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Today my brother visited us. My brother is a bit of a gallump
_{(an annoying big lump of a thing)}

He and I don't entirely see eye to eye so I wasn't looking forward to his visit as much as you would expect.

Scotland is a very small country, we only have seven cities and you could argue that three of the seven are really just jumped up little towns. The two largest cities in Scotland are Edinburgh (the capital) and Glasgow (What should be the capital.)

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There is a fierce rivalry between Edinburgh and Glasgow. Coincidentally my brother lives in Edinburgh and I live in Glasgow.

He pulled up outside my house in his big shiny new BMW. I came out to greet him.

Alright dude.

I muttered with something short of enthusiasm.

Alright wee man.

He said with a verbal swagger. It is worth noting at this time that wee man is a bit of a familiar yet also derogatory thing to call someone in Glasgow.

My brother stopped beside my car. It's a nine-year-old heap of junk with one saving grace, that is, it gets me from A to B.

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This your motor? For real?

He pointed mockingly at it.

I rolled my eyes so hard I almost fell over and confirmed that yes, it was my motor.

How old is it?

He walked around it as if inspecting a dinosaur fossil.

It's 9 years old.

He flinched as if I had thrown filthy toenail clippings at him. Then hurried after me as I headed in the house.

We exchanged small talk. He was staying the night and had no need to drive later so I offered him a beer. He curled his lip.

You got anything decent like?

I laughed long and loud. In certain circles, I am known as the beer man, so this question amused me no end. I come back from the fridge with a selection of amazing beer. Most of which I am sure he has never heard of or seen.

His brutish finger hovered above the bottles on display, moving back and forth. It settled above a bottle with a big skull and crossbones emblazoned on it.

_{I made this}

I chuckled.

Are you sure? That one is a chipotle beer.

He made a bulldog chewing a wasp face.

Of course, I am sure. I can handle chillis no problem. I am used to hot stuff that you couldn't even imagine.

I opened the bottle and passed it to him. It had quite a mild chipotle kick so I knew he would be ok. He took a swig and carried on.

I mean, I have eaten chillis you wouldn't believe. I am the King of Chillis!

I smiled at this. Despite being brothers he obviously doesn't know me very well. I am chilli mad.

The King of Chillis huh? I make my own chilli paste. It's rather good. Quite hot. Perhaps you would like to try some?...

He flushed a little, the chipotle in the beer obviously starting to burn in his throat.

Yeah man, bring it out. Is it really hot? I can eat anything hot. The hotter the better. Go on, bring it out.

I went into the kitchen and returned with the chilli paste that I had made recently. It was my favourite one, Hot Lava Chilli paste. It was a bright orangey red and glowed with an angry heat from the Scotch Bonnets that it mostly consisted of.

_{I made this... Literally!}

He looked at it. He looked at me. He looked at it again. Some of his bravado slipped a bit. I waved a teaspoon.

Just a quarter of a teaspoon will be plenty... That is, if you're man enough?

I could not help but add in the last in a sniggering malicious way.

He looked inside the jar, the fumes were enough to make a welder cry. It seemed to glow slightly. I felt a bit bad. It's madness to try my chilli paste. Unless you can handle proper spicy heat that is. Given the way that his cheeks were going red from the mild chilli beer I had given him, he would never be able to take it.

I'm only kidding mate.

I put the lid on the jar and made to pull it away.

Too late!

My brother grabs it and the teaspoon I had with an iron hand.

Give me that. I can handle it no bother. You will see.

He unscrewed it and in one fell swoop took a big teaspoon as if it was ice cream and plopped it in his mouth.

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Everything stops. I stare at him in horror.

He smirks at me, smug as a man who has fallen into the sea and walked out with a fish in each hand and one in his mouth. He swallowed the mouthful of chilli paste.

The colour suddenly drained from his face, then it came flooding back in a rush. His cheeks glowed bright red. He coughed. Just a little. Then a lot. His hands clawed at his neck. He stared at me, eyes bulging in his not smug anymore face.

Toilet!!

He manages to wheeze out. before running off. I hear the door on the toilet slam then an awful retching noise. He seemed to be shouting for someone called RALPH then HUEY.

After some five minutes of the retching noise. He came staggering back into the room.

Hot, Hot. Too hot.

He waved his hand at his face which was soaked in sweat.

Need a drink.

He leaned over and grabbed his beer.

_{I made that.}

Nooo! Don't drink beer...

I was too late with my warning. His face started alternating from red to white to red again. He waves in the direction of the toilet and runs off again.

Once more the retching noises and horrible slopping sounds. This time interspersed with him crying that his sick burns.

Eventually, he comes back in the room. He is still hiccuping and looks like a badly stunned cow.

Just gonna go for a little lie down if that's ok?

Of course, of course.

I waved him off magnanimously. The good lady at that point came in and I told her what had happened. She laughed heartily before asking if he would be ok.

Yeah he will be fine.

I said.

At least, until it comes out the other end...

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Ouch, the silly blighter. Have you got any annoying relatives? Have you ever eaten something to show off and regretted it?

Tell us your best tales of grisly relatives and burning chillies in the comments. I will be there to listen!

Authored by: @meesterboom

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