The first time I saw Tommy, I knew he was a total douche. I don't allow my sister to date douches; shit — no brother should. That's rule number 2.
Rule number 1, in case you are wondering, is that you don't interfere with your sister's romances. But I take exception with douches.
Of course, there's a perfectly civil way to address his low-life status without resorting to a politically un-savvy term like "douche," which can alienate the polite, women, and my parents equally well, but anyone who knows me will say there ain't a bone of misogyny in this skin, so I can get away with it.
Anyway, this piece of work — "Tommy" — has the audacity to fuck my sister in our parents' home.
Naturally, I 'm thinking "hey, it's not like you haven't done the same shit before," but because she's my kid sister I know there's no choice but to straighten his measly 5'9" frame right out.
At 11 p.m. sharp, Tommy rolls in on that little pussy-wagon of a motorbike and strolls right on in through the back door like he owns the place. I give him a few minutes to get settled, and then when I hear the sounds of sweat and mischief coming from the basement bedroom she owns, I grab my prize slugger and meander down the stairs.
"What the FUCK are you doing?" I say.
Apparently, the Split...