Not drowning but crying with a slapped arse
Me and my brother have always been almost complete opposites. I was the academic, he loved fucking about with rusty old bits of cars. He once went through a phase of cleaning everything in toothpaste and buggered up our train set and tape recorder (worrying considering he became a trained electrician).

The folks used to go caravanning loads and there was this one place we always went to every year in Wales which had a little stream / river running through it.

Most of it was ankle to knee deep but there was this one bit where there was a bend was about 5 feet deep. My bro was about 4 or five and I'm two years older.

One day I was paddling around, racing sticks and twigs and the next thing I notice he'd found a large rusty car part and he was buggering about with it.

'don't play with that, it's rusty and you might cut yourself'

He ignores me and carrys on doing whatever the fuck there is to do with a rusted part of a car engine in some arse-end of wales.

So I warn him again.

He ignores me.

So being the older of the two I go over and lift up the rusted lump and chuck it in the deep part of the stream / river. Problem solved thinks I, and turn back to bugger about with my various twig and stick boats.

A few minutes later there was a splashing sound. I carry on playing with my twigs. The splashing sound was then succeeded by a wailing, gargling sound.

The daft sod had only gone in after the engine.

Now I couldn't swim. Neither could he. I am also a total wimp so mustering what Hulklike emergency strength I could I went into overdrive. Could I reach him? No, he thought it better to try and drown his way to the other side of the stream / river. So I looked around and quickly saw a solution.

The answer to my bro's drowning issue lay in a pile of long nettles nearby, so tearing them up and holding the stinging leaves in my hand I offered him the none-stinging bit and save the fuckers life.

Around this time, my Grandad, having heard the commotion had made his way over. Upon seeing my half drowned toddler brother and me dry as a bone he asked whether I'd pushed our Tony in to which he says yes.

Ear was clipped, and I had my arse kicked comedy style all the way back to the caravan where my dad was told. My red raw, stinging hads, offered no proof for these gene hunts who were now doing the stitch up of stitch ups. So rather than being hailed a hero I was grounded to the caravan, kicked out of the easter bonnet parade, and had my arse smacked.

The bro, meanwhile, got taken into the nearest town where he was bought whatever toy he wanted.

So I save a life, at considerable pain to myself and quite literally they were the spanks I got.
(spike starski, Wed 30 May 2007, 22:53, Reply)