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This is a question Bullies

My mum told me to stand up to bullies. So I did, and got wedgied every day for a month. I hated my boss.

Suggested by Mariam67

(, Wed 13 May 2009, 12:27)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Apologies for the sentimentality
I've just spent five hours re-reading through this QOTW. Every single post, every single reply. I didn't think I had any tears left to be totally honest. One thing in particular has struck me. In those tales that show the some of the depths that people have gone too, where people have dredged up painful memories and been brave enough to share them with us, there have been b3tans everywhere who have come out in the replies with offers of help, kind words of support and encouragement. In particular, there are three people who I have seen pop up time and time again. This may be particularly noticable to me, as after I posted my tale all three of them gazzed me with words of help, for which I am extremly appreciative. I won't put up their names so as not to cause embarassment, but I hope they see who they are and I want them to feel proud for the help they have given to me and many others.

From myself, thankyou to those who have shared their stories. I hope that the telling has helped you.

On behalf of all those who have posted here with their tales, I wish to thank those people who have replied with words of help. Some of those have helped more than you'll ever know. You make me proud to be a member of this site.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 23:33, 12 replies)
My dad told me a story once,
about when he was at school, and another boy took it upon himself to wind my dad up. Not proper bullying, just constant light slapping, random taunting. Mild stuff, but very annoying.

So one day, my dad's walking home, and this kid's following him. Shouting his mouth off, throwing bits of mud at the back of my dad's head, etc. Not unreasonably, dad decides he's finally had enough of this. So he stops, whirls round, grabs the kid, slaps him about a bit, attaches him to some nearby railings with his own bike chain (around the neck if I remember correctly), and then fucks off home with the key.

Got him into a shitload of trouble the next day, but as my dad says, "worth it though, just to see the look on that little fucker's face as I walked off." My dad's fantastic.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 22:33, 1 reply)
i get bullied on B3ta
everybody ignores me and my input.Nobody says anything nice to me,they only take issue with my diction,language or style.they're always going on about the next big thing which i'm not allowed to be part of...I'm so alone...
Oh,just kidding.i couldn't give a tinker's toss.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 22:29, 5 replies)
I was bullied horribly in High School from age 11 to age 16.. I was a victim and it was atrocious. They made fun of my clothes, my hair and my spots.. the girls in my form used to ask me to lift up my fringe to show them the worst area, they used to steal and hide my clothes in gym, they used to laugh when I tried to fit in by rolling up my skirt.

I'd like to say it was the worst thing that happened to me but that's a lie. It was terrible at the time, but its made me who I am today and I've come to see that I'm actually an alright person most of the time and anyone who thinks otherwise can go fuck themselves...

I'm not suggesting getting bullied as a lifestyle choice though!
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 22:00, 1 reply)
bullies are horrible
what we should do is all gang up together, wait until no one is looking then batter them and steal their trainers then laugh at them
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 21:19, 2 replies)
probably one of my more memorable ones.

I was 'bullied' by this guy, named Paul. Looking back, I'm surprised he was successful as a bully. He was tall, skinny, ginger, and really quite thick. I was in Year two. I can't remember how old that made me, but I was just a yoof. Anyway, like I said, this guy Paul kept annoying me. Generally calling me names, and slapping me when I walked past him. See, it probably wasn't bullying, in the traditional sense of the word, but he always seemed to do it to me, nobody else. I told the teachers about it, but they never bothered saying anything. I wanted justice, damn it! So, one day, I walked past him, and naturally, he slapped the side of my head. I turned to him, and grabbed the collars of his shirt. "That's... It." I whispered to his face.

I picked him up, and started throwing him into the wall, repeatedly. He started to laugh, nervously, in a "Hah. Is that all you've got?" kind of manner. But, the more I kept slapping his bony back against the wall, the laughs started to gradate into crying. A Teacher must have heard this, and ran over to separate us. Obviously, I turned out to be the bad guy. I was caught in the act, and since they didn't give a toss about him picking on me, I was the one who had to talk to her "after class". Obviously, I was a little nervous, although slightly proud of myself. The teacher sat me on the chair opposite her desk, and after we had a little chat, she phoned my parents. When they came in, my mother was furious. She told me how I should never hit another person, no matter what they've done to me, and other related things. I'm sure you've heard it all before. Suddenly, though, she looked at her watch, and said "Okay, I have to go to work, but once you get back from school, you're grounded!" She slammed the school doors, and my attention turned to my dad. He looked to me and said, "No, you're not, Son. Good Job", and slipped me a tenner.

I love my dad.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 19:06, 2 replies)
Twice as stupid
I got attacked by a bully once, He came up behind me and punched me in the back of the head so i put him down with a few punches and carried on on my way.

The next day he comes up to me and explains that he was trying to show off to a girl and asked if i could take a fall to make him look good in front of her. I kindly agreed.

An hour or so later i hear a cry of Oi! I turn and am greeted by a punch in the nose, so i knock him down again.

I cock blocked a bully, does that make me a bully?
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 19:00, 1 reply)
Compared to some of the stories on here
... then I haven't gone through as much as many of you, i've been picked on as a kid for being different, had a few scraps but nothing ever serious until one time which in retrospect last 18 months. The only thing is I didn't realise it until these last few months. Sorry for lack of funnehs to follow here...

We'll call her Sarah (not real name). We met nearly 3 years ago and to be honest it was wonderful at first. I'd been single for about 6 months after coming out of my first serious relationship (i was 21/22, she a year younger) and i'd had a bit of fun but meeting her for the first week everything seemed good and i was genuinely happy. This soon changed... it was getting to the point where if i didn't at least call her twice a day and see her every other day then she would kick off, verbally and physically. Bear in mind i was living at home at the time and she lived about 25 miles away, so it was a 50 mile round trip and i was still getting myself out of debt from a bad car purchase.

So we'd go out too, i'd have to buy the drinks, the food and drive, but it was ok, I'm the boyfriend and that's what we do isn't it? Next thing i know is we're living together within 4 months of meeting. We got a place round the corner from her family and friends so she isn't away from them, whereas I am in a town i don't know and have no friends nearby within a 20mile radius either.

I'm having to take time off work to get a 2nd job to earn extra income as she decides to quit her job and go to uni. 2 1/5 days a week. I was also having to drive her to various friends at weekends where i wouldn't see or hear from her for 2 days and if i tried asking then i would get a torrent of abuse. Now I'm a well built lad, nearly 6 foot and i've played rugby most of my life, whereas she was a 5foot2 size 6/8. I've stood up for myself on and off rugby pitch, been in some fights too but with her i was completely paralysed and couldn't do a thing. She would should at me and i couldn't do anything but take it and let her keep chipping away at what little self esteem i had left. Then she would start hitting me, kicking me or if the argument was in the bedroom then she would grab me by my hair and hit my head against the headboard. Then after she'd done that she would grab her things and walk out saying she was leaving me and i'd have to beg her to come back, which she would the following day, with no explanation of where she'd been other than the alcohol on her breath.

So i was feeling physically sore and tired every day, i was getting into trouble with work for my attendance and work inconsistency. I was starting to put on weight too as i had to quit rugby as she didn't like it and as i also didn't have the time. I was spending money on having to take her out, money i didn't have, so i'd then have to take out loans. And she had a part time job and uni loans which she'd spend on drink, shoes, straighteners and if i asked for even as much as £60 per week then i would get the abuse again. She got herself into trouble, financially and bailiffs were threatening to go to her parents, so another loan was taken out, by myself, to pay off her debts. This happened twice which also included me having to get more money somehow. Next thing i knew i had over £6k in debts with loans and credit cards and i was struggling to even pay the interest on these. Birthdays and christmas i'd get vouchers for shops, she would then use them without my knowing or by saying she'd pay me back.

Several occasions i had to be woken up by the police during stupid hours in morning saying she was in hospital and could i go pick her up. I'd get through and be told a story by her of how she'd been spiked by someone and she doesn't remember anything, yet i'd hear her on the phone to her best friend later saying she remembered everything and what she'd done and with whom, but i put it down to the fact she must have been spiked so she had no control?

So this continued to happen for 18 months, my career was going nowhere, i wasn't able to see or visit friends because they either weren't allowed round or i couldn't afford petrol money to see them. I'd be hit, smacked, kicked, shouted at. I was becoming depressed, i couldn't sleep and then when i knew i had some time to myself, i'd break down. One time she saw this and laughed at me telling me i was pathetic.

It doesn't sound like much but to live with someone every day who you thought you loved, and loved you, even though every day you hated coming home from work because you knew how you'd be treated, but it was destroying my soul, my self esteem and my confidence in anything. I was going to the doctor several times a month due to various health issues, which he put down to the way i was living. He even asked about my bruising, which i put down to rugby issues. He didn't buy this so i ended up having to stop going.

Then, 2 days before Christmas day (last year) she left and walked out, expecting me to come after her and i was going to beg her to come back, but one of my friends said no. He'd just gone through the same thing and said i should stand ground. I did this, she came back Christmas eve and i told her to find somewhere else to live and had packed her bag. She tried to hit me then and for the first time in 2 years i stopped it. I grabbed her arm so tight she was almost crying and i threw her out of the house with her bags. I then changed the locks, went inside and i fell to the floor crying.

I rang my parents, told them we'd broken up and then spent the next couple days round at there's and they were probably the happiest days of my life. For the first time i felt like people actually cared about me again.

Then i was back home, living in a house where i had so little money after all my bills and debts had gone out i was left with less than £30 a month. This doesn't even include petrol for my car or even food/shopping to live with, my parents then started to help out by buying my shopping each week. But i was, and still am living in a house in an area where i have no friends. She'd try coming round banging on door screaming and shouting, or call me at 3 in the morning telling me she missed me or asking if i was alone before going off on another tirade. I was struggling to cope as i didn't know what to do with myself and then my friend whom i mentioned earlier, who had been through the same as me, he hanged himself. Everything began to feel black to me again, however with the help of a new boss at work he began to help me get myself sorted.

Life is better now, i've got my career back on track with promotion involved too, i've started sports again and seeing friends too. I'm still struggling with severe debt and living in a house i don't want (and can't afford to leave/sell) but I'm getting back on track again. Met someone recently and it wasn't until talking to her i realised how broken i'd become, and she helped me to build my self esteem back up - unfortunately she had to move away, which although hurt but because of the time i'd spent with her she'd made me stronger in a quick space of time and so i can cope.

I'm starting to pay my debts off bit by bit (down from £6k - 5k now!) and from what i've heard my ex is struggling completely. she hasn't tried to get in touch with me since i dropped all her rubbish off at her parents (well, the bits which I'm not ebaying at least!). Her parents are great people and have been the victim of this same abuse as i have, but now I'm away i can see that she is a bully and will not get anywhere in life, which is a shame as her parents would still want me round for dinner and ask me to explain the lies my ex was telling about me, and they believed me too, but family is always first.

I'm still on the mend but life is starting to look a bit better. I do get lonely at times but thanks to support from some true friends and awful as it may sound my friend who hanged himself, he taught me a lesson by doing it, making me realise that life is not so harsh that it can't go on, that there are folk out there who care and will help. I am still insecure but it's certainly given me an experience in life i've learnt from.

Sorry for going on, although i've spoken to friends i've never said as much as i have done now, and having been a b3tar for some time i've seen how others have been able to find some strength by writing out their pain and anguish and i do feel a bit better for letting it all out here :-)
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 18:59, 9 replies)
First post... Sorry no funnies, at least this is cathartic.
I went to a private primary school in London. I was not popular neing the only person in my year who did not come from any sort of posh, rich background. I don't know how my parents managed it, I suppose with lots of support from family and friends.

At my school I was not clever. The only subject I had any aptitude for was maths andpossibly science. In year 5+6 I was given extra help with my english because it was so poor. I suppose I did not fit in at school being fat, ugly, dumb and poor. At least the dumb part has changed a little since then. My sister was also in this school two years above me.

My whole school career there was hell. Reception was only small things like peopple nicking something, and throwing it about the playground - the whole year. Tough the only good thing about this time was one girl, we kissed a couple of times, and she was nice to me. Shame she left after that year.

Year one continued with just little interaction towards me. However I do remember one day I was hiding in the toilets at lunch crying. Someone asked why I was there - and threatened to tell my teacher that I wasn't going to go to lunch. So I went as I did not want to get into trouble.

Year two however got a bit worse. I got tied to a drainpe with skipping ropes. Remember this is a private primary school in London. Needless to say eventually a teacher walked past; whom I unburdened my tale to, and who called my dad to say I was upset. Of course no action was taken, I doubt even their parents were told. Also in year 2 were with are head teacher who was talking to us about something, which I cannot remember; then someone called me fat - I was overweight and still am but at a young age - and then more people were calling me fat so I left the room. Yet again, nothing happened.

In year three it was my teacher mainly who bullied me. She would put down my work, say it wasn't good enough. Even though at times I was already staying up untill 10pm or so secretly trying to finish it. She kept me in at break occasionally which was unheard of at my school. This was the only year I ever got on with one of my student bullies whom my teacher also had a dislike of. I suppose we shared a common hatred. One time a swore at my teacher (V not words) and she spotted out of the corner of her eye. She came over and asked me what I had done. I feigned inocence, but seing as I was the dumb one she assumed I was telling the truth.

In year 4 my teacher was nice. I think she had a vauge idea that I wasn't well liked by anyone in the school. So I managed to get to use the kinda crap computers at break time a little more often than others. However whenever I tried to report anything that had happened towards me or the only person who was my friend - two years below me - she told me that she thought I was making it all up. At this point I was already sitting on my own whenever possible, or in corners and away from people. In Art/DT I was already sitting by myself on my own table.

Year five and at this point in the tale something happens. All the comments about me being fat may have reached some teaches ears, and now instead of attending my RE lessons. The PE teacher at my school took me to walk in the park. I suppose this would not count as bullying but I was certianly portrayed as an outcast even more by the school. This year a girl joined who was also not the thinnest but no-one made any comments about her weight.

Year six my teacher is lovely. I remember often frequenting the stairs at breaktime and lunch break as no-one would go there. Also my friend two years below me one lunch break got violence towards her from some of her year, a large part due towards her friendship with me. Needless to say right after I left she stopped being friends with me. In some ways she that felt like the worst kind of bullying. Someone who you've helped protect, and who've you've been kind to you and especially one who is younger turn on you, and end the friendship with you.

Now I move to a state secondary school, where my sister attends two years above me. This school so far has been different. I am now in year 10 and although here I have been bullied somewhat. No-where near as much, I have friends, teachers who believe and support me, and also I now have a therapist whom I see twice a week.

Year seven brought on a different school which I found easy to adapt to. Now because I spoke well, and had a good grasp of the english language (no thanks to primary school, I managed to teach myself some good stuff) and with a fine mannered accent I seemed posh. Let alone the only time I would talk would be correctimg someone or answering a question. I didn't make many friends. I managed to annoy the preps by not joining their group of intelegent idiots, the chavs by being clever, the slow ones for rushing ahead and everyone else for being a bit of a smartarse.

I guess other thigs didn't help. Like when I cried abecause someone had pulled a trick on me when we were playing a game. Or the fact that I had a habit of tidying up the from room every day.

However I was bullied by the chqavs, they would call me things and put me down. Ocasionally I would get shoved a little but not much.

Year eight saw my intellegence growing immensly. I managed to talk a bit more and become friends with the currently unidentified group, alot of which have now turned in to ravers. Also I probably annoyed the slow people less as I was not in most of their classes and I become kind of friends with them. I still got all the verbal abuse as before.

Year nine came with some big changes. I have had problems with people pushing me down small sets of stars and laughing, and such the like. However less direct bullying and more indirect which makes it harder to tell on and try to sort it out. I gt a therapist in year 9 as I was very depressed. I had stopped talking almost completely, even in lessons and to answer questions. I had also started self harming so I suppose even I was bullying myself.

This school year also saw the frequent outbursts I had in lessons shouting at everyone to shut the hell up then my storming out. This even happened once in my most beloved subject maths. A whole bunch of people were talking about me, and I got so pissed off I stormed out.

Year 10 has seen very little bullying with regards to direct, however rumors are more vicious. Also One girl whio would keep asking me stupid questions. Things happen here and there but I mostly keep them to myself.

I would say that some bullies wont sort themselves out. Most have issues and actually need some support. I would personally reccoment talking to a teacher - but not in primary school - as opposed to violence.

P.S. Thanks for a QOTW I can vent about.

Sorry for the lack of funnies.


Also have been beten up by chavs ina playground because they did not like my friend, and I got egged by chavs a week ago because I was with her. Though because of her sister I doubt her get that much bullying. (Her sister is a chav and can get them to lay off her a bit. Thats what it seems like anyway)
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 18:55, 6 replies)
It was all my dad's fault
On starting at big school as a very small boy, just turned 11, I was fully expecting to be bullied.
My dad took me to one side just before I left to school and told me 'Bulies are cowards, they hang around in gangs, and only pick on people who will not stand up for themselves. If you are being bullied by a gang, have a pop at the smallest one.'
My two elder sisters walked me to school and filled me with horror stories about het boys in thier years who would be terrorising the new kids from that day onwards, even going as far as pointing out 'bullies' as we got to the school gates.
On the first break of the first day, I was wondering around the school on my own when I spotted a ganag of bullies my sisters had pointed out to me that morning.
They came marching over towards me, and I was bloody terrified. The biggest one came up to me and started talking at me. I was too terrified to really hear what he was saying and instead just went flying in on the smallest member of the gang, fists and kicks flying. I knocked him down, and carried on pummelling away, as the rest of the bullies tried to drag me off.
Well, I say bullies, but they were actually my sister's boyfriend and his mates, who were seeking me out to show me around, at the request of my sister.
Word got around of my unprovoked attack, and many kids saw me as a pyscho that should be avoided, while other kids, who were clearly far harder than me, saw me as a target to prove their own pyschoness against.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 17:59, Reply)
i was bullied but i kinda enjoyed it. i would look forward to it because i was curious to see what they had next. it definetly builds charactar so i'm now a pretty tough guy. i can take alot. alot more than i can give i think. just get your head down and deal with bullying. whether thats telling someone, no matter how much you think it will make things worse, which it doesn't. or keeping a stiff upper lip (the proper British way) or be like me. turn a problem into something thats not so bad. i turned bullying into my own little endurance trial. i love pushing myself beyond the edge to find my limits. i don't mind pain too much either so being physically abused was kinda funny.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 15:34, 5 replies)
...from another QOTW long, long ago, and not exactly bullying but relevant by a gnat's knacker and quite funny. Oh, but we need a few more of the latter in this one.

When I was halfway through high school in what was then Third Year (age 13 - would that be Year 9?). I was just walking away from the canteen with a couple of my mates and rounded a corner to a rare sight.

One of the fifth Year boys was pinned against the wall by a first year girl who was repeatedly twatting him with her schoolbag whilst shouting things along the lines of 'You're a senior pupil here!', 'Can't believe you did that!', 'You're supposed to set an example!' etc etc. Each syllable the girl spoke was punctuated by a whack from the bag. We had no idea what he had done, but the girl had certainly taken exception.

Understand that in my school, the fifth years were a law unto themslves to pupils and teachers alike, and the rule was that whatever year you were, lower year pupils were given no quarter and shown no mercy. Think prison society, only with more snot, less bumrape, and you got to go home at 3:30pm every day. My brother was a Fifth Year at the time and had all but ignored me the entire time I had been there purely on this principle. So we just couldn't not stay and watch while this (to us) huge lad, who was already known to us as a mid-range cunt and worth avoiding, getting his arse whipped by this 11-year old girl who was barely two-thirds as tall as we were, let alone him. He wasn't getting hurt but just watching him with his hands in front of him and an expression of bemused amazement was a sight that has stayed with me.

I think now that it was the most rewarding entertainment I ever experienced at that school. I would have congratulated her but being the principled young lady she so obviously was, I may have come in for the same treatment for condoning such behaviour :)
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 15:21, Reply)
Becoming a legend
Let's see. I devloped a mental illness around age 11, and it wasn't diagnosed until I was about 30, because everyone knows the real cure is to "Smarten yourself up." Or in severe cases, "Pull your head out of your arse!"
So you could consider my high school self to have been a bit of a soft target. The rest of the school certainly did.

One lunchtime though, I managed to tip things into Lord of the Flies territory.

It started with the usual, getting bits of lunch flicked at me as I was walking around the school. (Sitting in one place made me too easy to get hold of.) I dodged one guy, who decided that I needed to be put in my place, and started chasing me, with his friends following for a laugh.
Now I was always good at running, from necessity. Unfortunately, I picked the wrong direction, and picked up another group, who decided to join in. And another. Then, dodging through one of the locker bays, another. Once I was outside the school quadrangle, I looked back, and had over a hundred screaming, jeering boys, all following me, the ones in the lead yelling about what they would do to me.
At this point, I did what anyone would do. Damn near pissed myself and ran like hell. There was one small corner of my brain still functioning, and I realised I had to get back into the quadrangle, because otherwise it would be just me and them. I had to cut across, which let them gain on me, but I'd managed to get just enough of a lead that I got into the doorway by the canteen about a foot in front of the leaders, and the bottleneck slowed them down.
Of course, by now they were picking up followers who had no idea what was up front. So imagine the scene when I ran past the staff room windows, with about 200 boys in hot pursuit. *All* of the teachers poured out of the door, some of them still holding their coffee mugs, and a couple of the male teachers who often played footy with the year 9/10 boys slammed into a couple of the leaders. At that, the entire crowd just evaporated, suddenly looking at terribly interesting things that just happened to be in the other direction.

I ended up in detention for a week. Really, it was protective custody until the teachers were sure it wasn't going to happen again. One of the maths teachers estimated there were 200 boys when I passed the window, and said that he'd never seen anything like it in 40 years of teaching.

And the legend part? Years later, at uni, I was chatting to someone who's younger brother happened to have started at that school. They were worried about him, because he'd been bullied a bit, and there was this story about how once there was a kid who ended up with the whole school of 1000 kids chasing him, who'd been beaten so badly he was never seen at the school again.

(Excuse me for catharting in public, at least this time I didn't follow through.)
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 14:08, 3 replies)
Short, Sweet and untrue.
My mate told me he was hassled by Jon Caldwell

Bully4U thought I.

(, Tue 19 May 2009, 13:54, Reply)
*wavy lines*
Me and my ex-mate who we shall call Stephen (or Stevo as he became known) used to be good friends up until the age of 11. But like most friendships we kind of grew apart over time and made new friends. The fact that Stephen started smoking at the age of 12 didn't help.

Anyway seen as how we were the only two kids our age in the village were we lived we still hung around together during the summer till we were 15 as there was nothing else to do. Then he got friends with cars and I got left behind.

So it was one of those endless hot summer days and we walked down to a field full of cows.

"Come on Steve, let's go somewhere else. I'm bored." I turned to walk up the hill but he didn't follow. I'd noticeably seen him change over the years, becoming less responsive and increasingly drugged up.

"Hang on a sec." He reached into his pocket and pulled out some pills.

Ah shit not again. He was okay sober but tripping Steve was not fun to be around. "You're taking again?!"

"No." he said. He then nodded towards, what I maintain is the biggest cow I've ever seen in my life. "he is."

Shit. Not good. I tried to talk him out of it. I told them that they would have no effect on something that size. He told me that they were super strength MDMA. He emptied the WHOLE packet into some hay on the ground and fed it to him.

So we waited. transfixed. Needless to say nothing happened for at least half an hour. I felt my point proved I could gloat. Mistake. Steve was pissed off that he'd just but £40 worth of drugs into a cow and I wasn't helping. As he was about to punch me the cow began to freak. Spinning and looking around. I think my life (or at least my unbroken nose) may have been saved by a drugged up cow.

Sure enough it started tripping. Head butting, charging and biting the other cows. It tried breaking the fence. I was quite happy to run away but Steve stood taunting it! It calmed after a while and then started trying to mate with anything, including the other males.

After an hour of this it stopped and fell straight on it's side. It would have been comical if I didn't think I'd just killed Farmer X's prize cow.

We wandered up, very slowly and poked it with a stick. Alive, phew. It was having one huge comedown. Unfortunately I don't think Steve learned anything. But I did. Don't hang around with Steve.

Bull-E's are bad. Don't do it kids.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 13:02, 1 reply)
My dad worked for the police force...
...when we lived in Cambridgeshire. He clocked around 13 years of dedicated service and has about 1,000,000 stories to tell of his time, and boy does he tell ‘em - I don’t mind though, its always kept me on the straight and narrow, well, actually he just used to scare the shit out of me so I was too scared to break the law… just in case he found out… and then found me!! *shudders*

Anyhoo, one story that has always stuck in my mind relates to this QOTW so I’ll fire it down here for all to read, if you feel like it…

One miserable drizzly evening in 2000 my dad and his partner in crime (enforcement) got a call about a domestic dispute in Wisbech, a man had beaten up his wife. They hopped in the car and drove around to the address to meet up with the two police officers that were already at the house.

The second they knocked on the door a women swung it open and got right in my dads face shouting. She had a bruised cheek and a collected work of verbal obscenities and she wasn’t afraid to use them. My dad tried to calm down the woman and asked her to explain what had happened. She started jumping around screaming that her husband had beaten her and that they needed to throw him in prison as he was a danger to society. It was then my dad realised they were one person short. Where was the husband?

My dad left the hysterical woman with his partner and went on a search for the husband. One of the officers that had arrived first at the scene told my dad it was straight-forward what had happened, the guy had beaten his wife and was now handcuffed and in the living room, clearly regretting his crimes.

My dad found the guy sitting on the floor and crouched down next to him when the woman burst into the room shouting, kicking and spitting at her husband. ‘He’s been beating me for years, and I couldn’t take it anymore so I finally hit him back’ she cried.

Now usually if this sort of thing happened you would just assume that the woman was telling the truth. She was visibly hurt, clearly upset and had probably just snapped and lashed out at her husband after years of abuse – the only problem was the husband. He was calm and clearly petrified, something didn’t quite sit right with my dad so he separated the couple and helped lift the guy off the floor to sit him at the table. He winced as he stood up and said that he was sorry he has hit her and would go to the station and wouldn’t put up a fight.

This guy was just not acting like your usual wife-beater and my dad was suspicious of what was going on. Then he noticed the blood that was seeping through the guys shirt. He asked him if his wife had hurt him and he immediately started stuttering that it was her blood and he must have made her bleed when he hit her. Seeing as his wife had a bruised cheek and didn’t look like she was bleeding my dad asked the guy to stand up and pull up his t-shirt.

Turns out the guy was the one being abused. His wife had been beating him for about 6 years and he was too embarrassed and afraid to go to the police. She used to stab him in the stomach with her knitting needles and his chest was covered in scars and scabs. Apparently he had been the one to finally snap and when he said he was going to call the police she hit herself in the face, made the call and said she had been beaten – I mean really, what a bitch.

Soooo yes, thankfully my dad picked up on what was going on and arrested the right person, and she confessed to everything once at the station. I do wonder how often this sort of thing goes on and goes undetected because the guys are too ashamed to come forward?

Apologies for the length and seriousness, I have posted a funny one somewhere too!! :)
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 12:50, 2 replies)
Im sure I was bullied at some stage
But Ive safely repressed any of the details
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 12:14, Reply)
I was tall, skinny, crap at sports, smart, wore glasses and was Ginger.

I'm sure you can work out the rest.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 12:03, 8 replies)
Bullied by the council
I feel like I am being bullied by Surrey County Council. This is for why.

We have long been required to put recyclable materials into a recycling box. If we put recyclable materials into the normal bin, we get a fine. Fine.

Yesterday 4 new bins were delivered to my door. So I now own the following bins:

1 old wheelie bin;

1 general recycling bin;

1 indoor recycling bin;

1 new bin for cardboard;

1 new general bin;

1 new indoor bin to deposit food waste;

1 new outdoor bin in which to transfer food waste.

In addition to which, I am encouraged by my next door neighbour to share her hedge clippings (“green waste”) bin, so that makes 8 bins.

Any small area of greenery in front of the houses in my road is now completely covered in gargantuan plastic bins. Next door have encouraged their children to graffiti over every bin, to nurture their creative sides, so these environmental pursuits have left the road looking like moss side in the 90s (probably).

In the food waste bin, I am not allowed to deposit food wrapped in a plastic bag, so presumably when it has been collected, I have to scrape the old beans and bacon rinds and whatever from the inside of the bin, wash it, and then put it back outside. Additionally, I have to live with a week’s worth of leftovers sitting in my indoor bin. I had already been given a composting bin by the council (count them – that’s 9!) for my odourless vegetable peelings.

The final piece of good news is that all of the various bins are to be collected at different days of the week, so I have no need for an alarm clock any more.

If at any point I should accidentally put the wrong rubbish in the wrong bin, I run the risk of being prosecuted for murdering the environment.

It all seems a bit unnecessary as my household produces less than a small carrier bag of rubbish per week.

So for length of pomposity and radio 4-ness.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 11:27, 7 replies)
Character Building
I desperately needed some spunk and I needed it now.

But I was distracted. It was the first time I'd ever rolled a condom over my cock; a big deal in the life of any young man. I remember looking down at my little fella and thinking: It’s a stick up! and sniggering to myself like a drunken lunatic. The wee chap looked forlorn, scared, almost trembling like a small blind animal in my hand, and he also looked like he was wearing stockings over his head and was about to hold up a bank.

But, back to the job in hand, I thought, and I started pulling the pud furiously. I hate to admit it, but this was an angry wank. There was no enjoyment in this. None at all. So, locked in a cubicle in the bogs at half midnight, having had far too much Skol for a fifteen year old, I wanked furiously to an inevitable, sticky, salty conclusion.

I was on a residential trip to Wales with my school to help 'build our characters'. We’d arrived earlier in the day and set about doing a range of character building trust exercises which culminated in the ultimate test - standing in front of another kid and falling backwards so they could catch you. Fuck that. After five or six kids had sustained what in medical circles they refer to as ‘severely bruised arses’, we gave that up. Then we moved onto some healthy hill walking interspersed with our own inner City twist of chain smoking, spitting, and swearing like pissed up Irish nuns on St. Patricks Day.

The walk was going ok, well, as ok as being forced to march up and down mountains can be when your fifteen and as lazy as fuck, when suddenly something, some horrible wet object landed on my head with a sticky splat. I reached up, thinking a mighty mountain bird had shat on me, and recoiled in horror as I removed a used condom full of spunk from my bonce.

“Urggggghhhhhh!!!” I said, chucking the damn thing onto the unspoilt ground.

And then a load more used johnnies rained down, hitting my mates and I in the ultimate barrage of biological warfare. It was not nice. Not nice at all. And when the barrage stopped we turned to see Rik and his crew laugh at us menacingly. Rik was the uber bully at my all boys comprehensive. A big thick twat who could crush walnuts in his bare hands. He liked nothing more than fucking with everyone and everything - he was our very own James Dean, our very own rebel without a cause; only Rik didn't have a motorbike and had been well and truly tickled with the ugly stick; he had a face like a slapped arse.

“Plenty more where they came from you faggots!” Rik reasoned.
And there were.

We spent the next hour or so trudging and slipping through the mud while a barrage of spunk-filled prophylactics rained down on us – it was like the First World War trenches, only instead of dodging the high explosives we had to contend with little rubber cock socks filled with premium weapons-grade man milk.

And I remember all I kept thinking was: Where the fuck are they getting all this cum from? Rik and his merry band of teenage dad cretins must’ve had testicles the size of cannonballs!

And the solitary teacher we had with us, a newly qualified airhead named Mr James, either chose to ignore what was going on or genuinely didn’t give a fuck. It was a pretty miserable experience. I was remember afterwards feeling lucky that I hadn't inadvertently gotten pregnant.

Later back at the lodge when Mr James and the rest of the teaching staff (the ones who couldn’t be bothered to go mountain trudging) had fucked off to the local, Rik and his posse cracked open the crate of Skol they’d smuggled in with them and set about drinking. Rik sidled up to me and gave me a beer, put one of his butcher-sized arms round me and said:

“No hard feelings, Spanky – but you’ve gotta admit that was funny as fuck, mate.” Oh, yes – Rik was the kind of fucking comedy. I could hardly contain myself from laughing til my sides split. I imagined he’d soon be on stage lobbing used cock raincoats into the crowd.

Oh, how they’d laugh. Oh, how they'd cheer...

I grunted an acknowledgement of just how funny Rik was and pissed off. A plan forming in my booze-addled brain. (I was only fifteen and at this time even a whiff of beer would get me absolutely wankered).

Fast-forward to half past midnight, Rik and his crew are hammered on illicit beer and have retired to their bunks in the big dorm we’d invaded for the week. I’ve sneaked cat burglar style into Rik’s bag and helped myself to a small square foil packet containing something round and rubbery, and I’ve padded off to the bogs...

I return, a little sweaty and red faced from my exertions, holding aloft the still hot crinkly efforts of my labours for all to see like a fisherman proudly displaying a prize fishy catch. Then I tip toe over to Rik asleep in his bunk and place the fucker squarely on his face. He moves a bit, mutters, but doesn’t wake up. And the rest of us gather round, silently, not to do anything much really – just to have a look.

And the condom, placed with loving tender care over the bridge of Rik's nose, leaks some of its spunky contents down Rik’s face, a thin river of testicle tadpoles trickles ever-so-slowly directly





Rik splutters a bit, rubs his face with a hand, and manages to splat a load more of the lumpy white contents onto his lips and cheeks as if he’s squeezing out the final contents of a sachet of mayonnaise. A wave of exited muttering breaks out amoung the gathered watchers as Rik proceeds to coat his nose, lips, cheeks and chin in a fine layer of gonad glaze.

It really was an awsome sight...

Eventually my mate Greg whispers to me: “That’s ace, Spanky! Don’t forget to put the can of shaving cream back in that cunt’s bag - if he finds it in your stuff he'll rip your fucking arms off.”

I whisper back, not able to take my eyes from the strangely alluring homoerotic display before my eyes: “Shaving cream?”

“Yeah, you know – what these cunts were chucking at us earlier today...” and – as Greg clocks the instant panic spread over my face he utters four little but incredibly insightful words: “You sick, sick fucker...” Greg says.

I then spent the next half an hour trying to clean my cum from the school bullies face while trying not to wake him up - now that's fucking character building, I can tell you...
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 10:30, 7 replies)
lol, my country bullied Africa for a while.... and Australia... and America for a bit... oh - and India... ermmm...
oh yeah... and Ireland


(, Tue 19 May 2009, 10:19, 8 replies)
If walk in front of my car I am going to miss the brake pedal!
Back in the day when I attended school, I spent the first few years of my high school education at a Catholic School. As I was baptised an Anglican, and had little to no religious input by my parents for the first 11 years of my life why they decided I should attend a Church school, and a fucking mick one at that is beyond me but, it did allow my some experiences to contribute to this QOTW.

At my school, we didn’t really have much concentrated bullying going on amongst the students, sure there was the usual big kid picking on smaller kid bullshit and the standard number of cerebrally challenged Neanderthals but, I can’t really recall anyone being victimized on a regular on going basis.

I reckon that this was for one simple reason, the the biggest bully in the school was a fairly inadequate teacher, Mr. Ritchie. To this day this is my benchmark for a fucktard and no one has yet surpassed him.

Mr. Ritchie was the type of bloke who wanted the cool kids to think he was cool, and one of his favourite tricks was to victimize kids who where different. Today I realize this dope was so very very short on self confidence that he needed to be justified as being ok by kids to generate any type of self esteem. (the dickhead even smoked a brand of durries called Kool). One of his favourite tricks was to creep up behind one of the not so cool kids in class, make sure the rest of the kids where watching him and then give a swinging arm open hand slap on the back of the neck and yell “THAT’S WHY WE CALL YOU A RED NECK”. He got me a few times with this, I hated it. It was not only a bit painful, it was humiliating and as he was a person of authority, as a 12 year old I and the other rednecks did not know how to deal with it, if we reported him we thought the problem would have been made worse. His other favourite trick was the public put down. Our school offered courses in surf survival as a 10 week elective sport. Those who did the elective would need to leave class to attend at the designated time. I remember the first week I was in the course, I got up to leave with the other blokes when he made the comment, why would you do surf survival, we would all prefer it if you didn’t survive. Not a big deal but, to a 12 year old in front of their peers having the teacher wish them dead was soul destroying.

What Ritchie probably didn’t realize was that not one of the students had respect for him. The general consensus was he was a knob, not worth pissing on if he was on fire. I didn’t think that universal disrespect was enough and after some disparaging commentary about my family and I being second class for not being catholic, revenge was plotted. I spent the next few days pissing into a 2 litre bottle which I kept hidden in the dunnies. When I had a good litre and a half, I snuck over to the staff parking area and poured it into his petrol tank. Did you know that cars don’t run well on urine and that if a goodly amount gets to the engine, you need to call a tow truck and have the system flushed which all in all is not a cheap exercise. I also at different times put dog turds in his hub caps, superglued the locks on his doors and stole the bulbs from his rear break lights. Eventually the police where called in to investigate the ongoing vandalism of his car and despite questioning many of the students, no one gave me up. He left the school at the end of my first year and I missed him like a hole in the head.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 7:57, 6 replies)
Hamlet convinced most potential bullies in middle school not to mess with me
I had off and on trouble with bullies in elementary and middle school, though by middle school most people had grown up. I still got some snide remarks for the way I dressed and my fascination with science fiction books and movies and my complete disconnection from anything "popular" at the time. During middle school, I really only had one bully, and I shut him up by consistently beating him out of first chair trombone for a semester (the next semester we were two of three trombonists and basically everyone got a turn to be first).

But I finally got everyone to kind of just lay off by a single performance of Hamlet's "To be or not to be" soliloquy. Not because it was oh-my-god-he's-got-so-much-talent good or anything camp. No, it was because when I read Hamlet, the guy sounds to be fucking nuts. I played Hamlet as a mostly deranged, severely unbalanced individual. Afterward, I had more than one person who'd offered even the merest half assed ridicule come up and say they were convinced I was going to leap off the stage and start butchering the lot of them right then and there.

I didn't have much issue with anyone after that. Unfortunately, the year I started high school was the year that we had several high school mass killings in the US, and somehow my fragile mind decided that the best way to not get caught in one of those situations was to not stand out in any way. I therefore learned to be a consummate slacker and turned getting a C into an artform, but that is another story.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 6:51, 1 reply)
Poor Ben
I should start by saying that I heard this story from the person involved. It may well be total shite and a story that every school has. If that's the case, though, I've no idea why he didn't admit so and save himself years of bullying.

Anyway, there was a kid at my school called Ben. He was super clever and also a really nice guy. The kind of guy who was honest to a fault. He was into radiohead before anyone else and got stick for years before everyone else realised he was right. Music tastes, however, were the least of his worries. He had very strick parents. The kind that ensure academic success through a distint imbalance of the carrot/stick ratio. I dare say he was terrified of them. We sure were. Two super-strict Egyptian surgeons who prided themselves on discipline. And this made sure the story that sentenced him to 2 years of abuse all the more special.

As the story goes one day 16 year old Ben was sitting at his desk in his bedroom doing a little bit of internet surfing. As is the way with a combination of a teenage boy, privacy, and an open internet connection, he soon found himself looking at porn.

Now, Ben had recently heard that having a wank while sitting at your desk is like having a shit with your clothes on - it gets the job done, but there are more enjoyable ways. So he decided to walk on the wild side and have a standing wank. Hence, a couple of minutes of flesh-staring later, reaching the vinegar strokes and legs spasming, he was in the wanking version of what sportsmen would call 'the zone'.

Then in walks his mum.

Now, under usual circumstances - as we all know - the reflex kicks. Something is thrown over your crotch, monitor turned off and tissues hidden within about 0.1s. This is, apparently, not so easy with your trousers round your ankles, monitor out of reach and legs going through spasms. So, horror-struck at hearing the door open what does Ben do? He freezes. He turns to face the door and freezes. But it was too late. The vinegar strokes had arrived. So, stopping dead and clutching at his penis, his mum enters into the room to be welcomed by the sight of - you guessed it - Ben jizzing right at her.

Apparently he hit her dress near the ankle. She didn't stop. She simply walked in, got spunked on, and walked straight out again like an incestuous dial-a-bukkake. All within the space of about a second.

Needless to say, they never spoke about it. And, riddled with such a mental cluster-fuck, Ben confided in his best friend. Who told his best friend. Who told.....etc His life was misery from then on. Even the teachers knew - one once even joking about "seeing Monica Lewinski, er, I mean you mum" at parents evening. I mean, what's Ben going to do? Tell his dad?

The poor lad is getting married soon. Almost none of his friends from school are invited. Presumably to avoid his fiance learning that her new husband once spunked on his mum.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 5:45, 5 replies)
I went to a grammar school in Newcastle because for some god-knows-what reason I was supposedly intelligent enough to win a scholarship. Well, who was I to argue? Unfortunately for some pupils there, money spoke louder than brains. Although the school had a fairly strenuous entrance exam, there was no doubt that for some of the rich kids, the wheels had been greased ever slightly. With huge fucking wodges of cash. Thus stupidity perpetuates itself etc...

I had 2 major disadvantages: 1, I didn't go to the junior school (which is where the little Quentins and Theodores and so on went prior to the main school, presumably to have their chins removed). 2, when someone asked me "so what does your Daddy do?" and I answered honestly "fuck all at the moment - he's been made redundant." it became fairly obvious I wasn't one of Northumbria's landed gentry.

Soo, considering my surname as well (let's suffice it to say that it's....bad. And I've heard ALL the jokes) I learnt to fight at an early age. I didn't enjoy it, and still don't, but I was at least able to hit someone hard enought that they didn't just laugh at me. One day in year 9 I'd had about enough, when one chinless wonder called Veevers (still can't remember his first name, but by his facial appearance, it may have been Shergar) had basically spent the day tormenting me about my parents.

"Carrot, your family are poor. They can't even afford you a proper school blazer. My daddy bought me two and we're going to Barbados for the weekend in Daddy's private space shuttle...." etcetera all. fucking. day.

Anyway, it came to the stage where I suggested that a full and frank discussion and exchange of opinions may be required after school at the generally approved location for such debates(the hill behind the sports hall). I propsed the motion, and it was seconded by fuckhead.

I turned up late. I ws unaccountably held back with an attack of the "you boy, tuck in your laces/tie your shirt/brush your tie/iron your face" from a random teacher. So I was in a less than happy mood when I arrived at "the kicking hill."

"Right Carrot" brayed Veevers. "I'm going to teach you a fucking lesson for wasting my time." He walked over, pulled his fist back...



...and fell.

Luckily, a bench broke his fall.

Unluckily it was the corner of the bench that broke his fall.

Unluckily still, he broke the fall with his nuts.

EVERYONE who saw this winced. I actually believe that Veevers passed out for a moment, and fair play to the fucknugget, I would too. When he came to, he folded into a foetal position (as you do) and unfortunately decided to lose his lunch. Being doubled up, it went all down his front. He limped home crying.

So, that's how I overcame a bully, thanks to my secret ally, Mr Bench.

The next week at swimming, Veever's scrotum was about the colour and size of a ripe aubergine. Hence his nickname for the rest of school of "purpleplums."

Ta for that one, Jeebus!
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 5:06, 5 replies)
There were a prize collection of oxygen thieves at my secondary school, many of whom prided themselves on being either Marxist (and seeing anyone who wasn't as a Fascist and hence abusing them) or part of the rugby team.

Ron (not his real name) was part of the rugby team. I doubt he could spell Marxism. Bull necked, thick limbed, small brained, he was a natural battering ram that came into his own on the rugby pitch. He meted out swift punishment to anyone whom he felt didn't deserve his respect - pretty much anyone who wasn't on the rugby team or who didn't have boobs. He was an arse, picking on kids of all ages and generally being abusive.

It all ended one day though. He didn't appear in school on a Monday or Tuesday one week, but eventually showed up on Wednesday. No one knew why. Then it came out. He had been having a wank over the weekend to some no doubt filthy grot and had become so excited that at the moment of enspurtation he had torn his foreskin. He had apparently fled downstairs, bleeding and spunk covered cock in hand, to his mother, who had driven him to hospital.

How did we find out? He had told one of his 'mates' on the rugby team who had then told everyone. He could never bully again as every time he tried the intended victim would make wanking gestures and he'd shuffle off.
(, Tue 19 May 2009, 1:02, Reply)
Short tale of woe.
The five year old me was your typical happy go lucky chap. I'd started school and I was popular, intelligent, witty and stupidly self confident. Then my Dad left my Mam and all of a sudden I realised life wasn't always a cake walk.

Now I didn't wither and become a social retard like so many people would. I just showed the occasional glimpse of weakness usuaully in front of everyone at the worst possible times. This included breaking down in tears for no apparent reason, wetting myself etc. which obviously opened myself up for a bit of flack but I was still sociable and smart if not a lot softer.

By and large my peers were fine but a lad in the year above thought he'd seize on the fact I was having a tough time of it and make my life hell. He'd beat me up, call me names, push me around, threaten me etc. Because I was emotionally fragile after the divorce my immediate reaction was to sob like a girl whenever he punched me or said anything out of line. This obviously gave him a huge bully hard on as it just poured fuel on the fire and his taunts and attacks became more frequent and sustained. The more he had a go at me the more emotionally fragile I became. It was a vicious circle.

My Grandma knew there was something up and one day I confided in her (as much as a 5/6 year old can) that I was being bullied and by whom. She went straight to the school and told the headteacher.

The next day we filed in to school and it seemed as if nothing was up until it was time for assembly when we were told my year and the year above would have a special one in one of the classrooms. We all sat down and the teacher who was taking the assembly, a big burly ex-Rugby player called Mr. Moyes, dragged up the lad who had made dinner and breaktimes hell. He called a spade a spade. This lad was a bully, a nasty piece of dirt who should not be consorted with on any level by anyone in the school. He was scum.

The dressing down was legendary and as he stood, blubbering, I didn't feel vindicated. I didn't particularly want to see him humiliated as I knew what it was like myself. However, said dressing down worked. I was never bothered by him again, in fact he was more than civil to me after that.

Not all teachers are useless. Some are very bloody good at what they do.
(, Mon 18 May 2009, 20:23, 2 replies)
Bullying was somewhat awful for me.
Well, it was nothing compared to some posters, but my problem was this:
My surname rhymed, and will always rhyme, with "willy".

Cue 2-3 years of an obligatory cry of (crikey, I have to reveal my real name. The shame!) "Edward Lilley has no willy!", whenever I was passed in the corridor/playground/&c.

This eventually transmogrified into a more *ahem* subtle: "Edward Lilley has no.....LEG!"

Some of the chanting was quite innovative however:

"Edward Lilley rubs his...leg."

"Edward Lilley lost his...leg."

"Edward Lilley ate his...leg."

And yes, this continued until I was at least 13 years old (fortunately, I wasn't *quite* the most unpopular person in the year, and had a few friends to...umm..."support" me.)
(, Mon 18 May 2009, 20:22, 7 replies)
In my school there was a boy 4 classes above me who was a real bully, yet a lot of the time he bullied in a really weird way. He was often falsely sweet rather than directly nasty and aggressive.
I had my first encounter with him soon after I'd started school. I can vaguely recall RC walking up to me and saying (in a falsely sweet tone of voice), "Kiss me, darling" . Thereafter he used to take the micky in all kinds of ways. He was charasmatic (perhaps partly because of his eccentricity) and socially the leader of his class.
Possibly the weirdest way in which RC used to take the micky out of me was during a period when he would repeatedly come up to me and say, "Darling, can we be friends?" I was naturally very confused about how to respond, and despite his false sweetness (as opposed to direct nastiness and aggression) RC's manner was always very intimidating. I can particularly recall one incident in which he came out of his classroom and, upon seeing me in the playground, called out, "Hey wizard", and starting running towards me, "Hey, hey, hey!" Upon reaching me he again asked, "Darling, can we be friends?"
There were times when I experienced RC's more directly nasty and aggressive style of bullying. Even back then I knew that he was not really wanting to become friends with me, and was just piss-taking. One time I managed to pluck up the courage to tell him directly that we could not be friends, and he replied with, "F*** off; the next time I see you I'll kick you in the face!"
Perhaps another incident worth mentioning is the time RC handed me some kind of metallic object, telling me that it was worth a £10 note and that if I took it to the bank I would be able to exchange it for a £10 note. Even I was not fooled, and he spent some time trying to convince me, eventually giving in and angrily and aggressively ordering me to give the object back to him.
RC left school during the penultimate year (by which time he was 17). Immediately prior to then he was still being as unpleasant as ever. One time during that period when he was taking the micky out of me he placed his hand over his ear and said, "Speak a little louder, I'm a bit hard of hearing". Another time during this period after a piss-taking incident (he was with another boy in his class) he called out after me, "Gandalf, Gandalf, GANDALF!!!! We're coming to get you!"
What a relief it was when during that year RC left school! It seemed too good to be true. What I have often wondered since is, what would he have been like by the time he reached 18? Would he still have been as unpleasant as ever, or might he have finally grown up and matured by then?
I was by no means the only person RC bullied. I think he was horrible to everyone younger than himself. In fact, he used to hang around the youngest kids and ask them, "What's the 3-times table? What shape is it? How do you form it?" As was characteristic in the school I went to, the kids would start reciting, "3 is 1 times 3, 6 is 2 times 3" and so on. RC would repeat his questions, basically taking the micky and trying to confuse the hell out of them.
RC had a very intimidating manner. Another boy in the same class as myself mentioned that his worst nightmare had been about RC. A third boy recalled that RC used to viciously attack him.
Much later it was my turn to leave school. Some months afterwards imagine my surprise and shock when I encountered RC of all people walking along the street where I lived. I bumped into him several times there during the course of this first year after leaving school. He just said "Hi" to me, so I said "Hi" back to him. I was thinking that hopefully he would have finally grown up and become a nicer person. He must have been living and/or working in the area at the time.
Two or three years later I was told of an encounter one of the boys who had been in the same class as me at school had had recently with RC. CC had bumped into him by chance in a pub, along with several other people who had been in the same class as RC. RC immediately said to CC, "I was a bit of an a***hole in school", and asked CC what he had been doing since leaving school. CC told him, and then RC told CC about what he had done since school, and it was really pathetic. CC told me that RC did then seem like a perfectly nice person.
I think this just proves wrong the myth that bullies are tough and successful people. RC had always seemed like an intelligent and tough person, so it would have been natural to assume he would do very well in life after finishing school. This story shows that the bully will always be the one to suffer in the end.
Why had RC been such a horrible person throughout his school years? Well this much I now know - his parents used to beat him with a belt if he misbehaved. Perhaps he was thus venting his anger and frustration onto anyone younger than himself.
If someone is a bully, there's always a reason for it. Bullies always have low self-esteem - if their self-esteem was high they would not bully anyone because they would have no need to do so. They would thrive soley on positive interactions with other people.
(, Mon 18 May 2009, 19:55, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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