Post by Chris on Aug 16, 2007 23:30:21 GMT -5
I promised Tash that we'd both post something, but she surprised me with her speed, so I just whipped something up as quickly as I could. It only took me like 3 hours to write this! lol.
I’m well aware that I’m very prone to what I like to call ‘power trips’. And yes, the reason it is in quotes is because I’m being very generous towards myself. But to be fair, Roy is undeniably a pain to me, totally on purpose, and sometimes laughing it off just doesn’t cut it. Particularly on days such as the day in question, when the humidity makes your clothes heavy with sweat and you feel disgusting, and your mom has forbidden you to use more than one fan so she can cut down the electric bill, and your kid brother has decided that he’ll invite one of his friends over so that he’ll have an audience to watch him humiliate you time after time, and said crony eventually gets brazen enough that he isn’t satisfied in just bearing witness and starts joining in on the fun with such choice gems as, “Hey, Chris, why are you so white?”
For those not in the know, I’m black. But as my brother won’t fail to tell you, I’m apparently only that way on the outside.
But that’s neither here nor there. The point is that when you’re burning up, stinking to high heaven and wanting to smash the fan to smithereens because it’s just sitting there and tempting you when it very well knows that you can’t let it blow all your summertime woes away, the last thing you need is your little brother and his too-familiar pal ‘pecking’ away at you.
Why is ‘pecking’ in quotes you ask? Because I mean it literally. Sort of.
You see, I made the mistake of using the word ‘pecking’ to describe the constant, irksome pestering my brother inexhaustibly keeps up towards me. For some reason, he and his friend Celso found that to be just too hilarious, and thus made up some weird dance involving a James Bond ringtone on my sisters’ cellphone and thrusting their pelvises forward in time to the beat while singing, “Peck, peck, peck peck peck, peck, peck, peck peck peck …”
And they think I’m the weird one, huh? It’s a good thing they aren’t interested much in reading, or I’d probably have to put up with songs with the word ‘irk’ in them.
So there I was, sweaty, hot and miserable, and Roy and his second banana are pumping their privates in my direction rhythmically (and remember, it was to the soundtrack of a cellphone ringtone, which of course is already annoying on its own). Roy knows that I’m prone to fits of witchiness …. er, I mean, ‘power trips’. The women of the house (well, the woman and a half, seeing as I’m talking about my mom and my little sis) are gone, so of course things are going to get a little masculine. I’m in charge, so there’s no one for him to run to. What did he think was going to happen?
Yeah, that’s right, I smacked him around a little. I yelled at him, he yelled back, and I gave him a pair of forceful, intimidating shoves into the computer desk, right there beside his little friend. Needless to say, the both of them quieted down after that.
Now I’m not recommending that you should treat your siblings like this, but man did it feel good to see him all pouty. There’s nothing like one-upping someone who’s getting on your nerves, I swear. It’s like all that frustration they were dumping on you just got heaped back on to them twofold. It’s freeing, empowering. It took all I had not to pull out my slack black testicles and wave them in his angry little face.
Ok, maybe not all I had, but it still was pretty tempting.
It’s probably my fault that he is the way he is, come to think about it. I don’t have many friends or … any friends, really, and so I sort of pal around with my siblings a little more than I should. At least, that’s what my mom keeps telling me. And although he’s the kind of person who isn’t having fun unless he’s trying to embarrass you, I’m the kind of person who will just play along (most of the time). I try to be the straight-man to his jokester, and I have mastered the eye-roll-embarrassed-laugh-shake-head combo that shows that I’m affected but that I’m a good sport about it nonetheless. It’s usually all in good fun.
But the thing about little brothers like Roy is that enough is never enough, and sometimes I just don’t feel like having my character assassinated, or have my every word twisted into an awful, crude pun, usually regarding homosexuality (which adds insult to … well, insult, because (a) I’m secretly gay and hate having to put up with him waving gayness in my direction when I’m trying to be in the closet, and (b) he is extraordinarily good at it). Sure I’m supposed to be the bigger person, and I try so hard to be, but he’s supposed to know too that sometimes a line must be drawn.
So what happens when you mix a miserable big brother who is already on edge because of godforsaken weather and an irritating kid brother who is conditioned to believe that said big brother will be fine with his teasing?
That’s right, ladies and gents. ‘Power trip’. I flex my rarely used big-brother authority (I.E. I’m am so good at yelling that I should be a professional wrestler), I shove him around, he gets alls whiny because ‘I never hit you, why do you have to be so stupid?’, and I respond with my patented ‘Oh, and you think I’ll stop hitting you because you called me stupid?’ and yet another shove, he’ll wise up and pipe down, and then it’ll all be over and we’ll spend the rest of the day pretending that the other doesn’t exist.
That, my friends, is brotherly love in action. And when my mom and sister come back, and my mom turns to Maxwell, youngest child and as such designated tattletale, and asks him if anything out of the ordinary happened today, he’ll say, “Nothing.”
The sad thing is that he’s telling the truth.
Brotherly
I’m well aware that I’m very prone to what I like to call ‘power trips’. And yes, the reason it is in quotes is because I’m being very generous towards myself. But to be fair, Roy is undeniably a pain to me, totally on purpose, and sometimes laughing it off just doesn’t cut it. Particularly on days such as the day in question, when the humidity makes your clothes heavy with sweat and you feel disgusting, and your mom has forbidden you to use more than one fan so she can cut down the electric bill, and your kid brother has decided that he’ll invite one of his friends over so that he’ll have an audience to watch him humiliate you time after time, and said crony eventually gets brazen enough that he isn’t satisfied in just bearing witness and starts joining in on the fun with such choice gems as, “Hey, Chris, why are you so white?”
For those not in the know, I’m black. But as my brother won’t fail to tell you, I’m apparently only that way on the outside.
But that’s neither here nor there. The point is that when you’re burning up, stinking to high heaven and wanting to smash the fan to smithereens because it’s just sitting there and tempting you when it very well knows that you can’t let it blow all your summertime woes away, the last thing you need is your little brother and his too-familiar pal ‘pecking’ away at you.
Why is ‘pecking’ in quotes you ask? Because I mean it literally. Sort of.
You see, I made the mistake of using the word ‘pecking’ to describe the constant, irksome pestering my brother inexhaustibly keeps up towards me. For some reason, he and his friend Celso found that to be just too hilarious, and thus made up some weird dance involving a James Bond ringtone on my sisters’ cellphone and thrusting their pelvises forward in time to the beat while singing, “Peck, peck, peck peck peck, peck, peck, peck peck peck …”
And they think I’m the weird one, huh? It’s a good thing they aren’t interested much in reading, or I’d probably have to put up with songs with the word ‘irk’ in them.
So there I was, sweaty, hot and miserable, and Roy and his second banana are pumping their privates in my direction rhythmically (and remember, it was to the soundtrack of a cellphone ringtone, which of course is already annoying on its own). Roy knows that I’m prone to fits of witchiness …. er, I mean, ‘power trips’. The women of the house (well, the woman and a half, seeing as I’m talking about my mom and my little sis) are gone, so of course things are going to get a little masculine. I’m in charge, so there’s no one for him to run to. What did he think was going to happen?
Yeah, that’s right, I smacked him around a little. I yelled at him, he yelled back, and I gave him a pair of forceful, intimidating shoves into the computer desk, right there beside his little friend. Needless to say, the both of them quieted down after that.
Now I’m not recommending that you should treat your siblings like this, but man did it feel good to see him all pouty. There’s nothing like one-upping someone who’s getting on your nerves, I swear. It’s like all that frustration they were dumping on you just got heaped back on to them twofold. It’s freeing, empowering. It took all I had not to pull out my slack black testicles and wave them in his angry little face.
Ok, maybe not all I had, but it still was pretty tempting.
It’s probably my fault that he is the way he is, come to think about it. I don’t have many friends or … any friends, really, and so I sort of pal around with my siblings a little more than I should. At least, that’s what my mom keeps telling me. And although he’s the kind of person who isn’t having fun unless he’s trying to embarrass you, I’m the kind of person who will just play along (most of the time). I try to be the straight-man to his jokester, and I have mastered the eye-roll-embarrassed-laugh-shake-head combo that shows that I’m affected but that I’m a good sport about it nonetheless. It’s usually all in good fun.
But the thing about little brothers like Roy is that enough is never enough, and sometimes I just don’t feel like having my character assassinated, or have my every word twisted into an awful, crude pun, usually regarding homosexuality (which adds insult to … well, insult, because (a) I’m secretly gay and hate having to put up with him waving gayness in my direction when I’m trying to be in the closet, and (b) he is extraordinarily good at it). Sure I’m supposed to be the bigger person, and I try so hard to be, but he’s supposed to know too that sometimes a line must be drawn.
So what happens when you mix a miserable big brother who is already on edge because of godforsaken weather and an irritating kid brother who is conditioned to believe that said big brother will be fine with his teasing?
That’s right, ladies and gents. ‘Power trip’. I flex my rarely used big-brother authority (I.E. I’m am so good at yelling that I should be a professional wrestler), I shove him around, he gets alls whiny because ‘I never hit you, why do you have to be so stupid?’, and I respond with my patented ‘Oh, and you think I’ll stop hitting you because you called me stupid?’ and yet another shove, he’ll wise up and pipe down, and then it’ll all be over and we’ll spend the rest of the day pretending that the other doesn’t exist.
That, my friends, is brotherly love in action. And when my mom and sister come back, and my mom turns to Maxwell, youngest child and as such designated tattletale, and asks him if anything out of the ordinary happened today, he’ll say, “Nothing.”
The sad thing is that he’s telling the truth.