Thursday, May 13, 2010

B.B. Gun in the Bum

I have this older brother.  I call him Devo.  Actually, everyone calls him Devo in honor of that new-wave explosion with the same name.  This Devo moniker was not issued because of his love for the band, for my older bro, Devo, was a 70's-80's-rock-country-bumpkin, and wasn't one for the new wave.  He was given this Devo branding because Devo sounds similar to his real name: Devotchka.  It's Russian and indiscriminately apropos for our Welchkin ancestry. 

(Do I need to tell you about Devotchka being a joke?  Just checkin'. You all know I stay away from real names, right?  Kay.  That bit about us being Welchkin is true, however.  Not Italian, not Arabian, not Mexican, and certainly not Bulgarian.  Welchkin.  Like Catherine Zeta Jones is Welchkin and that's why I look just like her.)

So Devo, being several years my senior, was often left to babysit.  And while he babysat, he'd do many cruel things: like administer toilet bowl swirlies, sit on my face to fart, and throw my precious kitties down the stairs.  He was such an Older Bother.  His cruelty was saved only by the fact that he'd frequent rock concerts and bring me t-shirts.  Oh how I wish I still had those t-shirts.  You never know what you should keep, do you?

Anyway, one particular babysitting event has left a lasting impression.  In the rear.  I was five years old and in the Kindergarten.  Devo, hiding a loaded B.B. gun behind his back, told me to see how fast I could run down the hall.  Devo was the cool and hip older bro, so naturally I did what he said.  I ran.  And while I was running down the hall, I heard a "pop" that was followed immediately by a sharp burning sensation on the right cheek of my precious little ass.

That turd had just totally shot me.  Gave me a B.B. Gun in the Bum.

Why do I tell you this?  Well, mostly because nary a family gathering goes by where I fail to give the dramatic re-enactment of this B.B. Gun in the Bum incident. I also tell you this because today is Devo's birthday.  He's something ancient, like 55.  Or close to it.

Happy Birthday Devo.  (And may that pitbull called Karma bite you in the ass.)



megan said...

Dying to know how your mother handled the incident?
I had one brother throw (and stick) a dart in the back of anothers head while babysitting...the image with the dart is seared in my brain...and my sister pulling it out.

C.C. said...

Perhaps Devo helped shape you into the fast runner you are today Rabid....does the fire at the start send chills through your bum?

Buddy the Elf said...

You have the best stories ever. Love 'em.

Winder said...

That photo is awesome. You wonder why you have a hard time getting the Yahoos to sit nicely and look at the camera. Check yourself out.

Also, my father shot me in the bum with a B.B. gun. Sounds like child abuse maybe we should report him.

Thomgirl Jess said...

I agree with Buddy the Elf. You have a penchant to enchant with the written word. And you keep it real while them others stay plastic...and you do taxes! (lyrics pillaged from a current Top 40 pop hit). And that foto is fantastic!

Jessica said...

What is it with older brothers and sitting on your head and farting? Mine did the same.

And, given this story, it's amazing you didn't start running earlier in life.

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