The Rat Patrol Club

I can't believe that fuckface didn't ask to me to guest blog. I'll show his sorry ass. I remember the Senator once telling a carrot top:

I'd rather be dead, like a bump on a log,

Than red on the head, like the dick on a dog.

Amen, that. With apologies to my daughter.

So, the Rat Patrol Club: when I was 10 years old, a year into the noble agrarian experience the Senator had sentenced us to (they'd already shuttered Ile du Diable) I decided a club of some sort was in order. Being an unabashed Rat Patrol fan, I enlisted the two neckbone jackanapes from across the fields, the Lamb brothers, to be charter members. The idea was to reenact pivotal scenes from the TV show, pretending our BB guns were quad 50's, shattering Nazzi body parts and such.

So far so good, for a couple of days, although the Lamb boys were completely and totally retarded fuckers. Not imbecilic, just poor white trash stupid. They had mange rashes on their necks from carrying their mangy boxers (Bo Bo and Ching) around on their necks (they was big boys) and sore-pocked skin my mother invariably referred to as fishbelly white. And they couldn't focus on the idea at hand. For instance, as I was mowing down Wermacht soldiers in North Africa they were already raping the Algerian girls. Little stuff like that.

The problem arose when my little brother wanted to join the club. I was cool with that, and so were the Lamb boys. The problem was, they insisted he needed an initiation. I was okay with an initiation, being a little elitist at heart, but I was extremely dismayed when they told us what the initiation was: they pulled my brother's pants down (in our bedroom) and the younger Lamb, who was 12 or so, pulled out his little flaccid pecker in order to cornhole my bro.

...Mercy... as Eric would say. I didn't even know what straight sex was at that point, but this struck me as a singularly bad idea. And judging from the look on my brother's face (cast, obviously, over his shoulder) he wasn't too sweet on the deal either.

Shock gave way to indignation and intervention, fortunately, and I saved the little fellow's bunghole. Although, in retrospect, it would have been a killer ace to keep up my sleeve for the next 40 years.

The Rat Patrol Club? I disbanded it that day. Wistfully, I might add.

And why do I share this story with you here? Because my brother would saw my heart out of my thorax if I posted this on my site, that's why.

by Velociman on May 09, 2007 | Bullshit (3) | TrackBack (0)
Bullshit So Far

Why Mr. Straw doesn't chop your left leg off and beat you over the head with it (like unto a Dog-Dick-Headed Stepchild), I will never know.

Great story, though. Onliest thing that coulda improved it is if ya th'owed in some zombies.

Bullshitted by Elisson on May 9, 2007 09:54 PM

Well, Mr. Straw ain't here, is he? Still a near run thing... mercy...

Bullshitted by Velociman on May 9, 2007 10:03 PM

I can't believe all this was going on over here while I was otherwise occupied this week! You brother doesn't know how to google I take it?

Bullshitted by Rosie on May 11, 2007 05:34 PM