Hose-hand twins

Sandy shuffled to his parents’ trashcan after work, releasing the day’s sawdust collection from his hose-hand.

“Hey Suck-O-Matic 3000! Finished cleaning Home Depot’s bathrooms?” his twin, Ash, taunted from the stove, filling the pasta pot with his hose-hand.

Sandy dreaded family dinners, his parents beaming over Ash’s talents. As a child, he’d doused the neighbourhood kids on hot days, while Sandy vacuumed the stairs. Ash was destined for firefighting greatness, extinguishing blazes with his 300-psi arm.

Dad popped a meatball into his mouth mid-snicker, tickled by Ash’s taunts. Dustbin Bieber, Lightning McClean, Meryl Sweep—each drawing a bigger laugh.

Dad flailed, eyes bulging. Ash prattled on about puppies and old ladies, oblivious to the distress. Sandy deftly placed his suction-cuff over his dad’s mouth—activating the highest setting. The meatball dislodged, dad gulped air, grateful.

Sandy slapped his dad’s back. “I guess it’s better to suck than be a blow hard.”