Brotherly Shove

My male compatriots and I are playing some batouts today.
That's how you have to say it. All one word.
Jon Woodman's not around, which is fortunate for Jon Woodman.
I once aided him in sustaining injury during a game of batouts.
I was very apologetic.
Which didn't interest him at the time, as he kept insisting I, 'Get the fuck away, Warford!'
He probably had in coming.

My brother Brian comes home in a few days.
He's bringing the dogs.
My mother gave up on getting our names straight quite some time ago.
In our daily routine it was entirely commonplace to hear mom say things like:
"Hand me the scissors Colin, Brian, Paul, whatever your name is."
That was a catch phrase of mom's: "Whatever your name is."
You know how some kids have to deal with bullies in school?
Whiny pussies.
All you have to do is tattle on bullies.
My bully shared my DNA and my bedroom.
And mom was uninterested in my tattling most of the time because she was focusing too hard on trying to cook a meal that all of us would eat.
When Brian is pleasant to me these days, I'm usually trying to figure out what his angle is.

I was only stuffed into a locker once in my academic lifetime (believe it or not).
Brian did it.

My mother once got pizza for us.
This never happened. My mother is and was relatively frugal.
Brian draped a blanket over me, and then wrapped me up in an electrical cord.
He then left me like that, bound and unable to see, in the rec room.
He went upstairs, telling my mother that I was at Robert's.
By the time I was found all of the pizza was gone.
If you don't have brothers I don't know how to describe it.

I wonder if I'll get stuffed into more lockers if I become a teacher...