My Poor Bro.
Me and my younger brother have never gotten along.

Years ago, when I was still living at home, I used to drink over Newcastle and my brother used to drink in our home town. As I had a lot further to travel to get back home after closing time, I was always the last one to make it home after a Friday night on the piss.

When I got home and headed for bed I went through the same ritual every week. I'd head for the bog and find my brother unconscious with his head down the bowl. The poor sod could never hold his beer so every week when he got back from a night out he'd head for the bog, stick his head down it and go to sleep. He knew that if he went to bed he'd only get the black-whirlies and have to get up and go to the bog to be sick anyway, this way just saved time.

Anyway, so I'd head for the bog and look at my brothers sleeping form. If I was in a good mood, I'd lift his head out the way, take a piss, flush and put his head back and if I was in a bad mood, I'd piss on his head.

I did this for two years before moving away and he never knew. Sorry Chris.

But most of the time I was
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:36, Reply)