Dewey-A.A.
Mom and Dad were visiting Francis this weekend to attend his A.A. sessions. We had no idea he was an alcoholic. He certainly doesn't look like he is. But what would I know, we rarely get to see him these days. Its very possibly some scam on his part to get some money out of our parents. We'll probably find out what he's up to eventually.
For me and my brothers, it was one of those rare weekends that our parents left us to are own devices. Confidently so, since Mom purposefully broke her favourite vase before we got a chance to. So anyway, I was looking around the garage, searching for some hidden fireworks (I live in hope), until I chanced upon Dad's spare car-key, concealed inside an old oil can. I excitably informed Reese and Malcolm of my discovery. Suddenly, they were eagerly talking about what possible mayhem they can wreak with their new-found mobility. I suggested something comparatively harmless, only to get shot down contemptously by these two. They spent nearly two hours trying to figure how to enact some form of mischief or long-standing revenge against people they used to know. Anytime I suggested going to the arcade, they dismissed it. If it wasn't for me, they would still be bored stupid. Well screw that, if they like to with-hold credit and I don't get a say in anything, then they can cope without the key.
When they were about to embark on their joint revenge trips, they asked me where the car-key was. I prompted them once more about giving me a lift to the arcade, only Malcolm arrogantly stated that they couldn't be bothered about that, so I thought what the hell and told them I couldn't remember what I did with it. It slowly dawned on Reese that I was lying, and Malcolm angrily demanded I surrender the key to them. I nonchalantly refused. Reese strode threateningly around the couch to bully the key's whereabouts out of me. I quickly punched him in the balls instead, slowing him down. They managed to catch me, however, before I could escape them, and applied their customary torture methods. It was around the time they were force-feeding me worms and clumps of soil when it finally occured to them that their methods weren't as effective as they used to be.
Then they tried the new and experimental method of pampering me to my every whim. It was awesome. But I knew that their unaccustomed kindness would vanish like mist the second I relinquished the key. So I lied about swallowing it. I had an idea, but I would probably have to suffer for a bit to make it work. My brothers tied me to a chair, put a funnel in my mouth, and poured some mulched up, high fibre cereal down my throat, hoping I would sh*t-out the key for them. They were running out of time for their spree, and were quite desperate. I thought that was so sweet. So then they chivvied me into the bathroom where Malcolm grudgingly kept an eye on me until I voided my bowls. I duly did. I was then shoved out of the bathroom without even given he chance to wipe my ass. While these fools were eagerly sifting through my feces looking for a key that wasn't there, I took the key from its real hiding place (behind the cars left back wheel). I honked the hone a few times to get their attention from inside the house. No doubt they were mad. It was fun. I was fortunate I wasn't pulled over, as the cops don't look kindly on a boy of twelve joy-riding.
Mom and Dad would give me so much sh*t if they found out. I hope they don't read my diary.