The standard in my childhood home was to knock your brother down and rub butter in his ears and nose and get the dog to lick it. So, no, I wouldn’t pee in his mouth, I’d rub butter in his ears.
[sings]
Tradition! Tradition!
[/sings]
It could have been worse. She might have been teaching a science course and given the question as a lab assignment.
What’s a tortoise?
You know what a turtle is, Leon?
So I take it the teacher’s offered no explanation for why this topic would even come up?
I don’t know about you, but if my assignment asks a yes or no question, I’m going to find it nearly impossible to write a creative response. We were taught to always answer the question as directly as possible. I’d expect a bunch of “No! That’s Gross” answers with a couple answering “Yes” for just pure (uncreative) shock value.
The variations you guys seem to have come up are pretty good, but I see it as you taking the challenge of making an uncreative assignment* actually creative.
*Well, I guess the actual assignment itself was creative: just not the likely answers.
First of all, you don’t knock him down first. That will make the target too far away, and splashing ensues. All you have to do is get him down on his knees and force his mouth open. It helps if you can get him to beg for it; if he cooperates there will be much less mess. At least that’s my experience.
This is really not the preferred method, since it is far to easy to avoid the flow arc if he is non-compliant. Ideally you should position yourself kneeling astride his upper torso, whilst he is inclined on his back, with his arms pinned underneath your lower legs. That way you have one hand free to force the mouth open, and maintain its position, whilst the other can direct the equipment to maximum effect.
Exactly. But you must aim with care, or else you may shoot it up his nose, and THAT would just be…distasteful.
Why else would I knock him down?
You guys sure are lucky to have penises. When I knock my brother down and pee in his mouth, I have to squat. It’s really hard to get a good angle.
Thank you, kind sir, always a treat to get a positive comment from you on my terrible writing 
You’re welcome to use it for a Sig should you so desire.
Though I’m a bit partial to the Peed into the Abyss line myself…
What does it mean to have a brother? Looking back on my youth it mostly means fighting and backstabbing. Mostly, but not entirely.
You see, my brother Jimmy and I were always trying to get each other in trouble. Some call it “sibling rivalry”, but we just called it like we saw it – the other guy trying to get away with something we didn’t want him to do, just because, well, he’d be doing it and I wouldn’t be, even if I didn’t really want to do it! Writing it down now after so many years, it doesn’t seem to make sense. But it doesn’t have to, it’s just being family.
Well, when my brother Jimmy was about 10 years old (which made me 12), he really, really wanted to join the circus. But when my father found out, a decorated veteran of not one but two wars in Asia, he thundered: “Hell, no! No son of mine’s gonna be a clown!” And there went his secret stash of floppy, squeaky shoes and face paint into the trash. He didn’t have to guess who tipped the old man off. I called him “Bozo” for years after that.
Undeterred, my brother sought to develop another circus skill that he could practice without my (or my father’s) detection. Unfortunately, one day he absentmindedly left a low tightrope stretched out from the tree in the corner of our backyard to the other tree at the side of our house. It ran across the driveway in front of the garage door, and when our dad got home from work that evening he drove right into it, causing a huge part of the tree on the side of our house to tear loose and crumple the hood of his car. Oh BOY, did Jimmy ever get it hot! Nobody lays belt like a Tennessee drill sergeant, I tell you what! I still cheer myself up remembering the look on my dad’s face when he got out of that car and yelled, “J…I…MMMM…MMMM…EEEE!!!”
Jimmy gave it one last go and decided he would try being a sword-swallower and fire eater. Well, the first time he tried the fire eating part, one of the torch heads came loose in his throat. Lucky for him, I was in the backyard as he was doing this in the garage. He came stumbling out and his face was all red, and he was choking and gasping something awful. I was going to crack wise on his ass but he really looked like he was in trouble. Plus I could smell something burning, but I didn’t know what.
Finally he dropped on the ground, rolling on his back while making a gargling noise, and I noticed the torch still clutched in his other hand. I realized what had happened and came to stand over him.
“Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy… Remember after Daddy threw out your clown shoes, and you said to me you hated my guts so much, you wouldn’t piss in my mouth if my stomach was on fire? Well, brother… Here’s where I prove I’m better than you!” With that, I dropped my fly open, knelt next to him and pried his jaws apart, put my hose down under his nose and let the yellow water gush out!
Oh, he cursed me out all right later. But I still think I saved his life!
It occurred to me that the essay question was perhaps a bit male-oriented.
I’m guessing the teacher was a fan of Malcolm in the Middle.
Also Green Bean, if you’re brave, sig?
…and then after the oldest brother turns to the audience and asks them whether he should piss in his brother’s mouth or not, the mother suddenly jumps up from her steaming pile of goo, runs over to the young lad and shits on his forehead.
“My God”, exclaimed the agent. “What do you call this act?”
“The aristocrats!”, I shouted.
Andrew
I knocked my brother Larry down and urinated in his mouth.
Brian
That was you?
**Claire **
Oh my God.
Andrew
The bizarre thing is that I did it for my old man. I tortured this poor kid because I wanted him to think that I was cool. He’s always going off about how when he was in school and all the wild things he used to do. And I got the feeling that he was disappointed that I never cut loose on anyone, right?
So I’m sitting in the locker room and I’m taping up my knee, and Larry’s undressing a couple locker’s down from me. And he’s kinda, he’s kinda skinny. Weak. And I started thinkin’ about my father, and his attitude about, about weakness. And the next thing I knew, I jumped on top of him and started wailing on him. And my friends, they just laughed and cheered me on.
And afterwards, when I’m sitting in Vernon’s office, all I could think about was Larry’s father and Larry having to go home and explain what happened to him. And the humiliation - the fucking humiliation he must have felt. It must have been unreal.
I mean, how… how do you apologize for something like that? There’s no way. It’s all because of me and my old man. God, I fucking hate him. He’s like this mindless machine that I can’t even relate to anymore. “Andrew! You’ve got to be number one! I won’t tolerate any losers in this family! You’re intensity is for shit! Win! Win! Win!” You son of a bitch.
You know, sometimes I wish my knee would give. And I wouldn’t be able to wrestle anymore. And he could forget all about me.
John
I think your old man and my old man should get together and go bowling.