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)

Where am I?
In any argument that my sister and I had circa 1984 one of us would inevitably bash the others head against the wall. Without fail, this would then result in the person who has just had their head bashed, slumping against the wall in a very unconvincing state of 'unconsciousness'. After about 2 seconds they would 'come round', put on the feeblest voice possible and would choke out the words "Where..... am... I?" This was intended to provoke an Oh-no-what-have-I-done-she's-lost-her-memory kind of reaction from the head basher and then the bashee would laugh at them and think themselves very clever indeed. It never worked. Ever. So I don't even know why we did it so many times. We did live in the fens though.

And she stabbed me in the leg with a pencil and I still have the lead mark too.
(patbutcherearrings, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:50, Reply)

last one not for the squeamish ;)
OK - picture the scene...
My older brother [15 years to my 13] and I were playing at a friends house when I slapped him round the back of the head with a 2x4 piece of softwood - not too hard - just enough to get his attention. While he was dazed I ran off [understandably!!] and hid round the front of the garage - but he didn't know I'd hidden. As he came running down after me I sprang round the corner - "BOO!!!" - stopping him in his tracks. While he was stunned, cue a swift, hard kick to the groin, laying him out for a good 10 minutes. Why? Because I could!

Also...
He's now 17, me 15. He was sitting on a chair in my bedroom while I was on the floor and he wouldn't stop kicking me so I picked up the nearest thing to hand - one of my precision screwdrivers - and thrust it into his knee, just to the side of his kneecap. The whole screwdriver-y bit went in - all 50mm [2in]. Well he stopped kicking me and then insisted that *I* remove it!! Fairy Nuff.

Finally - he gets his own back...
Bro now 19, me 17. My girlfriend is sat in the lounge & I'm leaning forward to kiss her [awww] and bro decides to kick me up the backside. I swing round to give him a right hook, but didn't know he was carrying a piece of kitchen worktop... he'd angled it at about 45 degrees in front of his face *just* as my nicely executed, square punch was due to arrive. Needless to say I hit the worktop and split the knuckle of my little finger open [where finger meets hand], exposing my bone to the open air and sending blood spatters up the newly decorated lounge wallpaper. Git.
(bartholemew_chunky_bottom, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:48, Reply)

The Filth
Stole my brothers (5 years older than me, him being about 17 and me being 12) porn collection from his room. He couldn't say anything as would alert parents to said collection of filth! Very amusing. I think i remember he did beat me up when parents were not in though!
(simpson, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:45, Reply)

Close one...
When I first got my hands on a BB Gun, in France, I wasn't quite sure how they worked. So, in an attempt to scare my sister, I cocked the gun, then removed the magazine without her seeing, thinking in my infinite stupidity that this would also remove the chambered round. I then pointed it straight at her eye. As I began to squeeze the trigger, my French friend realised what I was doing and smacked the gun away. Close.
(Mr_Jums, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:44, Reply)

So many things..
...I made my younger brother hold a dartboard while my sister and i threw darts at it.

...I had a pillow fight with my brother. He had a pillow, I had a bean bag. He flew horizontally across the room and cracked his head open. Blood everywhere: I win!

... I put an apple from our apple tree down his trunks and it was infested with ants. He got many bites all over his willy.......

I threw him in a river at Centre Parcs in Holland and he trod on a bottle and gashed his foot open, requiring several stitches.

...I pulled a wooden spoon out of my sisters gob, bringing two teeth with it.

...oh yeah and the first thing i ever did to my sister, literally minutes after she was born at home, was bite her toe and throw a wooden brick at her.

I think that's enough. [excuse the spasticated edits, I keep remembering stuff. B3ta has unleashed something here...]
(kidcamel is due to call your mum at, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:35, Reply)

Eye on the ball
Playing footy, aged about 9 or 10, with my brother and my Dad. Bro in goal, me with a full size football. Twatted it as hard as I ever have in my life (toe punting - yay!), hit him flush in the middle of his face, and he flew back about 5 yards through the air before landing flat on his back, face all over the shop. Couldnt stop pissing myself.
(jimmy_stavros, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:20, Reply)

Red Stain - Yellow Carpet
My sister (then aged 13) and my brother (6 years her elder), were, and are still, playfighting over anything. The worst that usually occurs is a dead arm or leg. After a tussle in my sisters room (where she has a VERY yellow carpet) she managed to 'accidently' punch him on his nose, (which has been broken at least 4 times in the past, and is therefore fairly delecate). Chaos ensues as claret is deposited in a large puddle on the floor, and my sister going hysterical thinking she has broken his nose. (no such luck). The hilarity at the time was immeasurable!
(jimmy_stavros, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:15, Reply)

Siblings
I dont have any so cant participate WWWWAAAAHHHHH!!! sob sob :(

Ooh although i could try and sue for the new tort of......... siblingist/ism- discrimination against only children. I could make millions muwah hahahahaha!!

Or maybe not
(Keyser Soze, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:09, Reply)

my bitch of a half-sister (heh,more like quarter-sister)
pushed me down the stairs into a brick wall,nearly breaking my neck.she got yelled at and i got lemonade.
(That guy with a hat., Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:09, Reply)

Electric Typewriters of 1984
My little brother was about three years old. He was having a nap on the settee in front of the telly. I, being a little bastard, would wake him up by prodding him, and run round the corner, out of the room. He'd wake up, be confused, fall asleep again. I did this about five times, until my Dad came through the living room door, as I was running out of it.

He was carrying an electric typwriter, which was at exactly my childhood eye level. Which I clattered into the corner of it at high speed, and bled profusely over the carpet (they needed to buy a new one). It had missed my eye by 1cm.

Fast foward 15 years. Little brother is lying on the couch with his shoes on, asleep. I was sitting on the floor, by his feet. We had to go to a gig (Manics, at the SECC) so I prodded him to wake me up. He kicks me in the eye. I'd blinked in time, so he'd only sliced my eyelid open. So I ended up at the gig, via Monklands General Hospital, a bit late, and looking very battered, bandaged and a little pissed off.
( drunkenoaf, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:08, Reply)

wheeee!
Aged about 9, arguing with my sister about who got to go down the stairs first. I got in front of her and blocked the way, so she gave me an almighty shove and sent me flying, landing in a crumpled heap of blood, tears and broken bones at the bottom.

I've never forgiven her. The cow.
( smutch, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:04, Reply)

Launch!
The concept was simple. I would lie on my back with knees tucked into to my chest, feet facing upwards, my 9 year old sister would then sit on my feet whilst I projected her skyward with has much force as my 12 year old legs could muster!

We quickly discovered we could achieve some fairly impressive heights\distances using this technique so we decided to demonstrate this to some friends, however we made one fatal mistake. Up until then all airborne activities took place outside where uneven landings could be met with a nice soft grass, unfortunately on this occasion we decided to utilise the front room of our house for demonstration purposes.

The crowd was hush, I was in position and my little sister had taken her place on the launch pad. Not washing to be lame about the whole thing I summoned all the power my little legs could manage into the effort and with a mighty "Heeeaaavvveee!!!" she was up.. up.. up and CRACK!!!! Straight into the fucking ceiling, head first!

We really hadn't though this through very well as she came tumbling back down like a floppy rag doll only to land on one of those old fashioned wooden chairs! FUCK!

The result:

My sister: One broken arm and all the chocolate she would eat for six weeks

Myself: A severe beating from my parents, 6 months of lectures on how to look after a younger sister and a never ending supply of "remember that time!"
(Minty Hit, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 16:02, Reply)

Toilet time
When they were toddlers, my brother offered to take my sister to the loo. He says he forgot, my sister thinks otherwise, but he didn't put the kiddie loo seat on the toilet and sat my sister on the adult sized seat.
Of course she fell through the hole with her arms and legs poking out. My brother had to get my Mum to come and get her out.
(BearWithLittleBrain, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:59, Reply)

I squirted
a full can of expanding foam up my brothers anus when he was asleep.
He couldn't scream because i had previously filled his mouth with a 4:1 mix of sand & cement.

Needless to say Mum was a tad pissed off with me; especially at his subsequent funeral where i turned up dressed as a Ninja Turtle.

Still, i was allowed to have his bedroom which i deftly knocked through into mine making a lovely open-plan games room.

So, every cloud etc etc...

as they say in prison.
(nappy rash, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:57, Reply)

Pinball Wizard

Stusut79

I feel like the Pinball Wizard when he meets Tommy.

How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?

So, I bow gracefully and hand my pinball crown to him.
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:52, Reply)

Twatted with a cricket bat
My brother and I used to fight until.. well until quite recently actually (he just turned 30)

His favorite weapon of choice when we were young was a cabbage patch doll. They are lethal when you swing them by the floppy legs, if you hit your target with the rather hard head.

Failing that, he managed to knock my front teeth out with a cricket bat.

I did get my own back though when I started playing the clarinet. Those things really hurt when swung like a baseball bat!
(bertie76, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:49, Reply)

you can't beat a bit of bully!
i was happily playing darts in my room when my little sister decided she wanted to play, i said no of course so she decided to stand in front of the board so i couldnt take my throw. i took it anyway and my sis had a dart firmly stuck in the middle of her forehead. needless to say i payed her off for some years so my parents wouldn't find out only to get a bollocking many years later after i'd left home when while watching simon mayo's confessions on saturday night television my sister told my parents that i'd probably be quite good on it and then proceeded to tell the dart story amongst others.....little snitch.
(come2whereimfrom .co.uk, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:39, Reply)

evil little gobsh*te
despite me being an older sister, my 'little' brother (pretty much consistently a foot taller than me since his birth) has caused me many injuries, including winding, tripping, pushing, clobbering etc.

I, however, know how to get my own back. I have patience.

He used to love hiding under the sink behind the clothes basket and jumping out. One time, i screamed and spazzed so loud he ran out screaming himself, tripping over the wrinkle in the landing carpet, flying across the bannisters and head-first into a 3ft-high flowerpot (it was the 80s), cracking it in half and producing a bump on his head of comic proportiions. The fact that I got the blame for it only served to make it sweeter. Like I could plan that. The cat was pretty freaked out though.

EDIT: Also, anyone with a younger sibling has almost certainly enjoyed a bit of shouting "baby, baby, baby" in a mocking voice to drive them into a state of frenzied, plate-eyed attack mode. I did, and despite having a clump of hair ripped out of my head, managed to lock him outdoors with the garden hose, where he attempted to flood the house via the catflap. I think it was the buggered dryer electrics that swung that in my favour.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:38, Reply)

all of them
It's a tradition in my house to write poems about the time I buggered my brother.

da da da da daa danny glover,
da da da da daa buggered my brother.

etc.

My mums always wins though.

I have two lads da da da da da daaaa..
caught them bumming... etc....
blue blood, and the like.
(JinDod, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:35, Reply)

My little sister
bit all the fingers off my action-man.

So I had her assassinated.*


(*I was only seven but heavily connected).
(nappy rash, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:33, Reply)

You think I'd learn
Another early memory of my brother is of him handing me a bottle of Tabasco sauce and telling me it tasted like V8.

So I tried it, and after screaming and spitting it out, he handed it back to me saying "okay, I'm sorry. It won't be hot this time." At which point I took another big swig. That pleased him so much he did it again, and of course I believed him.

Me thinks this QOTW is going to undermine several years of therapy. In the words of Calvin (the cartoon character): "People who are nostalgic for childhood were obviously never children."
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:32, Reply)

Li'l Sis - She was stronger, i was cleverer
Where has all the evilness in me gone? I used to be a sadistic mastermind...

- I poured a sample perfume bottle on her toothbrush - this was when our parents used to supervise our toothbrushing - cue her spitting her toothpaste all over the place complaining it tasted nasty and getting a big smack from my dad. HAHAHA

- She used to have the whole basement filled with a huge and fairly psycho mini playmobil town (circus, pirate ship, school, farm, the works) so when she pissed me off I would take a little stroll through the village, making sure to accidentally knock over all the chickens and camels, the little bottles and glasses in the great western pub, and get the ropes on the pirate ship all tangled in the elephant harness. and then blame it on the dog. Damn that felt good.
(chesty, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:26, Reply)

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)

What she did to me...
...After tormenting my sister one too many times, she turned round and hit me in the face with one of those walking sticks full of sweets that you get in seaside resorts.. We were in a small amusement arcade in Newquay at the time.

Initially I was fine, if a little achey... Then the pain hit and I realised she had dethroned one of my teeth. I hadn't swallowed it... But it had fell on the floor. Looking down I was greeted with the site of an entire pack of salted peanuts that some kind soul had spilt earlier that day.

When your 8 years old and crying in pain peanuts look a lot like teeth. Half an hour I searched panicking thinking I'd lost my 50p off the tooth fairy. Never did find it.
( beefandcheese, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:23, Reply)

...and another
... when one of my little brothers was 2, and I was about 14, I took him to the park to play on the swings. My mum had warned me about 40 zillion times "Don't take your eyes off him for a second, he's quick as lightning" etc etc, so duly warned, off we went. Within minutes I got caught up chatting to a friend and my brother ran in front of the swings, just as a big kid with big hard shoes was on the down-swing. He copped it right in his face... had swollen lips, bleeding nose etc. I honestly thought my mum was going to kill me when we got home....
(Mad McMad, Thu 18 Aug 2005, 15:22, 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)