It makes me sad
to see the number of people on these pages who were let down by teachers in schools.

I remember whilst teaching that if I saw any type of bullying of any kid then I came down like a tonne of bricks on said bully and the reason for that was this:

When I was in high school I was bullied. It was by a kid smaller and weaker than me but I wasn't a fighter despite playing rugby for the school (I'm still not now to be honest). This kid made my life a fucking misery, punching and kicking me, setting my friends against me and the like. One day I cracked after he'd gotten me in a headlock and decided to drag me along the ground, I went to a teacher who went to the deputy head, we were both called into his office. This man was a legend, a strict disciplinarian but also a good teacher, he had this kid in tears within minutes of going into the office and then he made him apologies to me.

This stopped the bullying for a time...

But in the end the bullying had to be stopped by a fight. This kid couldn't punch for toffee (I've been hit much harder in Jujitsu since then so know I can take a punch if need be) and I only hit him once, in the face, where he said he couldn't see any more so I walked away.

And what did the coward do? When I had my back to him he ran after me in an attempt to attack me from behind (not like that you dirty buggers!). Only a call from the crowd (I think to this day it was my best mate but he denies it) made me turn round and face up to him again, the second I did that he slowed and looked at me. I then told him that we could keep doing this and we'd both end up getting hurt quite a bit in the end.

After this the bullying stopped. What I'd like to know is what stopped it? Was it the teacher? Was it me hitting back? or was it reasoning?

I'd like to say that I'm driving Ferraris and shagging Supermodels and he's on the dole, on drugs and on the way out but life isn't like that, I'm in an ok job and am a well rounded individual and his dad gave him a pretty successful property business where he earns a load of cash.

Am I bitter? No, this happened may years ago and it had some formative affects on me but had that not happened I wouldn't be the person I am today. Since then I carried on playing rugby, and then took up Jujitsu, this has resulted in a lot less bullying and also given me the confidence to know that while I may take a beating I can at least administer the same. It also helped in the schools I worked in that it was known I was a high(ish) belt in Jujitsu and I took a very dim view of bullying.

So my advice? My mate told his lad best, first you tell the teachers, then you tell them again, then if that doesn't work you hit the sod as hard as possible and when the teachers tell you off you can tell them that they were told twice and did nothing about it and he, as his dad would tell them the same. As far as I know his lad hasn't been bullied yet...

Sorry for length and lack of funnies...but it's my second to last day at work so fuck it
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Thu 21 May 2009, 11:17, 1 reply)

Bullying in the Army
Way back, when I served in the forces. I'll always remember basic training for witnessing first hand some of the most horrific bullying a person could ever be made to go through. First up, the sergeant was a complete and utter sadistic bastard. No question about it. Luckily he took a bit of a liking to me though so I got away with the most of it. In every group there's always a weak one though, and one of my fellow new recruits was, shall we say, a little less than suitable for military life. He was a tad overweight, a bit soft, and frankly just didn't have the right aptitudes for being a soldier. God only knows why he signed up. Anyhow, this inevitably led to him performing much more poorly than the rest of the group, and whenever he cocked up the sarge had a rather sickening technique of punishing not him but everybody except him in the group, which as you can imagine resulted pretty soon in almost everybody turning against him too. Things all came to a head one night when, having had enough of being punished for his fuck ups, everybody (myself included, I'm ashamed to say) snuck out their beds, held him down to his bunk and proceeded to knock seven colours of shite out of him using bars of soap wrapped inside towels. he cried in his bunk for ages afterwards.

He topped himself some time afterwards. In the back of a Honda Accord I believe.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 21 May 2009, 10:42, 6 replies)

Part the third (and fourth, for that matter).
Part-the-third (first two bits are on page one).

My teacher at primary school in Wales bullied me and all the other kids (90% RAF-brats, not going to be living in Wales after we left school) into learning five lessons of Welsh to one lesson of English.

In the interests of gaining something that wasn't quite revenge but might have felt like it ... I stood up to her (aged about 8, I think) and ended up with the headmaster for my insolence.

I got to read science books (mathematics particularly) when the rest of the class had Welsh lessons. All of the ace :).

Part-the-fourth

Eric Ross ("hello, if you're reading"). Looked like a dinosaur, refused to let me on to the BBC B computer when I was 11-years old because I wanted to do some cosmology and astrophysics calculations.

Despite my having a liking for maths, he thought for some obscure reason that I was taking the p*** as most of the other kids who were in his maths class were.

My satisfaction was palpable when I returned to the school with my first in pure maths ... :D
(Eds Meds Mathskillz=1,Socialskillz=0, Thu 21 May 2009, 9:53, 5 replies)

Bullies
Time to get my 2pence worth in methinks!

In hindsight I wasn't really the ideal victim until I hit highschool. But the bullying started for me on my very own street. There was this vile snotrag called Leanne who loved nothing more than making my life hell, I would come in sobbing almost daily when she had hit me/said something mean/set her brother on me and a friend with tennis rackets. My mum was at her wits end and shouted at me one day that if I didn't hit her back she would hit me. I was so shocked that my mum had said this that I did run outside, volleyed over our wall and laid into the bitch. I'd like to think I thrashed her ass karate kid stylee, but I imagine it was more like hair pulling, kicking, biting and scratching. My mum dragged me off her after she let out a scream that sounded something similar to a pig being decapitated. She never passed my house alone after that, only ever with a bigger, even more venomous slag called Karen.
(vampyre_gem has been dead since, Thu 21 May 2009, 9:50, Reply)

Name and shame
A number of people have - rightly or wrongly - focussed their ire on teachers who failed to help and in some cases made things worse.

Step forward Mr Carrington-Porter, you useless fucking hippy.

What adult in their right mind would, when I finally snapped, announce to the class, "You've made The Light in Chains cry. I hope you're proud of yourselves." That was his first and last acknowledgement that anything was going on.

They were 11-year-olds. OF COURSE THEY WERE FUCKING PROUD OF IT. And they didn't know until you told them.

From the younger b3tans' posts it would appear that you can still become a teacher while totally flunking the "maintain control of the classroom" section. Still makes me angry three decades later.
( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Thu 21 May 2009, 7:49, 5 replies)

Grrrr.
This week's question has made me quite angry - reading other people's horrific stories and remember the bad time I had at school. I've only got one hand so you can imagine the types of taunts and insults I got. Teachers don't do anything, you realise that quite quickly from the age of 5 or so upwards, and the whole "ignore them and they'll stop" doesn't work either.

I now have a 7-month old daughter, and as soon as she's old enough to go (and wants to go, obviously I'm not going to force her to do something she doesn't want to) I'm going to enroll her in a kid-friendly martial arts class. There are several reasons for this:
a) it's great for fitness, flexibility and general health (sadly lacking in a lot of kids these days)
b) it teaches discipline and respect for others
c) if she evers needs to, she can stick up for herself.

If she ever gets bullied to the point where it's obvious it's not just a bit of ribbing from other kids and it's clearly distressing her, she's going my full permission to put a stop to it physically. I'll have no difficulty explaining my reasons to the head teacher and the parents of the other child(ren) because there's no way I'm going to let her take the misguided advice of the adults in charge and undergo a repeat of what happened to me. Teachers have got no clue half the time and are happy to sweep stuff under the carpet, and no power to actually do anything the other half.

My bullying finally calmed down when I was about 15 or so, when one day one of the bullies gave me a slap round the head, knocking my glasses halfway across the classroom. I turned round, belted him, knocked him over a table, inadvertantly ripping half his ear off in the process. It wasn't my intention, but this had to stop, you know? Well, it did. It makes me sad to say it, but I wish I'd done it earlier!
(JohabMorelli is spenging merrily away, Thu 21 May 2009, 3:53, 1 reply)

Revenge is a dish best served cold... and wet.
Primary school, bully named Arnold (can't remember his surname otherwise I'd quite happily post it), used to belt one and all for no apparent reason.
This went on for two years until we went on a school camp to a farm and on the first morning when we all bounded out of bed, Arnold stayed put.
Poor boy had wet the bed.
Some genius immediately realised the old French song "Alouette, gentille Alouette, Alouette je te plumerai" could EASILY be sung "Arnold wets the, little Arnold wets the, Arnold wets the, Arnold wetrs the bed..."
And his reign of terror was over.
( difficultchild, Thu 21 May 2009, 1:38, Reply)

Some advice for anyone wanting to mentor a tormented kid
Years ago, I saw this article on Slashdot that offered advice on building social skills in smart kids. If anyone's been inspired by this week's QOTW to get out there and do something, the article is well worth a read.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Thu 21 May 2009, 1:28, 1 reply)

Will this week ever end?
.
Please bring on the new QOTW. While this has been cathartic, it has also been very painful for many of us.

Lets get back to basic stories of puking, spunk, and regular insanity!

Three-somes, I want stories about threesomes.
(MichaelS wasn't picked again, Thu 21 May 2009, 0:40, 9 replies)

Big Brother...
Been deliberating whether to post this as a) its lacking in the funnies, and b) it doesn't involve spunk.

And its also deeply fucking private...

I've posted on here before about my sister, but I've intentionally left out the fact that I also have an elder brother. Why? Well, because the first eighteen years of my life before I escaped and fucked off to university were made pretty fucking unbareable by this bastard.

He would beat me. And I don't mean in a playful brotherly way. He would literally kick ten barrels of shit out of me. Thinking back, I was hospitilized at least a dozen times. One time after he'd watched V for Victory (that footie film with Rambo twatting about in a beret), he forced me to recreate the scene where the fella had his arm broken by bracing it between the slats on a bed and applying the foot. That one got me a couple of days in hospital with a compound fracture with complications. He also punched me so hard in the face once that my teeth came through my bottom lip. Another time he chucked me down the stairs.

And my parents did fuck all about him - I had a heart to heart with them a few years back to ask why they'd let it happen. And they couldn't answer. They said back then there wasn't any support for this sort of thing and they just didn't know what to do. At the moment we've got a shakey truce. We just don't talk about my dear big bro... at all... ever...

Don't get me wrong. My childhood wasn't all bad. I had some great times. But, unfortunately, I seemed to take it for granted that at some point or other I'd receive another unholy kicking for, basically, being in the way. It was just normal to me and its only now I'm an adult I realise this is totally ab-fucking-normal.

So, at eighteen I fucked off up to Manchester to study Economics. Not because I particularly wanted to - it was just as far as possible away from home as I could get. And as I left that day in my mum and dad's car that's the last time I ever saw the evil cunt. I'm thirty-four now. A long, long time ago.

He moved to Finland while I was at Uni after a big falling out with my parents. Thank fuck. And I've never thought about him since. When people ask me if I've got any siblings I only ever talk about my sis. My brother is - and always was - dead to me.

Only something fucking terrifying happened recently. He's been in touch with my parents wanting to reconcile, admitting what he did to me was wrong and that he wants to meet up and start over.

I'm afraid I said point blank "No..." And that's the last I've heard about it. And now I feel bad. Ever notice how its always the victims of violence who are left feeling guilty when being magnanimous goes out the window and they just want to be left alone by a past tormentor?

I can't forgive and I can't forget. Only in this. Otherwise I'm the most easy-going bloke in the fucking world. But not for this.

I consider myself to be a pretty well balanced individual - I've got a great partner, I'm in a loving relationship, I interact with my social peers without getting my cock out (well, most of the time). But a part of me is still incredibly angry. That cunt took away my childhood. And I'm never gonna get that back. And here I am now, at the age of thirty-four, being made to feel like I'm the big fucking villain for not wanting to patch things up...

Fuck me, its been grim this week. Here's hoping for the usual smut and filth next week.

Cheers for listening...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 21 May 2009, 0:20, 20 replies)

Dear Mom...
You know that thing you always told me? "Just ignore them and they'll stop bothering you?" Doesn't work. Just for your own information. I ignored them and they bothered me all the way up to graduation.

I had extra curly hair as a child that my mother always cut very short so it poofed out. I was the afro girl with the glasses and crooked teeth. Not my better years. I wasn't bullied as much as teased, except for Benjamin S., who took enjoyment in insulting me, occasionally threw rocks at me and once punched me for touching something that belonged to him.
My brother had more problems, poor guy. He's schizophrenic, a bit fat due to his medication, and once had a growth removed from his nose that left it looking a little funny. Still, he's the sweetest guy I know, and to all you assholes that beat him up, broke his things and followed him home taunting him: You suck. It's your fault my brother doesn't trust anybody outside the small circle of people he's known all his life. Also, to the teacher to whom my brother reported bullying to and just told him not to be a tattletale: You suck too.
(mariam67, Wed 20 May 2009, 22:33, Reply)

I was quite badly assaulted when I was 16
Sexually, in fact. On school premises. From a guy who'd been sexually harassing me for a good 18 months.

I got slammed against a wall, choked mostly unconscious and then assaulted with hands. At 0815 on a Thursday morning.

But I got my own back on the bastard. I never told anyone, dumped my boyfriend and went lesbian.

That showed the little fucker alright. F.A.C.T.

Length? I've repressed that particular memory.

It's good to joke about it.

First post on QOTW. I'd say be nice, but so many of you are the most brilliantly bitchy people who constantly make my day that I wouldn't insult you with such an entreaty.
(Biscuit Burlesque wants to be Dita von Teas, Wed 20 May 2009, 22:02, 4 replies)

Bullying is natural - all species do it.
Even sticky notes


( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Wed 20 May 2009, 21:34, 8 replies)

I'd thought to avoid this QOTW
as frankly, I was worried it'd bring out my nasty side. The side that doesn't want to hear it. The deep, dark snide voice that didn't want to hear a bunch of adults whinging about how cruel the world had been to them, and how all their problems could be attributed to how a bunch of kids weren't very nice to them when they were young. The side that secretly thinks these people bring it on themselves a bit. The side that sagaciously considers Darwin and the Law of the Jungle, and settles back in my armchair under my portrait of Thatcher for a nice cup of tea and a read of the Daily Mail. The side that has, on several occasions, declared it to be a principle that, except in certain extreme circumstances, what you make of your life is down to you, that we live in an increasingly whiny, self-aggrandising and self-entitled culture where no-one takes responsibility for their own actions; it's always the fault of their parents, childhood bullies, teachers, neighbour's hamster, etc.

I wonder, though.

I didn't get on with my mum. I'm not going to start rattling on about it here - suffice to say, it wasn't good, and went a bit beyond the normal spectrum of poor familial relations. Luckily, I have a wonderful dad, which I've always felt went a way towards cancelling it out. Anyway, for as long as I can remember I've had a tendency to blindly believe that if someone doesn't like me, it's my fault. (See first paragraph.)
Cos I was told, see.

Looking at my life in the abstract, it sounds pretty good. I've had lots of friends - always have - am well-educated, never been picked on, and apart from the fact that I have No Career and No Prospect Of One In This Stupid City, I'm quite happy.

The problem is this. I feel that I, er, have no personality. Or rather, I have too many, and none of them are genuine. I'm completely different things to different people, to the extent that friends of mine who've met each other have been astonished at each other's accounts of me. A friend once described me as a social butterfly, which sounds flattering until you realise what a butterfly actually does. It fannies around, looking pretty, tra-la-la, and always keeping things very much on the surface. Then it fucks off to do the same thing on another tree. It can't stay in one place, and it's pretty much useless.

So you see, having gathered that the thing to do was to ensure people liked me by making myself appealling to them, I've bent so far out of my own shape that all I can do is be reflective of what I think the other person wants. And it's not as if it's a facade - there is no underneath. I saw an episode of Star Trek once (don't you judge me; it was on at tea-time) where there was an alien thing called an Empathic Metamorph that could completely alter itself to fit the requirements of its partner. It was very familiar.

Ach. It's not like this is crippling me or destroying my life, and as such doesn't compare with many of the tales that have obviously deeply affected folk on here. But it does bother me, sometimes.
(jennymnemonic, Wed 20 May 2009, 20:59, 5 replies)

The bully from my bird's junior school
lived a few doors down from me, years later.

I used to hear him shagging his bird with the window open when I was playing darts in my garage.

She was a bit noisey always shouting the same thing:
"uh"
"uh"
"uh"
"HONEY!"

Am I the only person who has interupted a game of "Round the Clock" to have a wank into an oily rag?
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Wed 20 May 2009, 20:53, 2 replies)

Everyone gets bullied
its how you respond to being bullied that matters

Name Calling
People called me names, this hurt most of all - but who cares what other people think?

Physical violence
I gave as good as i got, to the point where people didn't hit me anymore - I was athletic once and left a bruise to be admired!
One day the name calling became too much, the anger pumped through my veins the guy was about to get a well deserved beating, a mate stood between me and the pathetic excuse for a human, I pushed my mate out of the way.... putting his head through a window... oops
The glass broke in a V shape, right above mates head, if the glass had fallen, his head would have surely fallen off
I cried (real men do cry - now shut up) and got sent to the head masters office - parents where called and asked to pay for the broken window
The answer returned was "we pay enough tax, you pay for it" ha ha my parents are great!

All the windows where laminated the next week

Bullies... stop and look at your life and work out whats wrong
( SkUG >_O i got a couple of stitches in my eyeball... ow, Wed 20 May 2009, 20:11, 1 reply)

I was bullied at primary school
Worst fucking 5 years of my life from year 1 to year 5.

I had the misfortune to be raised an English catholic, from a lazy arsed catholic family to be sure but that did mean that I got dragged to church once or twice a month.

So fuck you say.

Alas this was central Scotland in the 70s and in their infinite wisdom my parents had decided to send me to the nearest primary school rather than the catholic place a couple of miles away.

A sensible plan you say, considerate even.

And it would have been had not the said nearest primary school been infested with the Neanderthal spawn of a bunch of orange order grandees who proceeded to make my English catholic life a form of terror even Lovecraft would have backed away from as being too baroque.

Oddly it wasn't the beatings, the constant verbal abuse, the creative and imaginative terror being inflicted that got to me. It was having my sandwiches nicked and hurled into a field every day for five years that really grated. My mum isn't a great cook but she can make great sandwiches when she wants to.

Anyway, being wise beyond my years I already knew that complaining to teachers was pointless and that my mum couldn't do much. I didn't even consider asking my dad, I mean how could a mild mannered man like him help? He's not exactly a man of action.

He is however a man of quiet patience and thought.

After I came home one Friday in a particularly bad way even my parents could see something was wrong, the words "fienian IRA cunt" cut into the skin of my back with a biro are usually a dead give-away. I vaguely remember my mother in tears, going to call the police etc I do remember very clearly my dad going very quiet and seeming somehow to grow somewhat. I remember being cleaned up and the sounds of my dad going out, I remember my mother rushing to the stairs and with a very strange voice quietly saying “Doug, don’t!” a mixture of half pleading, half terror with a hint of smothered sob.

Very odd form a ten year olds point of view, and I remember thinking that something very odd had happened. Well more off than having an impromptu tattoo given to you by a gang of thugs. Which by then was only a little bit odd to be honest.

I don’t remember my dad coming back that night, mind you that could have been because I was asleep by 8pm smothered in that horrible pink antiseptic which smells of tcp, Germoline perhaps.

So roll on the weekend and I drag my sorry arse to school on Monday morning full of the Joie de vivre of another day of being thumped, terrified and no lunch.

And I waited.

Nothing, not even a cross word.

This utterly terrified me, I was so scared I threw my own lunch away (it wasn’t a good day at casa 314 and the sandwiches did appear to be crab paste but still). What the fuck did these fucking bastards have fucking planned for me for fucks sake? What the fuck where they going to do to me now? I was a fucking nervous wreck come 3pm and I ran all the way home in a state of wild terror.

Dad comes home at about 6:30ish, looks at me, still twitching as the fear grounded itself. “how was school?” he enquires “ok?”, I nod dementedly as he pottered off somewhere whistling to himself.

Tuesday morning. Nothing.

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, the week after, the whole month, the remainder of the year, the rest of my time in that fucking shite hole. Nothing. No one ever hit me again, no one was too friendly mind, but no one called me names and life was a lot better all over.

To this day I’ve no idea what he did or even if he did anything. I didn't care, I got to eat lunch, sometimes, when it wasn’t crab paste or that other shimpams filth

Night all.
( edz314 smelled the glove on, Wed 20 May 2009, 19:24, 6 replies)

Most of the stories this week...
...refer to bullying when we were kids / at school.
There's a lot of workplace bullying out there too. I lost someone very close to me recently due to extreme workplace bullying. He carbon-monoxided himself in his car (no, not a Honda Accord).
He couldn't handle it anymore and left behind a wife and daughter and a lot of grieving relatives and friends.
The bully knew he was suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and still persisted in bullying him.
What happened to the bully? Sweet FA.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Wed 20 May 2009, 16:47, 6 replies)

This happened yesterday so I find it is appropriate for this qotw
It was a cloudy missedable day. But this mattered not for I was to hit the town that evening for a night of drinking and heavy metal. It was going to be a good way to celebrate my 21st birthday and I planned on forgetting my studies for 1 night of good old fashioned intoxication.

So it being 3pm me and my housemate matt (for that is his name) decided that some bacon sandwiches were in order but alas we had no butter! Bugger thinks I.
To the shops then!

We passed some young wannabe gangster types that attend the school at the end of my road. It is a typical inner city school where most of the students will probably be in prison soon after leaving.

So we take the short cut through a small alley way when we pass one of these miscreant teens on a bike. I thinks nothing of it and pass him and exit the alleyway.

Hold on a second. Where is matt? So I turn around. These teens had surrounded him outnumbering him 8 to 1. They were pushing him around and were after his wallet.

Right then. I am not going to stand for some 17 year old pikeys pushing my friend around so I dive back into the alleyway in an effort to save him.
(the following may or may not have happened)
Limbs flew as bone was hacked and flesh was torn to pieces such was the almighty strength of my assault. Heads rolled and blood was spilled. Arrows jarred in the eyes of young chav miscreants. I let out an all mighty roar such was the intensity of my rage. At last I stopped and looked around the killing field in this small alleyway. Matt looked appauled by the bloody carnage that surrounded us. Serves them right says I. And we went and brought some butter.

Bacon sandwiches had never tasted so good.

(In reality I got pushed over but managed to grab matts wallet. I was then kicked in the head repeatedly until I heard matt eventually say give them the wallet schteven. If I had not been snapped out of my adrenaline rush I probably would have been kicked unconcious. Luckily they did not get my wallet or my iPhone off me so I rang the police and wasted the evening giving a statement at the police station. I did however go out after and get very very drunk.)

Not quite bullying as such but it is close enough to squeeze into this qotw.
( mr schteven In a staring competition with a squid on, Wed 20 May 2009, 16:33, 2 replies)

Big Bully Target
My dad left me when I was a couple of days old, maybe he saw what a born loser I was and decided to leave, maybe not. I don't know. My mum raised me, taught me never to fight and always backdown. To become a coward. No wonder I became such a blatent target for bullies.

My Boss, what a bitch, abusing every ounce of power she had over me in a bid to use my misery to make her life seems a little bit less pointless.

My girlfriend, the sexy goth whore who's admittided to me at least half of her "indescresions" she never mentioned that she was fcuking my best friend and I never mentioned it but I knew.

My "best" friend. Only friend more like it, the only person I knew that would talk to me, as long as I ignored that fact he was getting more action from my girlfriend than I did.

Even the thugs o nthe streets would hurl abuse and spit at me whenever I left my flat.

My life sucked ass.

That was until my dad was killed. I didn't know anything about him until one day this foxy lady bumps into me at the local megamart and tells me that my Dad died. I go to meet Dad's friends and things become very weird.

I leanr to become a kick ass mother fcuker, I take my life back, I get revenge on all the people that treated me like shit and I join the most secret organisation in the world.

And that's only the begining.

The end? Let me just say I got everything I ever Wanted.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Wed 20 May 2009, 16:04, 6 replies)

The Bad and Good of Bullying
I've had a few experiences with bullying in my time. The trick with bullies is you have to hit them back hard enough to discourage them from doing it again. The first time, this bully picked a fight after school. Well, I managed to get him down and then just started kicking him, over and over until I was sure I wouldn't be having any more trouble from him. Must have worked as I never saw him again.

Shortly after that, I was dispatched to military school. Things went OK for a while but there's always some kid who'll try it on. This one tried it in the showers. Luckily, I was wet and slippery as he tried to grapple me and I managed to slip away. A quick blow to the nuts and then to the face and he was down. I made a real mess of his nose and there was blood everywhere. I never saw him again either so obviously I scared him as much as the first one. He must have been real keen to get out of there.

On the upside, I did manage to get the Earth fleet to the Formic homeworld and wipe those Buggers out entirely. Result.

Thought it would make a change from Star Wars
(Richy_T hundreds if not thousands of dollars, Wed 20 May 2009, 15:32, 6 replies)

Does this count as bullying too?
b3ta.com/questions/fittingin/post346777

Having your relatives make you resort to doing this should count I think.
(Grrrrr Tigers, Wed 20 May 2009, 15:32, Reply)

Does this class as bullying?
It made me want to vomit, cry and run away all at the same time...

www.b3ta.com/questions/sexualmisconceptions/post258292/
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Wed 20 May 2009, 15:20, Reply)

I need to buy a new car
and I was seriously thinking of getting a Honda Accord.

Ruined that for me haven't you, you great bunch of bullies.
( argyleblanket The man on the roof works for me, Wed 20 May 2009, 15:10, 2 replies)

I can relate to this
www.b3ta.com/questions/bullies/post424211
being half German.
I was born in Germany but I only spent the first 5 years of my life there. My parents moved to the UK and I've spent the rest of my life here.
Yes I have a German surname but as I have an English forename and no accent you'd be hard pressed to tell my bloodline.

In school the surname was enough though and so I went various name calling and thigh slapping episodes which so many people have said are character building.

However, what really pisses me off is that these things still go on.

Some people I meet feel it's amusing and OK to take the piss with a comedy German accent, rename me "Fritz" and one or two have really gone the whole nine yards and suggested I may like to gas a Jew or two.

But please, if you are going to be xenophobic at least be consistant. That way I can deal with you as an ignorant racist cunt that you are. Don't expect me to respond to Fritz and when you finally do use my given name, and don't expect me to be civil.

Rant over, apologies for the complete and utter lack of funny and possibly tenuous QOTW linkage.
(zebby wasting irony here on, Wed 20 May 2009, 13:45, 16 replies)

To sum up...
"Tomkinson,you dismally untalented little creep."
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Wed 20 May 2009, 13:35, 1 reply)

How To Deal With Bullies...
Back in the mists of time when I first started school my dad gave me some sound advice about bullies. He Said to me:

'When you go to school there will be a boy there who wants to hit you, now that is a school bully. Now all school bullies are cowards. Now, he will only hit you if he thinks you are afraid of him, so if you hit him first he will run away'.

I was expelled 2 weeks later for being the school bully.

*Gives thanks to Dave Allen*
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Wed 20 May 2009, 12:21, Reply)

I used to be quite slim
and cut a bit of a dash round the town , lately though I find I've put on weight and somehow can't reduce the wobbly mound of flesh that hangs over my trousers and seems to give people the right to call me tubbs , fatty etc .

Oh , hang on , you said bullies ....
( horace wimp needs more than 49 characters to fully express hi, Wed 20 May 2009, 12:02, Reply)

bullying has a pleasant side
i never got on with the INCROWD for reasons that are too exhaustively apparent already. I took to hanging out with a gang of similar misfits,real robin-hood type of merry men, who read and did the whole intellectual-library-type-thing. We were all being put down by the cool kids, and all that hackneyed shit.
It tailed off a lot towards the end of fourth year and by this time I'd made some great friends. In fact,some of the nerdy kidsv were fast making friends with their tormentors, once they sprouted boobs and social lives.All good,yes? But something sinister was happening to our band of bretheren.I looked around in wild-eyed horror and realised that my gang of misfits were turning,slowly,subtly into the gossipy,trashy shits that we'd been hiding from in our little group.
When we left at the end of sixth year there wasn't a single one who I could stand being in the same room as. Our bullies had done the most unforgivable thing to their prey - they'd turned them into the same worthless shitheads that they were.
So RIP Studio Group - you were good while you lasted. In my memory,at least, you remain whole. But I guess even school society was too strong for you.
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Wed 20 May 2009, 11:44, Reply)

My school life
was plagued with all sorts of bullying, in fact that's pretty much all I can remember.

The first few months of senior school saw my "best" friends turn on me as it made them look cool to everyone else. So I got bullied for the first 2 years of school and was constantly ripped on by my 2 "best" friends which caused me to have to go and socialise with the "skanks" if you know what I mean. I had to see the head of house about being bullied and she could understand, and was on my side, "apparently".

Anyway, the turning point came one day whilst sitting in English, I had one of the 2 mates that decided to rip on me; offered me out for a fight on the field after school. 'Fuck it!' I thought, "Yeah, I'll fight you, and kick your fucking arse". You should of seen his face change.

After school I ripped the fuck out of him psychologically and gave him a royal kicking. This then saw the tables turned and I managed to get my own back for the remaining 3 years of school, and yes I got my own back well and truely.

But, the most annoying thing, the head of house then declared that I was a lier and never got bullied in the first place. In fact, she signed my year book with

"Nick, master of the put down and cuss."

Bitch, with a fucking coffee stain on her face...
( Firkinfedup last shat on your wife's tits at, Wed 20 May 2009, 10:46, 3 replies)