No Really I'm OK....II Karma Police

My older brother was undaunted by my attempted daunt. As my luck, or lackthereof, would have it, he knew of my hiding place. He knew them all! He was always one step ahead! And although he didn't know I was hiding from him, in my haste I hadn't noticed my shoes were untied, (not that I could have done anything about it had I known; you see, this was my first pair of shoes with laces and I had yet to master the art) one of which lay on the floor in front of the curtain behind which I stood, holding my breath, almost bursting with anticipation.

But I digress, "ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!"

Before I knew it I couldn't breath. I was on the ground doubled over in pain. Through the tears welling up in my eyes I could see my untied shoelace. Blast! Should have gone with velcro Ninja Turtles today....or at least found mom and had her tie 'em! Oh the pain! It's unbearable.

Gradually, the muscles in my stomach loosened back up enough for me to breath. I wiped my eyes and looked before me..... There he stood. Proud as a goddamn peacock! My older brother!!!!!

Years went by. I drank a shit-ton of milk, ate butt loads of broccoli, and eventually outgrew that bastard. More specifically, I had exploded both vertically and muscularly. I was a monster. Even still, this was Seamus O'Connell I was dealing with. Even with all apparent advantages in my favor, I was still at a disadvantage. He's like a superhero. I needed something more.....to tip the scales in my favor.....

It was Thanksgiving. Seamus was home from college. Naturally, he was showing the early signs of alcoholism. Namely, if there was booze in the vicinity, he would drink it until that was no longer the case.

"So Seamus, what do you want for Christmas this year?" my aunt and uncle inquired at the dinner table.

"A karoeke machine", he slurred.

This was my chance. Worse case scenario he had no idea what he was talking about. Best case scenario, he was completely blatto. This preminition was confirmed when after dinner he began sprinting up and down the hallway with his shirt off, twirling it around in the air and screaming like a Hipache warrior sprinting off to battle.

"Interested in a little ping pong???" I asked when he stopped to catch his breathe.

"Let's do this", he said as he slapped me on the back and headed towards the basement and the ping-pong table.

Needless to say, he couldn't make contact with the ball. I chided, "Hit the one in the middle."

Eventually his frustration boiled over. He threw his paddle at me from accross the table and charged. I absorbed most of the impact while simultaneously side stepping, bringing him to the ground beside me. I jumped on top of him and started wiping him around on the carpet like a janitor would mop a wooden floor. He shrieked in pain as rug burns opened up all over his bloated college boy body. I stood up. Still he refused to relent. He charged again. This was to be the final act.....

I brought him back down to the ground and gave him a swift punch about the face. He stopped moving. Bloodied and gasping for breath, I stood back up certain of victory.

And for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself.