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If I had to guess, it was during the winter of 1982. I was twelve and my little brother was five. My mother, probably pushed past her threshold for tolerating our incessant bickering, threw us outside to play in the snow so she could enjoy some peace and quiet indoors while she tried to get things done. Before long, my little brother started getting on my nerves and I determined to scare him off so that he would leave me alone. I goaded him into a snowball fight and was on the verge of pulverizing him into submission when an opportunity presented itself to me that would virtually guarantee that he would leave me alone for the rest of the time we were outside.
We owned a German Shepherd named Duke at the time, a huge dog capable of leaving behind droppings that would have impressed a Wooly Mammoth cursed by Montezuma. As I was packing another frozen projectile to heave at my out-gunned younger sibling, I happened to glance over and notice the dog leaving behind a fresh deposit in the snow and decided to escalate the conflict by unleashing the "Duke-ulear" option. I walked over once the dog had finished and started packing the pile into a snowball, hoping that my brother was watching and would soon be running away for dear life. Unfortunately, he was busy trying to pack his own snowballs and had not seen a thing. In fact, when I looked up to see his reaction, he was nowhere to be found.
Not sure of where he was, I called out his name and saw him round the corner of the house to see what it was I wanted. I decided to throw the snowball at the house close to him so that he would see what was inside of it once it exploded against the bricks. I wound up like a major league pitcher and let the snowball fly with all of the strength I could muster and, though it possessed a frightening velocity, the loaded snowball flew wide of its intended target.
My brother saw that the snowball was heading right for him and even though he was only five, realized that if he did not do something fairly quick, he was going to take the thing full in the face. He turned his head to the side just in time to move his face out of the way but the missile nailed him about an inch above his right ear. The force of the hit blew his stocking cap right off of his head and into the air as well as lifted him right off of his feet and dumped him onto his side. It was such a vicious strike that at first I thought I had knocked him unconscious and, overcome with a near hysterical fear that I had really hurt the kid, rushed over to help him. Before I got there however he rolled back over and, apparently unhurt, futilely attempted to defiantly heave a chunk of snow right back at me. That is when I caught a full glimpse of what my "Duke"-ulear snowball had done to him.
When my brother was five, he was a toe-head blonde with straight hair that looked as if it had been styled by someone who had placed a bowl on his head and cut around it. The side of his head that had not been hit still looked like that. The other side however, was haphazardly spiked and intermittently brown, with hair flying off in all directions. He resembled a cartoon character who had survived an explosion that torched one side of his body while leaving the other pristine. I fell down upon my knees in hysterical laughter and my brother followed suit, at least until he brought his hand up to the side of his face and realized what he had been hit with. After that his expression changed, his eyes welled up with tears and as he started to cry, he picked himself up and ran inside to tell my mother.
I knew right then that I was doomed and my only chance for survival was to flee. Unfortunately, I was laughing too hard to do anything about it. I eventually made it up to all fours and, still paralyzed with hysterics, slowly started making my way to the front gate, which I considered the first obstacle on my way the Marine Corps recruiting office where I planned to lie about my age, jump on the first bus to Paris Island and spend the rest of my life in the relative safety of close quarter combat in remote and exotic locations. It was a lousy plan but my intellect was far too conflicted to effectively deal with the situation. On one hand, I was certain that I was mere seconds away from meeting a grisly end to my short existence in this world. On the other hand, the event that prompted that situation was probably the most singularly hilarious thing I had ever seen in my brief life up until that point. When you are a twelve-year-old boy who is confronted with that extreme of a contradiction, your survival instincts just go all to hell.
In fact, my fight-or-flee instincts did not return until my mother exploded out of the back door. She was in her slippers and without a coat, sweating profusely even though the outside temperature was certainly below freezing. Her fists were clenched, her teeth were bared and her complexion had turned redder than Chairman Mao. A foam had collected around her lips that was suggestive of advanced-stage hydrophobia and was no mistaking that she had infanticide in her eyes. My hysterical laughter came to an abrupt end as I bolted upright and, with an adrenaline surge born of sheer terror, made a desperate break for it.
Though I initiated the race with a good ten-foot head start, it just was not enough. I was clearing the neighbor's fence when she plucked me out of mid-air and threw me face down into the snow. I don't remember much after that.
When my memory picks back up, I was bent over the couch with a burning backside that would have looked more at home on the posterior of a baboon in heat than on an adolescent human who had just assaulted his little brother with a sizeable chunk of canine waste. The carpet was littered with the splintered remnants of wooden spoons, strewn leather belts and broken yardsticks. My mother was crushed, having realized she had come completely unhinged and I believe my brother was in the bathroom staring in horror at his new protein enriched scalp treatment. I was in serious pain, my brother was thoroughly traumatized and my mother was probably questioning her fitness to be a parent after losing her self control so completely. Now, when I think back about that incident and recall all the mayhem that I had caused by throwing that snowball, I truly believe that I had received the punishment that I thoroughly deserved. Then I remember that look on my brother's face once he realized what he had been hit with and decide that it was definitely worth it.
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Like This? Rate It!
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Side-splitting
73 votes
5.0
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14 Comments on "Shepherd Pie"
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erika the killjoy 76,152  9
05/13/2005 12:40 AM
That was awesome.
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Whistler P. McManus 186,041 44
05/13/2005 01:08 AM
You had me at Duke-lear.
Great work.
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Deli (with pickles) 296 9
05/13/2005 08:29 AM
That is the shiz-nitz.
Talk about taking things a bit too far: on one family vaction years ago to Yosemite National Park I was allowed to bring my friend along. Our campsite was next to a hiking trail that had pothole goatse-man could only dream of. Luckily it was filled with rainwater, providing the perfect support for a layer of pine needles. We hid and waited. Two seriously decked out hikers approached, ropes, pinons, bedrolls, everything. One dude dropped into our trap up to his thigh! I learned a few new swear words as we booked it back to the safety of our campsite.
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Erotic Kake 55,555 14
05/14/2005 09:06 PM
Check out his site, too. That's some good readin.
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millie 116,988 28
05/14/2005 09:18 PM
God, that was good. I clicked it even before I finished reading it.
"Duke-ulear" option!
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QksilverGirl 110 9
05/15/2005 05:20 AM
Having been a perp, a victim and a mother in similar scenarios, i can only say thank heaven and Wal-mart for poise pads or i'd be sitting in a puddle right now...Frostin' hilarious...
"Duke-ulear option"...comedy fit for a king!
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dropkick brody 43,090 12
05/15/2005 02:36 PM
This reminds me of Peter Kay, when his mother told him to drink up the Rolla-Cola (crap pop) and he said, 'drink it your Frost-ing self.'
'Woke up the next day, in casualty with a bar of soap hanging outta me mouth, and a drip full of Rolla-Cola.'
Congrats JepRep, for reminding me of my favourite comedian, and for kicking comedic ass in general.
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firelizard 1,191 12
05/15/2005 04:23 PM
your mother kept the dog outside in below freezing temperature. Disgraceful.
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Cannon Fodder 125 8
05/15/2005 04:37 PM
You let your dog Shakespeare in the house when its cold outside?
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JepRep - Limericking upon request 58,758 13
05/16/2005 07:47 AM
Thanks for the website plug Kake! Are you one of the dozen or so people that actually read it?
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kingyannman 422 9
05/17/2005 02:07 AM
some parents have no sense of humor. . .
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