Let's Burn Our Dreams Into the Skyline
The Penis Sharpener.
“Dare Pete to admit he’s gay.” I whispered quite loudly (hello oxymoron?) into Max’s ear, fighting back giggles and snorts.
“Fuck you.” Pete growled, standing up and throwing a pillow at me. Here comes another verbal death match, brought to you by the Wentz children.
“Fuck your mom.” I hissed, not able to think of anything else.
“Fu--” He stopped himself, his face slowly contorting into a look of pure confusion, “She’s your mom too…”
“Well no fucking shit?” I asked, attempting to keep the sarcasm down to a minimum, and failing.
This argument could’ve gone on for hours if Gabe hadn’t stepped in.
“Okay, I’ll go again.”
Everyone silently agreed.
“Pete, I dare you to shove your dick in a pencil sharpener!”
In every group of friends, there’s the one person who everyone simultaneously thinks “why the hell do I hang out with this kid?”. Well, in our group, Gabe smugly sports the fact that he is that kid. No, seriously, he promotes his stupidity constantly. If there was a shirt that read “worlds biggest moron”, Gabe would wear it every day, and I’m not even joking. And right now, Gabe has just proved my point.
Pete’s face screwed up in a look if complete horror.
“Hellllllllll no.” He emphasized heavily on the hell.
“Chicken.” Gabe mocked, strutting around the room flapping his wings and screaming out chicken noises.
Pete was boiling by then. He can never take a joke, ever. It’s always serious to him. He can’t accept defeat either.
“Fine!” He shouted, flailing his arms in the air, “I’ll do it.”
Insert many shocked faces here.
“What a fucking moron.” I mumbled, face in my hands, embarrassed as hell. You’d be embarrassed too if your twin brother was about to shove his dick in a pencil sharpener in pitiful attempt to try and prove that he was not a chicken.
He slowly walked into the kitchen as we all followed closely behind; anxious, amused and slightly afraid. He grabbed our pencil sharpener from the junk drawer and slapped it on the countertop.
“Don’t be a fucking moron, Pete.” I said, elaborating the concern in my voice.
“Stay out of this, Linnea!” He spat. He bit at his lip nervously and swallowed hard. He leisurely undid his zipper and let his pants fall down to his feet. He carefully pulled down the front of his boxers and slowly let his dick approach the sharpener.
Now insert horrific, blood-curdling, bone chilling screams here. I swear I almost went deaf. And that, ladies and gentleman, was the dare that ended “Hardcore Truth or Dare” for quite some time. I pretty much think there was now a permanent ban on any type of truth or dare in our little group. By the time we calmed Pete down, it was 7, and everyone gradually filed out of the Wentz house and happily made their way to their own houses.
So now I was alone with my very pissed off brother who does not particularly like me. He was liable to explode at anything now.
“What do you want for dinner?” I asked softly, popping my head into the family room. He was lying down on the mismatched couch with an icepack down his pants. He glared.
“Nothing.”
I sighed, blowing my red bangs out of my face. “Alright.”
I wound up ordering pizza. I ate on the floor in front of the TV and watched The Simpsons with Pete. Sometimes, we get along fine. Like during the commercials, we would strike up random conversation. We just talked all night about pretty much anything. I enjoyed having a brother while I could, because I know once tomorrow starts, we’ll start hating each other all over again.
“Fuck you.” Pete growled, standing up and throwing a pillow at me. Here comes another verbal death match, brought to you by the Wentz children.
“Fuck your mom.” I hissed, not able to think of anything else.
“Fu--” He stopped himself, his face slowly contorting into a look of pure confusion, “She’s your mom too…”
“Well no fucking shit?” I asked, attempting to keep the sarcasm down to a minimum, and failing.
This argument could’ve gone on for hours if Gabe hadn’t stepped in.
“Okay, I’ll go again.”
Everyone silently agreed.
“Pete, I dare you to shove your dick in a pencil sharpener!”
In every group of friends, there’s the one person who everyone simultaneously thinks “why the hell do I hang out with this kid?”. Well, in our group, Gabe smugly sports the fact that he is that kid. No, seriously, he promotes his stupidity constantly. If there was a shirt that read “worlds biggest moron”, Gabe would wear it every day, and I’m not even joking. And right now, Gabe has just proved my point.
Pete’s face screwed up in a look if complete horror.
“Hellllllllll no.” He emphasized heavily on the hell.
“Chicken.” Gabe mocked, strutting around the room flapping his wings and screaming out chicken noises.
Pete was boiling by then. He can never take a joke, ever. It’s always serious to him. He can’t accept defeat either.
“Fine!” He shouted, flailing his arms in the air, “I’ll do it.”
Insert many shocked faces here.
“What a fucking moron.” I mumbled, face in my hands, embarrassed as hell. You’d be embarrassed too if your twin brother was about to shove his dick in a pencil sharpener in pitiful attempt to try and prove that he was not a chicken.
He slowly walked into the kitchen as we all followed closely behind; anxious, amused and slightly afraid. He grabbed our pencil sharpener from the junk drawer and slapped it on the countertop.
“Don’t be a fucking moron, Pete.” I said, elaborating the concern in my voice.
“Stay out of this, Linnea!” He spat. He bit at his lip nervously and swallowed hard. He leisurely undid his zipper and let his pants fall down to his feet. He carefully pulled down the front of his boxers and slowly let his dick approach the sharpener.
Now insert horrific, blood-curdling, bone chilling screams here. I swear I almost went deaf. And that, ladies and gentleman, was the dare that ended “Hardcore Truth or Dare” for quite some time. I pretty much think there was now a permanent ban on any type of truth or dare in our little group. By the time we calmed Pete down, it was 7, and everyone gradually filed out of the Wentz house and happily made their way to their own houses.
So now I was alone with my very pissed off brother who does not particularly like me. He was liable to explode at anything now.
“What do you want for dinner?” I asked softly, popping my head into the family room. He was lying down on the mismatched couch with an icepack down his pants. He glared.
“Nothing.”
I sighed, blowing my red bangs out of my face. “Alright.”
I wound up ordering pizza. I ate on the floor in front of the TV and watched The Simpsons with Pete. Sometimes, we get along fine. Like during the commercials, we would strike up random conversation. We just talked all night about pretty much anything. I enjoyed having a brother while I could, because I know once tomorrow starts, we’ll start hating each other all over again.