WHERE’S THE BLOODY CAR KEYS?
Me, my brother and my sister all passed our driving tests within a few months of each other, and having killed our wheels (a clapped-out Renault Four)completely TO DEATH within weeks, we were a one-car family with all the strains this puts on the social lives of three teenagers. The trouble was that my brother wanted the car all the time, while my parents needed it for trivial things like "shopping" and "going to work". Sooner or later, things were going to go - as they say - completely fucking mental.

It started with quiet, reasoned voices, discussing why he ought to use the family car a bit less, contribute to the petrol every once in a while, or perhaps even go out and buy his own set of wheels. Three seconds later came the first "IT’S NOT FAIR!" followed by the first "I HATE YOU ALL!" before a lengthy discussion in which the state of his bedroom and the costs involved in feeding him were pointed out. This led to to the first "I DON’T HAVE TO LIVE HERE YOU KNOW!" and another "IT’S NOT FAIR!"

Out of the house he stomped, slamming the front door almost off its hinges with a hearty "RIGHT! I DON’T HAVE TO PUT UP WITH THIS CRAP, I’M GOING OUT!" aimed at anyone who was listening.

A peaceful calm descended over the house. The dog came out from behind the sofa. A small herd of deer flitted across the garden.

Slowly, the front door opened again. My brother, with storms of anger still swirling over his brow crept back into the house.

"What do you want?" asked Mum.

"WHERE’S THE BLOODY CAR KEYS?"

Full 12-inch remix what I wrote [gulp] ten years ago when I was a famous HERE
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 19 Jul 2012, 13:46, Reply)