Thursday, 10 November 2011

The Wisdom From a Brother

I may not have tons of things to say about my brothers that fall in the awesome category, but in some instances, they have shared a form of wisdom. Really random assed wisdom that most likely will never help me out in life (much like math past the 5th grade) but wisdom none the less.

When I was 18, I was the last child in the household. At this point both of my brothers had moved out and I decided the place for the hip kids was sleeping in the tiny bedroom in the basement. I also thought sleeping on a futon on the floor was the epitome of cool. 

The setting was late at night, Christmas Eve. I had just fallen into a deep(ish) sleep, when an odd smell accompanied with a weird shuffling noise brought me right back to awake. The smell invaded my nose, a smell of garbage mixed with rotten meat and old beer. The shuffling noise sounded like someone dragging of carcass around the carpet. I was too terrified to open my eyes, knowing I would see this:

I know we’ve all had fears of Death dragging dead hobos through our bedrooms. It’s really hard to get hobo blood out of the carpets.

Finally I got the courage to open my eyes and look. Was it Death? No. But I kinda wished it was. There wasn’t even a hobo! Well technically there was… This is what I gazed upon:

S was squatting all gargoyle style in the middle of my floor clutching a beer can glaring at me. The smell was him. Farting. A lot. My cool tiny basement bedroom suddenly became an airtight chamber of poisonous gas that didn’t have enough room to expand.

As I lay there trying to hold my breath and figure out what the fuck S was doing in my room squatting on the floor glaring at me, he opened his mouth and let out his words of wisdom. What were they, you ask? I’m not sure if you’re prepared for this. Take a deep breath and get ready. This may be the most important piece of information anyone will ever share with you.

S opened his slurring mouth, let out a burp, and his words of wisdom were:

If a police officer offers you a ride home, don’t believe him.

He then let out one more squeaker fart, and shuffled out of the room.

I would have preferred the dead hobo. It would have smelled better too.

No comments:

Post a Comment