You know the type. You're telling a story, and then, all of a sudden...BAM! Their story is better and more interesting than yours...or at least THEY think so.
The way I see it, we can do this two ways, I'll tell a story, then you one up me, or you tell a story and I'll try to one up you.
It could end up being completely stupid or completely awesome, but most assuredly completely pointless.
I'll go first.
When I was like five I think, one of my brothers, two of my sisters, and I were outside playing on our swing set. We were just messing around when my younger sister who was three maybe, started screaming that she'd been shot. We thought she was just being stupid until we looked at the side of her head, near her temple, and saw that it was swollen larger than a baseball. My other brother had been in the front yard shooting his b b gun at a tree when the b b rickashade (sp?) off the tree and into her. My mom and one of my older sisters, who many years later told me she had been tripping on acid, her too the hospital. She was fine, the bullet bounced off her skull and out the same hole it went in.
Just for some clarification. I have two brothers and six sisters. I'm number seven of nine. We lived in a rural area on 24 acres of land. My dad is an anesthesiologist and was barely ever home. My mom was useless. We were never supervised, and even though my brother was told to not play with his gun while others were outside, there was no one to enforce the rule and for some strange reason the gun was just out all willy nilly. Honestly, I don't know how we all made it out of our childhood.