Fraternally Yours.
My brother is a right cunt. So am I and despite the age difference (he’s 7 years older than me) we get on really well. At least we do now. Going back to 1986 though and a six year old Donky is the pain in his brother’s arse. The one who trailed round after him on family holidays, spoiling his chances and generally being an apprentice cunt. This holiday was different.

We had gone to The Lakes for a holiday in a remote cottage attached to a really old farmhouse. There were some woods nearby and a stream that ran into a huge lake where you could swim. It took a whole 20 strokes to cross that lake. No farm kids, no holiday kids and no girls (yay!). Just me and Little John spending halcyon days making dens, lighting fires and roasting dead rabbits we’d found (didn’t eat them though, they smelled funny). The nights were a bit different. Pitch black except for the rare star-filled night. And obviously with not a lot to do the parents went to the local while me and LJ spent our time torturing each other and generally being brothers. One night descended into the usual lights out, get a torch tell ghost stories and he scared the shit out of me. Literally. I had to go poo before I went to bed.

Anyway I was lying in bed with the covers pulled over my head when I heard the door creak open and a scuttling noise as if something was scrabbling it’s way across the floor. The story of the night had been “The Disconnected Hand” where one of the locals had crashed his car and to save his life he’d cut off the hand that he was trapped by – AND IT CAME BACK! I was petrified. Really. Lying there rock like and unable to move, barely breathing in case the horrible revenant heard me (how the fuck could a hand hear? Try telling a six year old). Then I felt it. The hand was on my bed, I could feel the way the fingers were stretching out then curling up as it dragged itself up the bed. I could hear the soft rasping as it made it’s way up the bed. I could hear it breathing (yeah yeah yeah, I was six FFS). It was on my chest and still moving and as it got to my throat I grabbed it and bit as hard as I could. No, I didn’t sever a finger or anything, what I did though was savage the bastard. I ground my sharp little teeth into that hand and worried it like a towny dog on a sheep. The unearthly screams that came out if it were, well, unearthly. That was when I realised maybe it wasn’t a disembodied hand. It took three rolls of sticking plaster and six weeks before the cuts and infections healed properly.

And that, dear readers, is why my brother still insists it’s thanks to me he’s an ambidextrous wanker.

*POP*
(Donkey Hotay Tilting At Windmills Since, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 13:32, 3 replies)

Ha!!!
That's great!!! Especially love the first two sentances. Consider yourself clicked, mate.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 13:44, closed)

Nicely told
*click*

/edit I like your name too :)
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 14:09, closed)

Cheers.
Love puns me.
(Donkey Hotay Tilting At Windmills Since, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 14:33, closed)