Dirty Laundry Basket Warfare
So there we were all those years ago, a family of four.

Mum, Dad, big sis and me. I loved being the youngest, centre of attention and spoiled fucking rotten. Not necessarily the fault of my parents just more down to the fact of me being a little cunt sometimes. Xmas's and birthdays were especially magic mainly because Mum worked in a local toy shop and liked to bring her work home with her, if you know what I mean. Then when I was 7 years old everything changed.

Mum fanny-farted out my little brother Fucket (not real name) in hospital and days later her and Dad brought him into the home to an excited sister and a largely unimpressed me. This was not good. Not good at all.

Suddenly all the attention switched from me to him and I was not best pleased. Over the years my pile of Xmas and birthday presents would rapidly decrease while my brother would be surrounded by illegaly procured A-Team and He-Man toys.

Years of torture towards my brother started, at first it was relatively tame for example like the time he was 3 and I was given the task of looking after him while Mum went shopping. She left me the front door key and me and my brother were out the back court playing football he suddenly exclaims 'I need a poo!'

After about 5 minutes of him pleading with me I eventually agreed to go let him in. We only lived one floor up but I took as long as I could taking the stairs very slowly making sure two feet were firmly on each step before commencing the next.

Another few minutes pass and we reach the front door and I pretend I can't get the key in the lock, comically missing the keyhole at the very last second every time. He's bawling his eyes out and holding his arse and I'm laughing like fuck. I eventually open the door and he makes a beeline for the toilet but he had already shat some in his pants.

As he got older he would retaliate a bit more and thats when the dirty laundry would start being used as weapons in our war. One day we were having a fight over him beating me at table football so I ran into Mums room and got a pair of my Dads work socks out the dirty washing basket, they were hard at the toes and smelled like sick. I pinned my bro down on the bed and rammed one of the socks into his mouth. It was fantastic and how I laughed as he boaked with tears streaming down his eyes.

Over time we would get more elaborate, such as one of us planting foul smelling socks in between the others pillow and pillow-case so that the aroma would be breathed in overnight. Then one day when we were playing computer games, the little fucker wins again so he gets a slap to the head. He says he's going to grass me to Mum so back to the washing basket I go and see a pair of my Mums dirty pants and it's evidently that time of month. Into the room I run and grab my brother, get him down and instead of the manky socks he was probably expecting he was treated to a mouthful of crusty gusset. The war was won.

Of course I feel guilty over the way I treated my brother all those years and told him so over beers and smoke years later, he said it toughened him up and that sometimes he deserved it cos he could be a pain in the arse. We have a good laugh over it now, we're great mates and we have not fought since the time he smacked me on the back of the head with a dog chain after I stabbed him in the leg with a fork.

I am thinking of resurrecting the laundry wars next time Mum invites the family round for dinner.
(Helmut McBucket invites you to pull his finger on, Sun 15 Nov 2009, 2:24, 3 replies)

This is the kind of story that should be at the top of the QOTW board.
I like it a lot.
( Bazongaloid, Sun 15 Nov 2009, 15:06, closed)

I agree wholeheartedly
It's also only a little more advanced than the story of my relationship with my older brother. I once ran into his bedroom after getting out of the bath, to fart in his face as he laid in bed. Sadly I was rather over-exhuberant and accidentally did a huge poo instead. As I was clad only in a dressing gown the aforementioned log simply dropped to the floor and onto his deep pile bedside rug.

Once we'd got our father to show him and we'd all got stitches from laughing so much, I had to pick it up with lavatory paper and send it to its watery grave by hand.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 17:11, closed)

Can I click posts like this.
I just got midnight snack rice krispies up my nose..
cheers for that.
(The Ear-Trumpet Addicting is NOT a word., Thu 19 Nov 2009, 1:04, closed)