undone. My parents realised just how devious I can be. This story is still told to the present day at family gatherings.

      *     *     *     *

Fast-forward a few years. When I was 9 (and she 5), my sister was going through a phase where she wanted a younger sibling of her own (you know, the "Mum, can we have another baby?" phase). My mum had recently told both of us how babies are made. So one day, I hatched an evil plan. In order to give my sister false hope, I told her that my mum was going to do it with a man in the street and this would eventually lead to my sister having a younger sibling of her own. Her eyes lit up. She believed me. She even went over to our mother for confirmation. Oops… However, my mum was more impressed with the ridiculousness of my suggestion than she was annoyed with me planting false hope inside my sister or the suggestion she’d do it with “a man in the street”.

      *     *     *     *

The downside to all this was that this raised my hopes other kids might just be as gullible as my sister was. This however was not the case, and in a way, that could count as some sort of Karmatic retribution.

But she grew out of it. I only just scraped through my undergraduate degree, and she's now doing her PhD. But even so, the moment I was proudest of her was when she defeated my idiot-proof answering-machine. Nowadays, we get on well with eachother and visit eachother on occasion.

Length? The difference between brothers and sisters.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 14:54, Reply)

Cross-dressing; fire; poo
My brother and I get on well now, but possibly only because his mind has blocked out the following:

The time when, purely for logistical reasons ("it says age 4 on the label, he is 4, QED...") I experimented with putting him in my nurse's outfit. To be fair, I was the only one who got bollocked by our dad.

The time when I set fire to the carpet and not only blamed him for it, but convinced him it was true.

The time when, for reasons that are unimportant but valid, honest, I made him poo in the garden and convinced my dad that a fox did it.

Merry Xmas bro ;)
(DSV has been good since, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 14:42, Reply)

Explosion
It was pancake day, my brother and i (he is 2 years older than me, we were 15 and 17 at the time) had invited lots of friends over for a pancake cooking frenzy. After eating our way through 12 pints worth of mix we decided to have a bonfire, we have an acre and a half of land with an orchard, plenty of firewood.
So there we are stood by this massive fire, yet to be lit and my brother thinks 'this will light easier with petrol' throws a jar of petrol over the fire, walks off, grabs a blow torch...

this is what i saw from where i was stood..
brother approaching big pile of sticks with blow torch.
mushroom shaped explosion
brother running opposite way with trowsers round ankles and smoke rising from his hair..

i was on the floor laughing.. felt a little bad when he had to go to hospital and had his arm in a sling for a few weeks
(Fluffylegend, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 14:30, Reply)

My lodger
has just given his very much younger brother (5 years old) an avocado and a £5 note for Christmas. He fails to see how this could be in any way construed as a less-than-ideal present for a kid who loves dressing up in superhero costumes and playing with cars and soldiers etc. As far as he's concerned, the avocado got eaten, therefore all is good.

Edit: I forgot to mention, he made me help box the avocado up and wrap it, so it would be "a surprise".
(JohabMorelli is spenging merrily away, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 14:26, 2 replies)

My first act of biological warfare
I was three and a half when my younger sister was born and was routinely ignored for the next few months while everyone fussed over the new baby. Naturally, my three year old mind blamed my sister for this and I hated her guts, refusing to go anywhere near her... until I caught chicken pox.
Too contagious to go to nursery, I insisted on playing with her all the time, hugging and kissing her and ensuring maximum contact with my rash covered skin every time mum's back was turned. My devious little plan succeeded and sis got chicken pox too, although not as badly as me (pox all over the eyes and delirious hallucinations).

Yes, evil little brat that I was, I gave my five month-old baby sister chicken pox on purpose.



We get along really well now though.
(Applebite Uh! A cow!, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 14:13, Reply)

I once heard my brother screaming.
This was the screaming of an animal in pain, a dying brother... I rushed to the scene.

The cries led me upstairs to the bathroom, behind which I could hear my brother's plaintive wails.

'Charles! What's wrong' I called through the door

'GET MUM!' came the reply

I rushed downstairs and found our Mum, I dragged her upstairs, we were both worried about what could have happened.

My Mum entered the bathroom and I hid round the corner listening to a conversation that would haunt my brother forever.

'What's wrong Charles?'

'THE POO WON'T COME OUT! THE POO WON'T COME OUT!' Came the reply.

I enjoy telling all his mates that one.
( WormuIus, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 13:45, 10 replies)

my eldest brother and an almost cliche dream.
Back in 1978 when I was just a wee 5 year old my eldest brother (13 years older) had a Suzuki 185 and he used to sit me on the tank and take me to the end of the street. It was great.

Out of the 6 of us siblings, he was the only one who had his own bedroom. And his own record-player. I used to go in his room and we'd listen to Night at the Opera, Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds, Bat out of Hell, and a Black Sabbath album. I had to knock on his door and he'd say "Jawohl?" and I'd have to reply "Nein".

About 6 months after he passed away in 2002, I had an incredibly corny dream. It was night-time and I was paddling across a misty lake which reminded me of the Bayou, to a building on the far shore. A park-ranger sort of guy in the building showed me into a waiting-room. I sat down at the table, and sitting on the end with his back to me was my brother. I asked what he was doing and he just got up and walked out the room. The park-ranger guy came back in and said "He's gone now. I'll show you out now".

I told you my dream was a corny cliche. As I got older into my teens, we were never as close. He moved out and I only saw him when he visited my parents' house. Consequently, his death only really hit me after that weird dream. I miss him lots now.

Now go read a post by someone else that's less maudlin.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 13:42, Reply)

does an anecdote regarding two of my kids (who are brothers) count?
My youngest lad has just told his brother that he shouldn't go for a piss whilst still wearing his PS3 headset.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 29 Dec 2008, 13:16, 3 replies)