Tuesday is hereby known as Feed-A-Thug Day.

In case you missed my frantic tweeting yesterday, let me tell you that yesterday my sister - Cleo - was beaten up on the street outside our house.

When Cleo's friend dared to come charging into my bedroom screeching 'CLEO GOT HIT, KEEVEE HIT HER' at the top of her lungs, my reaction was something like this:

... *crickets*

Figures. This is home, after all.

Regardless of my utter disinterest in my sister's petty squabbles, I felt I'd better notify someone.

Well hellooooo Twitter.

Nice to meet you.

Not following me? I'm over here. [ThisIsNotAShamelessPlug]

So at approximately [No Idea Because Twitter Is Oh-So-Conveniently Down For Maintenance... Bastards] I twit twat tweeted: My sister just got beaten up outside our house.

I felt dutiful. Cleo walked in and said that she'd told these people that she was getting her sister (namely myself) to come an' deck 'em. Not bloody likely, matey. I figured my mum was sorting it out, people were shouting outside. Normal protocol.

Ten minutes later I can hear people shouting 'JUMP! JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!'.

First thought: Oh fuck, not again.

Second, more analytical thought: Where the hell would someone jump from around here?

Oh sweet baby Jesus, they were on the balcony, like, right outside our door.

Fucking Cleo with her fucking mouth and her big fucking ego gotta go and get us all fucking killed yeah nice work asshole...

I figured that as no one had done anything about it and the front door was still hanging wide open, I'd best just ignore it, even though I'm pretty sure I could smell them in the house at this point.

Another twenty minutes passes and I can hear someone in the kitchen. My mum's next door and my sister's in the bath. Someone is in the house and by the sounds of it, stealing our washing machine.

By this point I'm tearing my hair out confused and perhaps just a smidgen alarmed. I go to my mum.

Me: The hell, mother? The hell?

Mum: I let 'em in for some of that chocolate fudge cake, you weren't gonna eat it.

Me: They practically MAIM your TEN-YEAR OLD CHILD and you give them cake?! MY cake?!

Then she got all grumpy because apparently I'm the one that is always professing my love for these people.

Well, maybe I did love them before she GAVE AWAY MY CAKE TO PETTY THUGS.

It's a bloody liberty!