29 May 2004

Have you ever wondered what was happening in the confines of your home?  I have.  For the past few days I've walked into the bathroom and have found a bloody towel lying on the floor.  At first I thought it was a dream, despite the lingering blood on the sink, as well as on the sheets of unused toilet paper I found the next day.  Another factor that contributed to my disbelief was the fact that there was so much blood; not your normal vaginal leak or nose bleed.  And anyways, why the fuck would someone use a towel to clean that up anyways?  The blood appears on the towel in the form of hand prints, the sort of clenched, almost kindergarten turkey shape.

Now, as I recall, I remember a repeating rush to the bathroom from some member of my family late at night.  I'm not too sure who it is, but I know it's not my parents.  What seems strange to me is the fact that a couple days before I found the bloody towels, I accidentally walked in on my brother jerking it.  I needed to print something, screw you.  The funny thing was he didn't stop when I entered the room.  I guess when you're almost there, you don't care anymore.  I left the room for awhile, then came back; you know to give him time to cover up.  I came back in the room and there's his little man poking the side of his shorts.  The dumbass didn't bother to tuck it or anything.  Oh well.  Brotherly love, right?

I've come to a conclusion based on these recent happenings: my brother is a jerking fanatic.  I hypothesize that he strokes it so vigorously that he somehow inhibits a nosebleed.  This would explain the string of bloody towels that magically disappear in the morning.  I hate my life.