My brother is crazy

[WTFauKorean]

One day one of my closest friends decided to write a narrative on my psychopathic brother. It was written so well and so accurately that I had to share it.

to protect the names of people I've altered the names by adding a "q" to an end of it except for mines, because I don't give a s***.

[center][b][u]Narrative – Paulq is Crazy[/u][/b][/center]
I had been friends with Sam for a good decade. Everywhere we went, his brother, Paulq, followed. He was the quintessential 3[sup]rd[/sup] wheel and was never personally invited to anything. It’s fairly safe to say that none of my close friends enjoyed his company. “How the hell do you always know where we are?!” we’d ask. No matter how hard everyone used to try to ditch him, he’d always know where to find us.
I could never exactly describe my close knit group of friends with a conventional and encouraging style of friendship. If friends were supposed to be there for each other, we were always there to say “You suck” at every appropriate opportunity. We always unsurprisingly seemed to say it to Paulq the most.
Paulq was, without a doubt, the weirdest person I’d ever met. He carried a backpack in middle school that looked as though he had a corpse in it. No one ever really understood why he carried such a big backpack while his grades were constantly falling. It was hard to believe he would carry so many books when he cared so little about his academic standing. Paulq constantly carried God knows what in that backpack for a year or two before his parents decided to open it up and clean it out. They found a pocket knife, tomato seeds, a match, first aid kit, and 30 feet of rope.
Sam and Paulq came from a fairly abusive household. Each of them had papers posted in front of their desk listing their responsibilities and how many hits they were going to receive if they failed to follow it. When Paulq’s father looked through his bag, he understandably thought he was a psychopath. “Why do you have a weapon and rope in your backpack?! Are you a rapist?! This rope is long enough to tie up a person!” Paulq’s justification for this was that he had “Survival issues.” If this concept is a little confusing, I completely understand. Paulq had a fear of being swept up and stranded on an island. I still don’t quite understand it myself because, well, he lives on an island. He’s never really been able to piece together a plausible situation in which it could happen. “You brought these things to class every day, for God’s sake!” Paulq’s excuse is a running theme for every incredulously unorthodox decision he makes: “I’m a teenage boy! Teenagers are supposed to do these things!”
Paulq recently picked up an unsettling fascination for knives. The “bropile” was at Dylanq’s house playing video games. Dylanq’s house mostly sucks. There are roaches skittering about, dents and splinters in the floor, and all of their possessions scattered. A pocket knife sat a few inches away from the couch. Paulq couldn’t help but notice it. He gave it a good stare before asking if he could have it. Dylanq said, “Whatever, Paulq. I don’t care. That knife’s trash anyways.” No one really thought much of it because it didn’t seem like a big deal. The knife was so dull that it bent when he threw it against the grass. But Paulq eventually got a new and lethal one. He started practicing and learning how to twirl and throw them. He was admittedly pretty good. Then he started to play with them out in the open. It’s hard to keep a clear mind in a video game when someone, behind, is intently staring into and twirling a knife. Everyone would respond with things like “Paulq, why the hell do you have your knife out?” or “I don’t trust you with that knife, Paulq.” He would just stare into his twirling pocket knife. “But it’s so pretty.”
One day, I decided to douche around at Sam’s house. Sam’s room had been in its usual form of disarray. He and Dylanq were playing a game called “Twinkle Star Sprites” on his brand new laptop. It was probably the most expensive object in the entire house. It wasn’t hard to tell when Paulq walked into the room. The floors were creaky, the door took the strength of a bull to open, and he carried a stench that used to make me wonder how he would ever land a job interview. But this time, unlike any other, there were cuts all along the sheets, walls, and chairs. “What the hell did you do to your room, Paulq?” “What? I’m a teenage boy.” I rolled back onto the bed and saw punctures everywhere on it. He pulled out a kitchen knife, spun it about, and stabbed it into a hole in his mattress the width of my fist. “It’s my bed sheathe! Get it?” No one laughed. A few days later, Paulq was in trouble because all the kitchen knives in the house were missing and stashed inside one of his drawers. His dad probably snapped and beat the crap out of him. Despite this, Paulq unrelentingly still takes all the kitchen knives he can find from the house and tries to hide them somewhere in his room. When he gets caught, he just does it again.
On another occasion, I opened one of Paulq’s drawers and found dozens of packs of gum. Paulq immediately freaked out. “Don’t touch my gum. You wouldn’t steal crack from a crack addict would you?” “I would if it were you, Paulq.” I took a pack while he wasn’t looking and put it in my pocket. That night, we decided to swing by the park and play a game called Blind Man’s Bluff. It’s a playground game identical to tag with two exceptions. Nobody could leave the playground or touch the ground. The person who’s “it” closed their eyes. It started and Paulq was the first and only person to be “it.” Since he was blind, I passed out the gum to Dylanq and Sam. Sam started chewing loudly and asked Paulq if it sounded familiar to him. Paulq paused for a second. “Who took my gum?” “Me.” Paulq couldn’t tag us out. We all played like jerks by climbing under the playground and hanging upside down like monkeys. I’d imagine a person, as fat as Paulq, would find it fairly difficult to get to where we were – especially coupled with the rain and blindness.
As the game dragged on, everyone messed with him while they were bored. Dylanq spat his gum at Paulq, pushing him over the edge. His sanity hung by a thin gumstring line. He probably thought I spat the gum at him. I didn’t really care either way. “Jon, I’m going to kick the s*** out of you.” I knew he easily could, but I wasn’t too afraid. I knew I could outrun him and there was a pretty safe distance between us. Considering he was still the blind man, he couldn’t really do anything anyway. As he struggled to find us, he constantly yammered threats. If there was anything to be afraid of, it was being tagged out as the “blind man.” Getting punched in the face while I can see is one thing and getting punched in the face blind is another. I probably would have forgotten to take my glasses off too. Finally, he gave up and said he was done. He pointed a finger at me. “If you don’t stop f***ing with me, I’m going to beat the s**t out of you.” Sam asked, “Why you so salty?” Paulq yelled, “He’s been messing with me since I’ve known him!”
At this point, I realized that he had been holding onto some pretty bottled up grudges for a long time. He inched back out of everyone’s line of sight. He pulled his hand a little too close, to his pocket, for comfort. I shot a glare at him. I’d forgotten about the knife up until that point. He moved his hand away from it and said, “You know what? I’m cool. Sorry you had to see me explode like that.” I don’t think he meant to pull out a knife or anything, but I wasn’t going to take any risks. We shook hands after it was all said and done. There’s no profound life lesson with some important philosophical understanding, but I learned that Paulq was crazy. I remembered a time when Sam called him a “psycho” while Paulq shrugged off the comments with his nonchalant and meandering “Nahhh!” Sam looked at him unconvincingly. “Dude just a few days ago you told me about how everyone should kill at least one person once in their life.” Paulq corrected him and said, “No man, what I said was that everyone should know what it’s like to kill someone.” I didn’t see much of a difference. If there was some sort of bullying lesson that I should have learned, it didn’t hit me. Everyone still bashes Paulq. I do it, especially, as always. Maybe I’m the crazy one.