Evil twin
Ah, at last we arrive back on the subject that has kept me amused for many a year. Is it because I am a Brit, or simply that I have never grown up. Or perhaps, it is just the colour, smell and effect of poo on proper grown-ups that has me dissolving into giggling fits at the mere thought of the messy brown stuff or it's breezy sidekick.

Being one half of twins (the better half, of course), I was able to constantly torture my brother with poo-related incidents during our childhood (it's not over yet). As small people, we were well aware of how much fun could be derived from any kind of competition, especially pooing. So one of my particularly favourite habits was racing him up the stairs to get to the toilet. I usually beat him at this (being born 10 minutes later makes all the difference with speediness, I assure you), and was therefore able to lock the door in time and listen with much cackling as he pleaded more and more desperately to be let in. I seemed to have an amazing ability to hold pee or poo in (and still do now), whereas he had the control of tic-ridden shelf-stacker.

This one fine sunny day, I had just beaten him again and had plonked myself down on the freezing rim to release some wee wee (no poo needed that day), when I heard the poor mite at the door pleading with me to let him come in and poo. Much guffawing ensued by both of us despite his obvious discomfort, but I still wouldn't open up. After a few minutes, he still hadn't given up, so I decided to open the door a peep, just to further my amusement by witnessing his puffed out fat little face.

Naughty sister, I hear you all cry, but it was worth it that day. Not only had he pooed into his little white y-fronts, but I also had the pleasure of watching the little brown lump bounce onto his pants, which were situated around his knees, and it then landed at his weird toes (I'm still confused by their unusual bendy shape), like some freak anal circus trick.

This story isn't amazing in itself, I know, but I do marvel that the image of my brother's poo bouncing on his pants, has never left my tiny pea-brain.

I'm also still amazed by the memory of our dog Blackie (dear god, our dad even called her Wog for short - he's not in any way racist, I hasten to add) and her penchant for leaving presents in our garden. They used to turn white like little antique bottom treasures, and me and twin would poke them with sticks to make them crumble into poo ash. I never see white poo anymore.....

Twin takes mild revenge now that we're older though, and makes me talk to him while he's on the gary glitter, even when it really smells. I think he forgets I work in a mortuary where poo is an everyday weapon (I wrote 'poo' in poo the other day, which kept me happpy for about half the day).

I also still fart on his head, given half a chance.

Length? I was 21 inches and he was 25.
(HappyBoofy, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 14:44, 1 reply)

*click*
"Breezy sidekick"...classic :')
(The Oscillating Gibbon is eating curried squid, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 15:11, closed)