The Shitestains (edit, name changed to protect the innocent)
My brother and I used to get left with a family who we shall call "the shite-stains", a family who are rated as the third smelliest set of scruffy, filthy scum-bags in my home-town.

Far as I could tell, although the father worked, what he earned was pissed away down the club on booze, fags and racing pigeons. He would water down the milk, refuse to let us have more than one drink a day, and would steal and share with his five-strong brood any food our parents had given to us for lunch.

The mother was a hideously skinny woman, who always seemed to smell of shit, piss and filth, far as we could tell, she never bathed existed on a diet of crisps and tea. She never moved from the sofa for anything other than to request payment from my mother for 'looking after' my brother and I.

The family-home had all of the sensory value of a well frequented crack-den, with patchy stained wallpaper covering parts of each wall, ceilings stained yellow with what you hope to be nicotene, dried moldy food could be found in every dark corner of the house, and piss-stained mattresses could be found where you would expect a bed to be.

The main 'benefit' of leaving us with the "shite-stains" was that, despite their squalid living conditions, despise of one-another and limited means, Mr and Mrs Shite-Stain had managed to find their sexual organs underneath the thick layer of grime, and spawn five malnourished kids of varying ages.

Unfortunately, their is only so much fun to be had from racing pigeons, dried food and peeling wallpaper, and so the Shite-Stains children had grown-up with literally fuck-all to do. The would entertain themselves by sticking their fingers in live light sockets, setting fire to things in the back garden and effectively acting like little sods, can't really blame them, their were disadvantaged by genetics and environment!

Their boredom would break briefly whenever we were there, at which point the eldest of the five, Mark (pimpled, greasy, fuckwit with an IQ that most pets would laugh at) and Joanne (a buck-yellow-toothed fat-arsed bitch that grew up to be all she could be, her mother), They would delight in nipping, slapping, punching and biting my brother and I and then delightedly eat the lunches we brought from home in front of us.

Despite repeated pleas from me and my brother (who is 4 years younger than me, and so was easier for them to pick on), my parents continued to leave us in this wretched shithole right up until the shit-stained family asked for it to stop.

So why did it stop? Although I'm the quiet bookish one of our family, I grew up surrounded by cousins who are squaddy-brats, like to play fight. I already knew how to look after myself, but I also would also be restrained enough to not react unless provoked.

The last session of physical abuse from the brood, involving whipping my legs with a skipping rope and a pretend plastic sword, pushed me to my limit, I smacked Joanne in her mishapen and yellow mouth (the one and only time I have ever hit a woman), and I slammed Mark's pimpled, greasy head into the brick fire-place.

My brother and I were blissfully unwelcome from that day forward. I'm still mates with their youngest though, he has fond memories of using his friendship with me to ward his elder siblings off from that day forward

insert witty message about length here
( BulldogUgly Visit my profile to see what's between my legs, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:08, Reply)