I blame the parents
There was this one kid at our school, Geordie or Mackem or somesuch; MAN was he hard, he regularly used to beat up other kids. But when you met hisparents, it was obvious where he got it from; his parents were always fighting each other and abusing him terribly. Poor old Biffa, wonder where he is now...
(kitescreech still here, Mon 18 May 2009, 19:25, 3 replies)

Getting jumped...
...is not fun.

I'm from Bradford, it's a shithole, but it's my shithole.

I'm going to tell you a story now which very nearly turned me into a raving racist... nearly...

~~~~~~wavy lineage~~~~~~~

It's the summer of 2003, it's a fairly average overcast day and me and a friend were on a training course at a school, which I won't identify because undoubtably any Bradfordians will be trying to figure out what more I actually expected from such a hole... the following story is a recollection pieced together by myself, my fellow victim, hospital staff and the police (the actual police, not Sting and his cronies), because with severe cuts to my shoulders, neck and head, black eyes and a concussion, it's not easy to remember the sequence of events accurately. However, I would like to give you some background knowledge first..

The 2001 census states that Bradford has a 19% asian population and whilst I have never made any effort to berate, judge or indeed bully anyone, ever, for their ethnicity, being white in this city, apparently makes you an instant racist. You will be looked up and down by every old, traditional Pakistani man, as they shake their head and tut at you like you're burning the Qu'ran and deploying troops into their hometown, and stared at by young asians in expensive (rented) cars and oversized fake designer sunglasses whilst they pretend to be better/richer/harder than everyone else. If I had a pound for every time I had been told to 'stay the fuck away' from someone's 'turf' because 'whiteboys don't belong there' or systematically ignored by every single employee of an asian restaurant until every asian person had been served first, I would be considerably richer than i am now..

Anywhoooos, back to 2003. I was 16 or 17, on the aforementioned training course. It was lunch, me and my mate went to get some chips from the local chippy, and whilst I waited outside for my mate to be served, I started to feel the burn of dozens of pairs of eyes fixed in my direction.. I turned to find 25 or 30 asian lads aged between 16 and 19 staring directly at me. A bit unnerved, I willed my mate to hurry the fuck up. when he turned up we crossed the road and began the 3 or 4 minute walk back to the school. about a minute in, the burn started again, I glanced behind me to find about 4 lads following us back. 'must just be off back to school' thinks I... wrong. I then hear the pound of Rockports on tarmac, and turn to find that the rest of their cronies from before had run across the road to join them, still staring. The pounding of chavvy shoes starts again and gets increasingly louder, and closer.. me and my mate throw each other a look that says 'leg it'... but it was too late. As I lob my chips and start to run my collar is grabbed and blows from four or so pairs of fists rain down on the back of my head for what felt like an age. My face is slammed into a car window and the punches start again.

Now, I'm no weakling. 6 foot 1 ish and 17 stone in fact, and no stranger to a scrap.. but a fair scrap, not a kicking from a crowd of people with no motive. I decided that I was gona end up in a wheelchair if I didnt do anything about the relentless shower of blows, so I swung once, blindly, as hard as possible, and clocked the guy who had had hold of my collar. Lucky shot really, completely shattered his nose clean across his face. All this time, my mate had been battling away with a few of em aswell, he'd come off better than me but still had a few bruises and lumps on his head.. a group of onlookers broke it up, and managed to walk me back to the school reception, a total of 8 huge lumps on my head, a gash to the back of my neck, two to my shoulders and one to my head, two black eyes, concussion, a bloody nose and 3 broken knuckles from my lucky shot.. we went to the hospital to get sewn up and sorted out, when in comes my attacker with his shattered nose, crying like a bitch and being comforted by his (very traditional muslim) mummy and daddy.. I was dying to go over and leather seven shades of shite out of him but due to the fact I was seeing double and too dazed to walk, I was encouraged not to.

The next day I am visited by a policeman so they can take pics of my injuries and work on getting him prosecuted, when he gets a call over his radio to tell him that broken-nose-boy had filed for racial assault against me... the policeman goes about explaining for the next 40 mins or so how, even though I obviously have very serious injuries, he will have no choice but to take me to the station for questioning. Just before we're about to leave he gets another call on the radio to say that they have CCTV evidence that I was obviously not a suspect and they only shot i got in was in self defence, and a very good one!

The police did him for assault or GBH or ABH or something similar, and word is that once his old fashioned, traditional parents heard that their devout muslim, kind, peaceful son was actually a cowardly thug, they gave him a good hiding aswell, he had told them i had attacked him for no reason and tried to nick his phone, all along calling him racist names... Karma ftw!!

Apologies for length... I cut it down as much as poss...
(InkyFingers, Mon 18 May 2009, 19:02, 14 replies)

Police Bullies
Have an amusing pearoast from back in December 2007.....

My Dad was a policeman (now retired) and tv programmes like Life On Mars are very near the truth apparently for the average nick in the 1970s and 80s. My Dad is full of stories about what happened then...some of them are exactly like LoM and some are more like Heartbeat....none really have the style and panache of The Sweeney...

Just as in LoM they didn't use tape machines to record interviews which meant that a certain amount of 'leeway' could be employed...

Yes, they could bully their way to a confession.

This did mean that on some occasions the result would actually be humorous (well, for the outside world perhaps, maybe not if it resulted in you being banged up for a long stretch just because the man in uniform didn't like you...but I digress...).


On one particular occasion a man had been brought in for questioning regarding a crime that the police knew he was responsible for but he refused to budge from his story.

The decision was made to attempt to provide a little 'pressure' to ensure the required outcome was arrived at....

One of the coppers on duty was a member of the police diving squad and just happened to have his wetsuit and gear with him.

This was at a coastal police station so someone was sent down to the pier and a large fish was purchased.

The accused had been left in the interview room for a while, alone...then the door opened and in walked a frogman - full kit including flippers and facemask, and carrying a large fish....The questions were posed again and this time with each 'incorrect' answer the accused received a mighty wet fish slap around his chops.

Eventually the chap 'coughed' to the crime and it all went to court in due course.

Once on the stand the defendant withdrew his earlier confession as it had been made under duress, and explained the situation surrounding it....

The judge had him sent off for psychiatric assessment.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 18 May 2009, 18:44, 7 replies)

Its my b3ta birthdayyy
But its still a sad QOTW :(

Have a story.

There is a person in our life called Richard. Quite simply he is a cunt.
Back story time!
Back when we first met we all got bullied quite a bit for our troubles, but we got by and eventually it went away. The bullies even got to say sorry to me and buy me drinks later in life :D
Richard however didn't grow up. When he got into 5th year at our school he began to bully all the first years, this just wasn't on we thought. We explained to him that he was a cunt and he went through the same, and we asked him why was he doing it.
he replied simply: "Because I'm better than them and i can"
the second he said that 3 pairs of hands grabbed him and made sure he regretted saying that. I wont go into details but he didn't boast about that again.
Sorry its a bit of a shot story, but its less depressing than most of the others on here :/
(Kuja335, Mon 18 May 2009, 18:06, 2 replies)

Sometimes you have to act.
A few years back when I was in my early 20s I was walking along the street in my hometown. I happened to notice a little girl skipping along towards me on the other side of the road, she was all pigtails and freckles and smiles and couldn't have been more than 7 or 8. As she skipped towards the entrance to the park 2 lads, clearly several years her elders, emerged from the park and she was unable to avoid them and crashed into one of them.
I stood astonished as the scene unfolded in front of me and these 2 lads started shoving this little girl around. When I saw one of the lads lifting his hand a fully punching the girl in the face I saw red mist descending. I couldn't stand and watch this anymore. I crossed the road and my fists started flailing and boots started swinging. I was like a wildman. I fought with a savagery that I didn't think I had and I have to tell you guys.
Between the 3 of us we totally kicked the crap out of that little girl.
I even got her lollypop.
(Figmaus, Mon 18 May 2009, 17:45, 6 replies)

Lack of funnies again.
I used to teach in Primary schools until I fell out with a headteacher who refused to support her staff in front of pushy parents, but that's another story.

My first year of teaching I had a class of five and six year olds; most of them were lovely kids who came from typical middle class homes and hadn't a care in the world.

One child in the class, Adam, was from a large family known to be 'troublesome' but still very much middle class - mother worked in an office in town, father was no longer on the scene due to mental health problems. Adam was probably the brightest child in the class - he was also the worst bully the school had ever seen.

Each morning when the children trooped into class I'd have to ask Adam if he'd brought anything to school 'by accident' - he'd turn out his pockets and hand over chains, screw drivers, nails and similar items.
He was disruptive throughout the day - calling out, jumping up and down, running across the room hitting others as he went - a royal pain in the arse...unless he had one-to-one adult attention, then he'd outshine most of the class in his academic achievements.

Nonetheless, I would loved to have had him out of my classroom so my job would have been easier and the rest of the class could get some peace.

Things came to a head when Adam decided to turn his attention on Sam - Sam was a year older than the rest of the class but because he'd had open-heart surgery as a toddler and his chest wall remained somehow stapled so surgeons could reopen his chest if necessary. He was very delicate, small and quite slow in all areas - but he was very much a fighter and a happy little soul to boot.

Adam, in his slightly twisted way, wanted to be Sam's friend. Unfortunately this involved intimidation - both physical and mental. They were kept separate during class time but the real problems surfaced during playtime.

One lunch break Adam cornered Sam away from the watchful eyes of the midday supervisors (dinnerladies) and punched him squarely in the stomach.

Two inches higher and he'd have broken through the staples and in all probability killed Sam.


At 3.15 when the parents arrived to collect their children Sam's parents were sent off to see the headteacher (not the same one I had a run-in with - this one did support stuff).


I'd already had discussions with my head of department about Adam - in fact we'd had numerous visits from the Educational psychologist who always suggested rather wishy-washy ideas and never saw Adam acting up because Adam was extremely clever and realised the Ed.Psych was there to see him! My HoD was adamant that *all* the children had the right to come to school and remain safe and if Adam couldn't adapt his behaviour then he should leave the school for the sake of the others. The Ed.Psych was adamant that the problem was minimal and we should be able to contain it within the classroom.
All the staff were instructed to keep detailed notes logging all incidents in which he was involved in order to provide evidence for further panel meetings with various outside agencies.

So the educational establishment bureaucracy was on this one.

I was left to call in Adam's mum.

She was a tall attractive woman in her mid forties, very smartly dressed and clearly a strong character. When I called her over as I held Adam's hand her face fell and she began to give him filthy looks. She sighed as she reached me and asked what he'd done now. Rather than discuss it in the playground I led her into the classroom.

As she and her son followed me she shoved him into the building and said, "Why the hell can't you stay out of trouble? Who've you been hitting now?"

At that point I had a considerable amount of sympathy with her - this child was a little shit for most of the time.

When we got into my classroom before I'd even begun to tell her what he'd done she launched into how he was a 'bad'un' right from being tiny.

Apparently at the age of around 2 he'd just stopped wearing nappies. She'd washed the kitchen floor and to 'spite' her he wet himself, the pee going all over the clean floor. To 'teach him a lesson' she'd rubbed his nose in it - splitting his lip in the process. He'd got up, no tears, wiped his lip and asked if he could go and watch television.

She told me this to make me feel further sympathy with her.

To be fair, she'd not had an easy time bringing up her family of four or five children with the added pressure of her partner's mental health problems.
All the children were clean and well presented.
She worked part-time and looked after herself - this was no scummy mummy.
Bringing up bright challenging children on your own is hard (not that I realised it at the time - I didn't have kids then).

But rubbing a two year old's nose in pee to teach them a lesson?

Hardly any wonder he'd gone on to pick on someone else smaller and weaker than himself.

That said, not all abused children bully others.


So what's the point of my post?

None of it is black and white.

Sam was blameless - illness had caused his status as ideal bully fodder.

Adam was a thoroughly screwed up kid who, with the right type of care and attention could have gone either way.

Adam's mum was a thoroughly screwed up adult who was at the end of her tether - but she was an adult and therefore there was no excuse for her behaviour.

I don't have the answer.

I can say honestly that when I came across bullying - and it's in *all* schools - I tried to prevent it but like any form of abuse it goes on in secret, hidden away in locker rooms, dark corners, whispers, sly punches - we all know the drill.

How bloody depressing.

Roll on Thursday and a new qotw.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 18 May 2009, 17:26, 5 replies)

Accidents will happen
This QOTW is a bit grim and depressing, so I thought I'd share a story about how things can go well. A few years ago I was feeling pretty low, I'd just had a miscarriage and my boyfriend decided to leave me over it. Within a few weeks I was on Prozac and was experiencing this strange wibbly-wobbly, rushy feeling you get when your on that sort of medication. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't do anything much.

And to make matters worse the bastards in suits who are the DSS stopped paying me unemployment benefit (I'm not a doley scumbag; I'd been unemployed for about four months after working for years and years in the same job and where I live out in the styx its hard to find new work). The reason they stopped my benefit was because they found out I was now signed off work through illness with my doctor. There was a new benefit I could claim but it would take about six weeks to sort out and would be less than I could barely manage on as it was - I thought I was going to be made homeless while I waited.

I was down at the local jobcentre pleading with the manager there to help me. There were some builders in as well and I managed to grab everyones attention. I must've looked really pathetic. And this manager man was just the ultimate bully; he made me feel worthless. He grinned down at me and told me as smugly as he could that there was nothing he could do to help. Fair enough. I didn't mind that. But I did mind the fact that he seemed to be getting a hard on at the thought of me squirming.

I left empty handed without a clue how I was going to get through the next few weeks. I was in tears. And then one of the builders came up to me and said: "Sorry to hear all that, love. We've been here all week and that bloke's done the same with loads of young lasses like you. He's a nasty man," then he stopped and pointed at a car. A nice car. Very flash and expensive looking. "Thought you might like to see this. That's his car over there." Then the builder whistled to his mate in a big truck that was loaded down with loads of heavy gear. His mate in the big truck reversed squarely into the posh looking car and smashed in its front, crumpled it up so it looked like a screwed up Coke can.

"Whoops!" said the builder and he smiled at me and walked away. "Accidents will happen!" He said.

Cheered me up no end!
(jellyfish wish, Mon 18 May 2009, 17:10, 3 replies)

Man, this one is a crazy story that changed my life forever.
I was playing basketball in a playground and a couple of guys came up to be and said that I was 'Up to good'...

They were the same two guys that had been making loads of trouble in my neighbourhood. I got into a fight with them and my mum got scared and she said 'You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in BEELLL AIR!!!'

I wore my blazer inside out. It was epic.
( Donkey Gums @mattcomedy, Mon 18 May 2009, 17:10, 5 replies)

one time
i was being bullied by this jerkoff with a big dog,which he painted with some kind of glowy crap and tried to scare the shit out of me.Aha!,thought I,and I called in a detective and this short fat guy who was always writing.Turns out the bully was a retard,as he fucked off pretty sharpish and accidentally drowned in a bog.Result!
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Mon 18 May 2009, 16:29, 7 replies)

Hmm, I may have super powers.
There was a school reunion recently. There's one every year, but since this one was organised by the pupils themselves rather than the slightly dodgy masonic "old boys society" I decided to attend.

It was more than a little odd, although gratifying, to see how old, fat bald, of fucked up on drugs some of them were. Even better was the lack of certain faces amongst the crowd, certain faces who thought that "How far can we twist your wrist before it breaks again" was a good game, or "How much lighter fluid does it take to set a ginga on fire ?" that was always a favourite.

Dead, both of them.
One of throat cancer, possibly from smoking 40 a day from the age of 11 upwards.
The other from "getting into a fight"

Schadenfreuade, such a lovely word...
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Mon 18 May 2009, 16:15, 4 replies)

I was bullied at work for a while, although I didn't grasp it at the time.
I was doing a job that involved house calls. The 'team' included a couple of old hands who ran things their own way, and a high turnover of other staff meant that these two got plenty of overime.

Staff would join but soon finish because the old hands would discreetly 'inform' the clients that new workers were thieves or sexually deviant or whatever, so that clients would mysteriously refuse to let them in, causing such trouble that baffled new staff would cut their losses and leave.

The useless management had no idea, even though the old hands were working all sorts of fiddles between them.

Amusingly, the main lie told about me backfired somewhat when the MS patients began asking for me by name and begged me to score marijuana for them, having been told I was a wild-eyed dope fiend.

As I don't even smoke, and would have lost my job and probably gone to prison if I'd obliged them, the answer, to my regret, had to be 'no'.

Anyway... I put up with this crap for a few months and then left for a better job. Just before I went, my main 'accuser', Mrs Bitch, suddenly vanished. I left anyway, as I was sick of the hassle, but laughed my tits off when I found out why she'd gone.

A client had tearfully confided in another team member that Mrs Bitch had 'borrowed' her life savings off her, and now she had no money for her daughter's wedding. It seems that as the client was terminally ill, Mrs Bitch had calculated that she'd be safely dead before the loan was called in.

This gross misconduct saw Mrs Bitch sacked on the spot.
Live by the sword, and all that...
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Mon 18 May 2009, 16:14, Reply)

The whole town was out to get me (well not really)

As I've detailed this week in a previous post I was a bit of a hippie at school. I was fairly popular but my mode of dress, habit of speaking in overtly convoluted language and general interest in furthering my knowledge meant I attracted a decent amount of detractors.

Combine this with my pig headed inability to avoid confrontation and you had a recipe for the odd bit of bullying.

Normally these scuffles were passing affairs, for a few days at a time some cunt or other would call me a girls name or throw shit at me in class. I'd take the bait and heaps piles of verbal abuse upon them and more often than not that'd be the end of it.

However there was a guy 3 years older than me (let's call him Discarded Spunk Sack or DSS) who I obviously disgusted so much he couldn't bear to pass me in a corridor without a sly dig or bit name calling. I'm tough skinned so this didn't bother me and I'd generally chuck a half hearted put down back his way.

This low level of bullying was escalated one day when I made the unfortunate decision of spending my lunch break in a younger friend's form class. As I was chatting away, showing off my knowledge of bands and making all the nubile young ladies froth at the crotch with my flowing locks and fledgling beard / boards combo, a young lad I had never seen before in my life looks me up and down and proclaims "You've got girls hair. You must be a right fag"

Unfazed I glanced round, locked eyes with him and told him to "cunt off, you chubby little fuckface" before returning to letching over Joanne Stoker and her horde of jailbait lovelies.

Unbeknownst to me this fellow (who appropriately was known as Chubby) had taken umbrage to my casual reply and had reported such to his biggest hardest friend, and you can guess who that was can't you.

So I'm sitting in the Design and Technology department later that day, cackhandedly failing to produce some item of woodwork, when I hear a knock on the window behind me. I turn to find DSS gurning wildly at me and yelling words of aggression.

Apparently I was to be “seen to” outside the gates come the end of school. He lurched away from the window and went on his way whooping and howling threats over his shoulder while his minions roiled around him cackling.

After school I ambled out to meet my certain doom, refusing to take the easy option of running out the back gate as my friends suggested. As I passed the DSS and his group of little Spunk Sacks they eagerly followed forming a loose circle around me.

After a moment or two of verbal sparring, it became clear that he was a fucktard and I could talk circles around him so he launched a blow causing a hefty bit of lip splittage. Naturally I was a little surprised and annoyed by this fist interface but I am a fairly non-violent fella so I responded in the only manner that seemed fit and spat a nice phlegmy glut of blood onto his pristine white trainers and walked off.

Behind me, and over the barely restrained chortlings of his cronies, I heard him vow that all of the town would be out to get me. It would appear his loss of face in front of his friends due to the besmirchment of his trainers was to be repaid in full.

Strangely enough he ceased to bother me in any physical sense but he did keep his promise to some degree. Over the next few months I had to be on my toes as occasional groups of thugs would wander up to my usual haunts and enquire to my whereabouts. I was a nimble little fucker though so I tended to be well out of the way but this couldn’t last for ever and indeed one day I turned around to find I’d been caught.

Let us call him Matty (for I believe that was his name), I’ve no idea how he’d become involved in this bullshit as he went to a different school and although I’d heard tales of his exploits (the usual knuckle dragging list of achievements; stealing cars, punching people younger than him and taking loads of drugs) as far as I know he didn’t associate with anyone that I had so far offended.

He took a moment to identify me and then started lumbering toward me offering me on for a fight for “what I’d done to that Chubby kid”.

I backed away for a while assuring the gentleman I had done nothing unwarranted to the porker in question and had no desire to enter into fisticuffs but this did little to placate him and he brought out his right hook for me to admire.

Admire it I did, admittedly only briefly but as closely as I could as once again I found my delicate face receiving a battering. Now to save further ruination I realised I would have to take some positive action and when he swung again I ducked underneath his parabola of destruction, locked my arms around his ample frame and lifted.

I now found myself with around 15 stone of enraged bully gathered in my arms like a father scooping up his child for a hug. I quickly toyed with my options and unceremoniously chucked him over the 4 foot fence which ringed the park in which the assault had taken place.

As Matty tumbled helplessly over the fence and, I hope, landed in a large pile of dogshit and nettles I briskly walked home which was handily just around the corner.

My mother, upon spying my blackened eye and bloody nose, forced a condensed version of the story out of me (don’t you wish she’d been here to make me condense this version) and before I could protest that I didn’t want her to get involved she screamed “That’s Matty Goatfelcher, I used to be good mates with his mother at school, I’ll get on the phone to her” and in her mind that was the end of it.

I had a feeling there would be further repercussions for grassing on one of the supposed hard lads of the area to his Ma so you can imagine my dismay when the same group of lads came sauntering up to me the next day.

Bracing myself for more facial punishment I was surprised when he held a hand out to me that wasn’t clenched in a fist.

“I just wanted to apologise for hitting you yesterday” he said, “I’ll not bother you any more and by the way I didn’t expect you to be strong”

Stunned I shook his hand and muttered that it was no problem and I’ll catch him around.

Turns out not only did my ma’s phone call to his gain him a tongue lashing from his mother when he got home but he’d actually perpetrated the crime in front of his granddad’s house who’d seen him and grassed him up to his father too. Apparently his father gave him a sound thrashing and threw him out the house saying he wasn’t welcome home until he’d found me and apologised.

Good times.

Jesus, apologies for length: no, really, I am sorry
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Mon 18 May 2009, 16:05, 3 replies)

Workplace bullying
Never mind school, it was in my first job that I got seriously bullied. It started off with just words, but escalated more and more, until eventually it got so out of control that it ended up with me getting hospitalised. Not nice. To be honest the whole culture there was rotten, but my immediate boss was the biggest problem. From the day I joined I could tell he was resentful that I had more natural talent in my little finger than he had in his whole body. He was a real 'company man' - everything had to be done the company way and no questions asked. The company came first, and everything else (family included) took second place. Personally, I am more of a free thinker, and this kind of thing really grates on me. He wouldn't even give me time off when my mum got kidnapped ffs! He was always putting me down and holding me back. One day I could take it no more and just snapped. Those people who say you should stand up to bullies are not always right - turns out he was a better fighter than me after all. He cut off my arm and both my legs with a laser sword and then set my head on fire. Fucksocks.
(Mystery_Machine, Mon 18 May 2009, 16:03, 1 reply)

Swimming class
When I was about 8 I used to be a pretty good swimmer and would go to classes every day. There was this one slightly older boy that didn't like the fact that I was better than him and so opted for a strategy of picking on me, even resorting to pulling my legs back in the pool when we were racing. Pathetic stuff.

After one class I was stood at the urinal having a piss when he came up next to me, started doing his business then turned and said 'woops' and pissed all over my leg.

What he didn't realise was that day the two older boys across the road from me had asked to come and saw this happen. I'll never forget the blood spraying from his nose after one of them smashed his head from behind into the wall as he pissed, his hands of course on his piece making him unable to prevent it.

He never bothered me again after that.
( Regger, Mon 18 May 2009, 14:53, 2 replies)

Towards the end of secondary school
I never really got bullied, as a few run ins and punch ups with bullies had somehow gained me some respect with the popular crowd. I was friendly to them, even though I thought they were twunts.

Anyhow, once such incident which gained this approval and subsequent lack of bullying for my last years at school, went thusly...

~~wavy lines~~

In year 8 I went through a period of bullying, courtesy of a lad 3 years my senior. Let's call him Corey Cockface. He lived near me, and thus we shared the same route home. One day I was walking home, when it began with the usual name calling, pushing and shoving and general 'make Sir General's life a misery'. I tried altering my walk home. Corey Cockface altered his route. He actually went out of his way to increase his walk home by 20 minutes so he could improve his own ego by making me look small.

Anyway, this went on for a few weeks in a non-violent way. I was pissed off, but kept my cool. Until one day, Corey Cockface decides it would be a good idea to slam a strawberry yoghurt into my face, covering me and making my eyes water. I saw red (well, pink with red bits actually). I grabbed Corey Cockface by the tie, pulled his head down and drop kicked his face, sending him falling backwards into someone's rose bush. I took great delight in watching his shocked mug turn to horror and pain, as he writhed around in the thorns, scratching his arms, neck, face and legs. I laughed at him hysterically and walked on, paving the way for 3 further years of pleasant, bully free walks home. If someone tries to tell you that violence solves nothing, they are talking bollocks. It does.

Anyhoo, fast forward a few years. I suppose I was 17 or so, was out on a night with some friends, underage drinking in a local dive. Who was there but Corey Cockface and a new girlfriend of his. I tried ignoring them, as I really had no time for the twat (am not a grudgebearer but somehow childhood events are different). Corey Cockface came up to me and offered to buy me a pint. Well, who could refuse that? He and his girlfriend moved over to join us, and copious amount of beer were consumed.

I had been getting along rather well with Corey Cockface's girlfriend, and towards the end of the night, yours truly and Corey Cockface's lady stepped out for a cigarette. To cut a long story short, dear reader, I ended up fucking her against a wall in a dark corner of the beer garden, after which we both returned to the pub slightly flustered and carried on as if nothing had happened. I was nervous, in fact I was sweating like a blind lesbian in a fishmongers.

So to summarise, my revenge was complete. I'm not a vindictive character, but I really am chuffed with that. Not so much the fact that I administered his lady a 5 minute injection of veiny throbbing goodness, but the fact I (and she) will always have one over on him.

As far as I know, Corey Cockface is still with his girlfriend to this day, I think they may even be engaged. Hehehe....
(Sir General ***WoW***, Mon 18 May 2009, 14:07, 3 replies)

Crouching tiger, hidden flim-flam
I think everyone had a Sarah at their school, she was small, She was blonde, she was pretty, she was thin, she was actually rather clever, although she put on a bit of an act so she didn’t upset the thick-os that surrounded her and hung off her every word. Oh and the most important part… she was e-v-i-l. She went out of her way to mentally destroy girls at my school and most of the time she succeeded.

Regardless of the fact that I was only in one class with Sarah. I still managed to have a few run ins with her. I’m pretty sure the reason I pissed her off so much is because I’d actually stick up for my friends and that was pretty much unheard of. The idea was, if you got picked on by her, you dealt with it and your friends were supposed to disappear when she arrived. Me, well I was too stupid to run away I guess, that and stubborn.

Anyhoo, so I where was I, ah yes, sticking up for people. One of my friends had gone through a shit few months and basically ended up pregnant towards the end of our time at secondary school. She made the decision to have an abortion and was off for a couple of days recovering when it all kicked off.

Standing around in the freezing cold on a muddy field with a hockey stick in my hand I was receiving a verbal bashing by Sarah. Somehow people had found out what my mate was off sick for and Sarah had decided to let me know exactly what she thought of my mate - Apparently she was dirty, she was scum, she probably had AIDS now and was a filthy, horrible person. Now I disagreed with all of those statements and kindly tired to put my point across in a sensible and calm manner when I was twatted in the back of my leg with her hockey stick. I was not impressed but had been brought up not to resort to violence so stood my ground and told her to stop. Thwack. Again, hit on the knee this time which I can tell you hurt quite a bit. Even less impressed this time. I could feel my face getting red and could feel my heart pounding away… was I going to cry? I wasn’t sure… but suddenly everything slowed down, I could see her swinging for me again and this time she was aiming for my face. I’d had enough, I swung my own stick (which she had clearly forgotten I had upon my person) and bashed her stick straight out of her hands, with pretty impressive force I might add! I then proceeded to swing again with amazing precision and stopped centimetres short of her stupid face. I can still she her shocked expression as she was convinced I was going to hit her. Instead I told her to take back what she said and suggested that she shouldn’t shout her mouth off about my friends, strangely enough she agreed with me and she never bothered me or my mate again.

Moral of the story, don’t anger me when I’m wheedling a hockey stick, I have mad ninja-style skillz. (Well not that mad as I didn’t actually hit her, but you know what I mean)!!?
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Mon 18 May 2009, 13:30, 7 replies)

I made a funny for /board
but accidentally used Comic Sans without any irony.

I got pinned down for almost an hour whilst everyone screamed, shouted and drew CDCs all over my hard work.

Two weeks on I still can't open The Gimp without breaking out in a cold sweat.
(MrOli is ugly, but in the morning you will be sober, Mon 18 May 2009, 13:12, 2 replies)

My Ex was a Bully
I have had two major bullies in my short life so far: one was the slutty girl in middle school (true sluts start at a young age) and the other was my ex-boyfriend.

He was no Mr T: in fact, he was a good two/three inches shorter than me. But he was an ex-boxer; in bantamweight (I think that's between mid- and heavy-, correct me if I'm wrong). It wasn't professional by any means, but he ended up getting banned from the club on account of the street fights he used to get into.

When I met him he was nice enough....had a bit of a rep as a "Ladies Man" (oh how I laugh bitterly at that now) but otherwise all our friends thought he was a good guy.

Then about six months in it went tits-up. Just little things, such as turning up at my house demanding sex and then fucking off afterwards to go beat up some kids, before turning up again, shagging me again as an encore and then promptly going to sleep.

Not so bad? OK yes, I admit it wasn't nice. But then came the cheating. He blurted out one night (during sex I might add) that he'd slept with his best friend. MALE best friend. And this from a self-confessed homophobe. When I demanded the truth, he just kept repeating "I don't kiss and tell." Until I shouted "YOU FUCKING TELL ME". Which he did.

Only to tell me a week later that he'd "got his dates mixed up" and had actually shagged his mate a month before we got together. Of course I was still going through the kind of emotional causeway that you go through when your lover cheats, to which he responded "Yeah well you're just dragging it out for sympathy" and "Stop resenting me for something I haven't done".

At the time I was also having trouble with my periods: namely that they hadn't started. Long and short of it was that the doctors INCORRECTLY told me I couldn't have kids, full stop. (LONG STORY.) His response when I finally plucked up the courage to tell him? "So why are we still using condoms?"

Then came the blatant, obvious cheating, the verbal abuse, the put-downs in front of friends to the point where they would dread going out with us because I would always end up crying. Whenever I finally plucked up the courage and stood up to his put-downs, it'd be "Quit your bitching, bitch." Even in front of my parents.

So I stopped sleeping with him, on the grounds that I couldn't bring myself to sleep with someone I hated. When he realised I was withholding it deliberately, he waited until I fell asleep and then forced me. Several occasions holding a pillow or his hands over my face, and once threatening to break my arm because I was banging my fist on the wall, hoping to alert my parents. My current boyfriend hit the fucking roof when I told him this, and told me it constitutes rape. I don't know if it does or not. I haven't really been able to bear thinking about it.

He dumped me by answerphone after about a year and a half, a week before my 18th. He then came crawling back a few weeks later, after hearing that I was getting better offers and had been on a few dates. Being the complete fucking airhead I was I took him back, believing his promises that it'd be better.

A few months later and I finished with him. Boy, did he not see that coming. A week later he was nearly killed in a car accident, and pulled the "It made me realise how much you mean to me". He even went to my current boyfriend's house, begging them to help get me back; Dante (current boyf) refused but his stupid at-the-time-girlfriend took pity on the bastard and tried to help convince me to give him another chance.

That was well over two years ago. I've been with Dante two years, and I'd like to say I got over it but I never did. I'm much better now of course, but I used to live in sheer terror. I defy anyone who says they could get over that. I like to think it made me stronger person: not a BETTER person, I genuinely don't like my sheer hatred of him, I think I'm more bitter and it does cause the odd problem with Dante, which I hate myself for.

I'm not fishing for sympathy - I just want to say that if this sounds at all familiar to something you're going through now, GET THE FUCK OUT. Don't even stop to deliberate.

Apologies for massive length and dour seriousness. More silly maybe next QOTW.

PS: He's now jobless, kicked out of his house, lost his driver's license for 18 months and had to sell his beloved car AND bike, has contracted chlamydia, has been rejected from the Army and can't join the Navy. And still I don't think this is vengeance enough.
(theneet began to cut her hair and long for balls, Mon 18 May 2009, 13:10, 18 replies)

Bullied.
I, along with most of the population of b3ta, was bullied at school, by both pupils and teachers. I don't particularly want to think too much about it, so here's a story my mother told me about one of her experiences with bullying:

My maternal grandfather died when my mother was 10 years old. She's always talked of him in the best possible terms: a loving father, someone who would never discourage my mother and aunt from exploring and experimenting, who taught them how a car engine worked, how to break into a car if you've locked your keys inside (sadly it won't work these days), how to read, draw, play rugby, and generally lead a happy childhood. Most importantly, he taught them very early on how to defend themselves: if they're being bullied, hit back and harder. If a man attacks them, go for the balls, use your hands, feet and teeth to hurt your attacker, and run away the first chance you get.

My mother was devastated when he died. The other children at her school didn't know how to talk to someone who'd been bereaved, so opted not to talk to her at all. She was, and is, very shy, but has the most volatile temper I've ever seen.

So when, one day not long after her father died, she was enjoying a day tobogganing about on her sled, an older boy (let's called him John Smith) took it from her, she saw red. She was 11, he was 13, and much bigger than her. She asked Smith to give it back. He said no. She balled her hand into a fist and made a movement with her foot as if she were going to kick him. Smith instinctively put his hands down to deflect her kick, whereupon she hit him as hard as she physically could in the nose, breaking it. His blood fountained out, splattering into the snow in warm spurts. She grabbed her sled as he clutched at his shattered nose, and went home.

Later that afternoon, there was a knock at the door. It was Mr Smith, who had known my grandfather slightly. He asked to speak to my grandma, and told her that my mother had attacked his son John without provocation. My grandma asked my mother to explain herself, and therefore my mother expained exactly what had happened, and that she was just defending herself as her father had taught her. Mr Smith looked at her, a small, defiant girl, and nodded. He left. He went home, explained to his son that (a) his lie had been found out, (b) he should never try to take things that weren't his, (c) how dare he bully a girl who'd just lost her father, and (d) wasn't he ashamed that he'd been beaten up by a girl younger and smaller than him? He gave him four strokes with the cane, and then marched him over to my mother's house, and made him apologise personally in front of my grandma and aunt, completing his humiliation.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Mon 18 May 2009, 13:03, 7 replies)

Cuts Two Ways
I was bullied fairly badly at school. Never stood up to them, but I thought it might be interesting to share a "what happened next" stories from later in my school life, when everyone had grown up enough that physical beatings had, at least, become rather passe.

Firstly I was cast in a school play with one of my more frequent tormentors. It was a comedy, and one of the characters was quite clearly supposed to be black. Which poses something of a casting problem when you're at a small, 100% white rural school. The bully was cast in this role and at one point the director suggested (this was pre-PC days) that he should "black up" for the role. He was less than keen on the idea and, when pressed, revealed in front of the whole cast that if his dad came and saw him pretending to be a black man he would undoubtedly be beaten to a pulp when he got home that night. For a kid coming from a very loving, sheltered, comfortably middle-class background that was a real eye-opener to the state of the world in general, and was probably the first time I ever felt sorry for a bully.
(MattDP (Squiggle), Mon 18 May 2009, 12:07, Reply)

Sometimes you have to feel sorry for them
When I was in Year 10, as it wasn't called then, I shared a room with a weapon-grade cunt. Not much physical stuff, as he had hypersensitive nads, and a quick tap would put him on the floor. Then you could whale away at his face to your heart's content.

Vicious tongue though, and a real inventive streak for reducing the weak to jelly. Also given to sneaking up at 2 am and cutting lines with a razor blade (told you it was a long time ago) on people's faces: you have to lie still or you'll lose an eye.

Anyway, he wasn't a real problem for me. After the razor incident a couple of prefects gave him a real kicking.

Then I found out why he was like that. Every term we got a report, and it was sent out BEFORE the boarders were collected. This bloke's Dad turns up last day of term. Big hard looking farmer type, with a face like a knuckle sandwich.

Weasel (for such was not his name) had a look of fear I've never seen before. He started crying before his Dad reached him. His Dad dragged him into the car by his ear and threw him in like a sack of spuds. They drove off, and it was quite obvious that Dad was driving with one hand and punching with the other.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Mon 18 May 2009, 11:18, Reply)

I once had to share a house with a few people.
Every single one of them was an attention seeking drama queen, even the guys.
This one fat bitch with a mouth the size of the channel tunnel decided to take a dislike to me, because I'm Indian and started calling me names to everyone and slagging off my heritage. She even got one of the other girls (a blonde tit who thought she could sing) against me.
I was called names like "poppadom" and "fuckawallah", food I had prepared wouldn't be touched because "you don't know where those hands have been" and told "to go back to the slums" and to "fuck off home if you can't speak English properly".
It was absolutely disgraceful but I choose to ignore it.

I later found out the gobby shit died recently and did her best to make as much money out of her death a possible, the vapid slag. Guess I came out tops after all.

Lots of Love. Shilpa Shetty.
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Mon 18 May 2009, 11:03, 4 replies)

surely bindun already?
cant beat a bit of bully




(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Mon 18 May 2009, 10:53, Reply)

I'm half french
And so I had the usual taunts of "frog" etc through primary school.

One day whilst enduring the (by now slightly stale) jibes about "eating snails", one of the more ape-like older boys thrust one under my nose.

"Fuck it." I thought. So I ate it.

It wasn't too bad as I recall. Bit crunchy - I've since learnt not to eat the shells.
( rofl harris, Mon 18 May 2009, 10:48, 2 replies)

I am a chubby ginger nerd, not gay, but fairly camp
I don't like sports, and was sent to an all-boys secondary school.

The bullies could smell me from miles away.

My entire school life was a misery. I was beaten, tortured, abuse was hurled at me from every direction, I was once bottled in the street for being ginger.

My mother called the school, who asked me who the bullies were, gave them one stinking detention (and let's face it, these kids probably had one every day anyway) which just fuelled the beatings, and my father did nothing as, apparantly, having your face rubbed in mud builds character.

I went the sensible route of telling people, the stupid route of attempted suicide, even the useless route of acting all friendly to your attackers, but nothing worked.

One day, when I was 16, I got pulled out of school early because my nan had died. In the time it took my mum to pick me up, and drive me home, my dog had also died.

The next day, I arrived at the school gate with a note for my form tutor explaining what had happened, and just asking to keep an eye on me if I got upset all of a sudden.
It was taken out of my pocket by a big fucker called David. He was one of those kids who must have hit puberty around 4 years old, and had a full beard before anyone else had pubes.
He read the note to his friends, ripped it up, and began to tell a delightful story about him having sex with my grandmother's corpse.

I know it is a cliché, but I realy don't remember much of what happened, as it was all a bit of a blur. All I know is that when I was found by the fence in the foetal position, all of David's 'friends' had abandoned him, and he was lying face down by the kerb, screaming, attempting to gather up his teeth.

It slowly came out as the school investigated it that I had literally jumped at him, onto his back, and hit him until he had fallen to the ground, then smashed his head against the floor.

I was about to be expelled when my favourite teacher of all time, Mr Wallace, who had, on many occasions councilled me through problems, and who I still consider a friend today, called attention to a folder.
In true 'Miracle on 34th St' fashion, it was emptied onto the head's desk. It contained no less than 100 sheets of paper, each of them chronicalling a bullying/attack incident against me over the course of around 5 years. The bottling to the head, my bag being set alight, being force-fed insects, they were all there, and nobody had done a fucking thing to help me except Mr Wallace, who saved my life.

I make no apoligies for length, but probably should for coming across as a mental-case.
(bobman500 enjoys a grope as much as the next fella, Mon 18 May 2009, 0:35, 12 replies)

Do I tell her mum?
Regarding an email I got yesterday, how apt this is for this weeks QOTW
Last year an old friend got in touch and asked if I would give some info/tuition to her 15 yr old daughter who was in the army cadets.
She was going off to do a survival exercise and knowing I had experience of this wanted me to pass on any tips and info that may help her pass the course.
This I did happily, glad to help. Was all done via email.
Afterwards I got an email saying she had passed and thanked me.
Ok end of story it seemed.
Yesterday her mum emailed some pictures, apologised for delay, and friends daughter had one beautiful shiner.
I replied and commented on the black eye.
Friend replied to say her daughter had been smacked by a loose branch during the course.
I did a reply making some commiseration (sp?)

Then later the daughter emailed me to tell me what really happened, begged me not to say anything to her mum.
She has been bullied mercilessly by an older female cadet, up until the course the bullying had only been verbal.
But on the course where she had shown initiative and excelled in building shelter and fire making, the other girl became physically violent, had actually taken a lump of wood and hit her across the face with it while calling her a swotty cow.
The instructors found her crying and bleeding and she told them it was an accident while building her shelter.
The instructors dont know, her mum doesnt know, but I do.
Now she has told me this in confidence, begging me not to tell.
WTF do I do ?
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Mon 18 May 2009, 0:19, 24 replies)

What ya gonna do brother?
I'm walking to work the other day when three lads are walking towards me on the same side of the road.

Two are dressed in a not too stand out kind of way while the third is dressed in a shirtless shirt, shorts and a bandanna. He also has long blonde hair.

As I get close the stand out guy says to me

"Oi mate, don't you know the rocker look went out of fashion five years ago?"

I look up and with a raised eyebrow reply

"I'm sorry but I'm not going to take fashion tips from a man wearing Hulk Hogan's cast offs!"

With that I continued walking happy to hear the cacophony of giggles from his friends.

Does that make me the bully or him?
(Dangerous Disco Trev Isn't my real name, Sun 17 May 2009, 23:42, 4 replies)

Started out as freind then got a bit out of control
At first he was a real mate to me, even going so far as to put me up when I had a fire in my flat. He was a bit werid,a bit of a smart arse but was really cool to hang around with cos he genuinely didn't give a shit about anything.
Soon though he started to get a bit agressive, Outside the bar he provoked me and provoked me untill I snapped and hit him.
Weird thing was he loved it. We stayed freinds and I carried on living with him.
Then the Practical Jokes started, at the same time he moved a load of other freinds into the house too, the fun started to go out of the freindship then, Things were getting out of control and I tried and failed to sever the freindship.
Thats when I found I was in way over my head, His mates were everwhere.
Long story short I had to shoot him, which ended badly for me as you can imagine.
Hes gone now.
I still miss him tho
Whereever you are Tyler hope your well.
(Gru being trolled since 1998, Sun 17 May 2009, 21:37, 10 replies)

There are alot
of stories of people standing up for themselves, or getting revenge on the people that bullied them.

At my old school if anyone did that, you would usually be faced or be threatened by their older brother/cousin/dad. (Delete as appropriate)

Rather cowardly.
(roflwaffle MarpMarp, Sun 17 May 2009, 20:25, Reply)

Sticking up for my younger brother
High school wasn't too pleasant for me, i was the skinny, scruffy kid who was an easy target for those out to 'prove themselves' in the warzone that was the school playground.

Admittedly i was quite meek, often accepting a punch in the ribs with just shrug and a smile. Dead arms and legs were a common occurence and i took it all without retaliation.

That is... the day one of the fuckers hurt my younger brother who had just joined the school. Because he was my brother, some of the nastier kids thought it would be funny to start bullying him too.

BAD MOVE.

After one particular incident were two lads tried to mug him for dinner money (or maybe just for the hell of it), i decided enough was enough and i would get revenge.

Two or three days later, i was walking home from school and i saw one of the offenders sat with his mates on a brick wall. Usually at that point i would cross the road and try and skulk off down an alleyway and find an alternative route home.
Not today though.... I was so enraged that the only thing i remember was the aftermath.

By all accounts i had calmly walked up to the lads. Before they even said anything i punched one of the lads in the mouth, knocking him backwards off the wall. A second or two later, the main bully swang a punch for me (whilst still sat on the wall). I ducked it, grabbed him by his collar and tie and literally threw him face first off the wall. He landed on his chin and also very awkwardly onto his knee with a nasty, sickening crack.

The other lads did nothing, probably too alarmed by his high pitched shrieking, as it later turned out he had dislocated his knee cap and torn the ligaments in his leg.

Little bastard didn't bother me or my brother again.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Sun 17 May 2009, 20:17, 5 replies)