This post is certified drivel of the highest order - it's main component superficially comprising of... me! Or rather, my fetching new shirt. (As you can tell from the myspace-ified photo above).

For those of you that were born an elder sibling and thus for the majority of your lives enjoyed superior physical prowess and dominance in the household food chain, let it be known that this position does not last forever.
For instance, in an effort to re-exert alpha male territory at my parents' place last weekend (due mainly to the diminishing supplies of dr pepper - chief culprit being my bruv), I attempted to lay down a little brother-on-Brother brutality.
Except things didn't go according to plan, or at least how they used to... six years ago.

In the end, we ended up grappling towards a stalemate, before *bosh*!
*bosh*! is the sound a smoshy nose creates when it makes contact with a pointy appendage at a high speed.
He bled on my shirt.
My new shirt!!
And then attempted to throw me down the stairs.
I love playfights though, hadn't had a good one in ages even if I did lose and get my new shirt bled on.
Rarrrghhhh, my new shirt has blood on it!!
Beeennnnnddddddd!!!!!!