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Some time ago, almost four years now, I moved into my own place. It would have been far sooner, but I was working for my father, and he wasn't really cut out to make sensible financial decisions.
I still have a brother. Boy do I have a brother. Oh boy, do I have a brother.
For some, the links will be a reminder. For others, they will be a horrible story of someone I refuse to believe was the fastest sperm in the race.
Anyway, when I moved in I decided I wasn't going to tell him where I lived, just the area. Parents weren't too happy about this, what with blood beingharder to clean out of carpet thicker than water and all that. I had my reasons. Let's just say that he handed in an application form for temporary work at my place and the person on reception gave me a long, cool look after having met him. She didn't approve. I don't either, but I have far more reason to do so.
A chum of mine met him for the first time in quite some time a few months back and was convinced the opposite of evolution was in action. There's an absolute lack of gratitude in everything he does, the slightest hint of criticism or suggestion makes him more surly than he ever was before, and he's generally a cunt. By that I don't mean half the population find him desireable and the other half reckon he needs pampering and looking after.
A few weeks back he wrote off his car. He was on the side road (lightly treated) and came towards the main road, hit black ice, and hit the car on the main road. Insurance took one look at the remains of the elderly idiotmobile and wrote it off. With what little he had left, he bought a motorbike to get him to work and back.
So far, he's managed to cause some fairly impressive damage to it by hitting a wall or post, though he claims it fell over. That sort of damage wouldn't have happened from just falling over. We're talking about a bike that was in near-pristine condition. Some sort of leg guard, from what my father (not overly bright) had said.
On to today's events. My mother's knees are painful - osteo-arthritis in the latter stages before wheelchair is required. The specialist looked at her x-rays and immediately suggested replacement in the very near future - both of them. She struggles to get in and out of the car because of it, but due to the narrowness of their garage and the fact that both my father and I have eaten far too much, she's the only one who can get it out. After this, my father drives. Of course, idiotboy has decided that he needs to work on his bike in the garage and thus the car has be to taken out. Cue pain.
He moved the bike to the space between the front of the garage and the car (wasn't down onto the road) and began to wash it. A few minutes later, I heard a bang and muffled cursing. Turns out he'd knocked it over onto the front of my mother's car.
This was down to him being, "expected to work in such a small area!", an area he'd moved his bike into and not complained about at the time. He'd broken a hinge for a pannier type thing on his bike and was complaining long and hard about this, but didn't say a word about the damage to my mother's car. Even my somewhat dopey father picked up on that part of it.
Anyway, I think they've begun to understand why I haven't let him know where I live.
Rapscallion
I still have a brother. Boy do I have a brother. Oh boy, do I have a brother.
For some, the links will be a reminder. For others, they will be a horrible story of someone I refuse to believe was the fastest sperm in the race.
Anyway, when I moved in I decided I wasn't going to tell him where I lived, just the area. Parents weren't too happy about this, what with blood being
A chum of mine met him for the first time in quite some time a few months back and was convinced the opposite of evolution was in action. There's an absolute lack of gratitude in everything he does, the slightest hint of criticism or suggestion makes him more surly than he ever was before, and he's generally a cunt. By that I don't mean half the population find him desireable and the other half reckon he needs pampering and looking after.
A few weeks back he wrote off his car. He was on the side road (lightly treated) and came towards the main road, hit black ice, and hit the car on the main road. Insurance took one look at the remains of the elderly idiotmobile and wrote it off. With what little he had left, he bought a motorbike to get him to work and back.
So far, he's managed to cause some fairly impressive damage to it by hitting a wall or post, though he claims it fell over. That sort of damage wouldn't have happened from just falling over. We're talking about a bike that was in near-pristine condition. Some sort of leg guard, from what my father (not overly bright) had said.
On to today's events. My mother's knees are painful - osteo-arthritis in the latter stages before wheelchair is required. The specialist looked at her x-rays and immediately suggested replacement in the very near future - both of them. She struggles to get in and out of the car because of it, but due to the narrowness of their garage and the fact that both my father and I have eaten far too much, she's the only one who can get it out. After this, my father drives. Of course, idiotboy has decided that he needs to work on his bike in the garage and thus the car has be to taken out. Cue pain.
He moved the bike to the space between the front of the garage and the car (wasn't down onto the road) and began to wash it. A few minutes later, I heard a bang and muffled cursing. Turns out he'd knocked it over onto the front of my mother's car.
This was down to him being, "expected to work in such a small area!", an area he'd moved his bike into and not complained about at the time. He'd broken a hinge for a pannier type thing on his bike and was complaining long and hard about this, but didn't say a word about the damage to my mother's car. Even my somewhat dopey father picked up on that part of it.
Anyway, I think they've begun to understand why I haven't let him know where I live.
Rapscallion
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