When I was at school I got bullied by this big, mean chav
He used to push me down and make me cry.
This

was

his

first

mistake

Imagine my delight at the 11th hour when I got my last laugh at his expense and laughed loudest served cold.

I

Beat

Him

Up

and he was a failure drugtaker, there are lots of them from the mean streets where I grew up, perhaps That's why I'm so fucked up and interesting.

edit: Now I drive a Honda! In your face INTERNET
( WormuIus, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:39, 9 replies)

If I'd been bullied
I really wouldnt find catharsis in sharing it with you cunts.

Not even if the bullying had lead to me doing 3 years of martial arts and weight lifting in secret then hunting down my bullies with a knife and bumming them till they cried.

But if I had been bullied I probably would have done that martial art/bumrape combo thing. Probably.
( Goatworrier had your mum and she was shit, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:37, 1 reply)

Bullies you say?
Would you like to see some real bullying?
(Page break as it seems to be cool on here)

You would?

OK then...

Click here
( Captn Hood-Butter is not dead yet., Wed 13 May 2009, 15:36, 3 replies)

i'm surprised i didn't get bullied more
being as i was fat, intelligent and wore glasses. there were 3 occasions when bullies might have got the better of me, but growing up in a house with a psychotic older brother prepares you well.

1st year seniors:
angela. bitch and a half. she was a sixth former and decided she didn't like me. as her repertoire mostly consisted of name-calling, i tended to ignore her.
one day, however, she saw her chance: i was standing in front of her on the school bus and, due to my lardiness, was wearing an elasticated skirt. she ran up behind me and pulled it down, revealing my days-of-the-week knickers for all to see. now, i'm generally slow to anger, but this just pissed on my biscuits. i completely lost it, jumped on her back and punched her repeatedly in the head. after a few minutes, my elder sister dragged me off her and made me sit upstairs. i found out that night that angela had pulled my sister up and told her to "keep that fucking maniac away" from her.

2nd year seniors:
can't remember her name, but she'd been digging at me for months. finally, she stepped over the line: she insulted my eyes. after many years of surgery by the brilliant chaps at moorfield's eye hospital, i was(and still am) a little over-sensitive about my peepers. i set to her with a large jelly-bean bag, after wedging her between a filing cabinet and the wall. needless to say, i never had any trouble from her again.

4th year seniors:
marian. she looked like a man with a handbag. she was the undisputed ruler of the playground, with a very nasty attitude and an evil temper. we'd had plenty of arguments, but they'd never escalated into anything physical.
one day, the school bus was late. we were all hot, tired and irritable. tempers were very much frayed. when the bus finally arrived, we all piled on. there were far too many of us, so the bus driver told some of us we'd have to get off. i was one of those, i'd been right by the driver, just about to pay, when i was evicted from the bus. the driver then told us to wait for the next bus, closed the door and took off.
"that was your fault" piped up atilla the schoolgirl. "the driver took one look at you and thought 'i'm not letting that fat bitch on my bus!'"
"fuck off, marian," i replied, "i'm not in the mood."
she, however, was in the mood. she began poking me in the back, then shoving me. ii told her to stop, but she just grinned her bulldog-licking-piss-off-a-nettle grin and asked "what are you going to do about it?" and continued shoving me. i didn't want to fight her, as i'd seen the damage she'd done to several of my mates. after a few minutes, though, i snapped. turning to face her, i snarled "if you don't fuck off and stop shoving me, i'm going to fucking lamp you one!" obviously she didn't believe me, as she immediately shoved me again. i let out a yell and punched her as hard as i could. she hit the floor like an ugly sack of shit. seizing my chance, i jumped on her and beat the living shit out of her. it took her cousin and 2 of his mates to separate us, but by god, i felt better. she'd been asking for it for years and she'd finally got it.
i was 2 more years in that school, nobody ever bothered me again.

if you're being bullied, i hope it's a lad doing it, they're nowhere near as vicious as girls.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:35, Reply)

I've just spent 10 minutes flicking through the tales on here.
I wasn't hard, but I reckon I'd have flush ALL of your heads down the toilet.
Then laughed.
And got a better job than you.
And then run you over.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:31, 3 replies)

Picture the scene.








Oh go on, I can't think of anything.
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Wed 13 May 2009, 15:31, Reply)

Woopsie!
Much like everyone here, I wasn't exactly the most popular kid in school. In fact, even stating that would be labouring the point somewhat. But now with the benefit of hindsight, and facebook, I think all in all, I win. But that's not the point of this little missive. The point- well, read on.

Imagine it's the end of the day. Imagine waiting at the tram stop to get yourself on the way home, minding your own business. Then imagine your air supply being cut off as someone decides it would be a good idea to dangle themselves round your neck. In terms of sheer creativity, I will give them that. The trouble was, his creativity wasn't backed up by any kind of forward thinking and common sense.

Now please bear in mind what happened next was purely accidental. Seriously. Reacting on instinct, I bent forward, somehow pulling off the best judo throw of my life, without even meaning to, and probably never to be repeated. The little cunt landed in a manner similar to a WWE wrestler experiencing a pile driver, and was spark out on the floor for a good few seconds. That is honestly the only time I've ever thought I'd killed someone. Luckily, for both me and my trousers, he came to, and then tried groggily swinging for me, swearing with a creativity only a drunken Irishman can muster, only to be held back by a giggling group of his friends.

True to form, he left me alone after that, and seemed relatively normal- who knows- perhaps the knock to his head did him some good?
( jim_bob can herd cats., Wed 13 May 2009, 15:27, 10 replies)

Crap 'bullies' are crap.
Despite being nerdy, unattractive, socially awkward etc as a child, I very rarely got bullied. I still don't know why.

However, there was a group of 'older boys' that decided to pick on me. They were pretty crap, as they couldn't be arsed to come up with their own insults, and just used those that my friends used (the ones that didn't bug me in the slightest, and were used in a playful manner) again and again for, like, two years.

Sorry, did I say insults? I meant insult. Singular.

If anything, it just made them look like twats. I kinda felt sorry for them.

I don't think the point of bullying is to invoke pity in the intended victim.

P.S I am still nerdy, unattractive, socially awkward etc. Why am I still not bullied?
( Green Spanner and his magical lack of activity, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:25, 1 reply)

I once beat up Mr. T in the playground at School.

( Jam Master Geordie Hero of B3ta., Wed 13 May 2009, 15:20, 3 replies)

There was a right cunt
at school - his name was darren and he got over his insecurities by beating people up and gathering a small horde of wimpy children to adore him.
He pissed me off once so I stuck my finger up at him - being similar height and build this would be interesting.
He was a psycho and grabbed me by the neck and threw me down some stairs. At this point I was seeing red and didn't notice the blood so got my self standing up and started beating the crap out of eachother.... but the weird thing was that we both worked out that it was completely futile after a little while, started laughing and were from then on really quite good friends... he was much less of a cunt too!
( SiX and his hat, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:15, Reply)

Oh god, not this one.
Bullying is a hard thing to handle when you are young. I put up with my fair share of it. I was born in a small Scottish town called Paisley (near Glasgow) and went to several schools which I had to leave in the end due to bullying. I believe I had turned out fine, but when I think about my past now, I still feel the anger boiling inside of me. I now know that a lot of the perpetrators are now dead, either by suicide or they have been murdered by some means. I now realise that most of these people came from pretty broken families and took their frustrations out on me which I reacted to very badly.

Various memories:

Having my hand held down on a desk and having a compass stabbed right into the back of it and the teacher turning a blind eye due to the claims of every pupil in the class that it was my stupid fault and I shouldn't be playing with it. In reality, the teacher was terrified as our school was right next to Ferguslie Park where the scum of Paisley reside.

Thrown out of a 3rd floor window during a free period and cracking my head on the concrete below requiring stitches and STILL getting the blame for it from the teacher. once again, terrified of repercussions should he punish the perpetrators.

being accused of murdering my best friend (who commited suicide due to his choice in sexuality when he was 14 and it being spread like wild-fire round the school). Apparently I pushed off a high building and he died (I didn't). However, we were very good friends and I was really his first boyfriend and it devastated me that he was killed.

Being absolutely terrified of leaving in the morning to go to school as every morning, there would be pupils waiting to kick the crap out of me if I even dared to leave the house. My parents/teachers advise - "oh just ignore it". Stupid cunts.

Being chased round the school...one of the pupils slipped on the floor and cracked his back..ended up in hospital...got screamed at by head and being called a useless liar by the headteacher and being taken home and beat up by my father despite my protestations that I was innocent on this.

Being chased from the Big Apple pool hall in Paisley West End and getting caught and having several people repeatedly hitting me over the head with pool cues (one of them even broke).

Being chased when I was in the scouts. Woke up lying on the ground with my head bleeding profusely. Apparently I was caught and the perpetrators had smashed my head several times against a brick wall however, I remember none of this. Spent some days in the RAH in Paisley.

Through all this. I learned that a lot of our thoughts in later life come from our youth and I took a lot of anger into my adulthood. I've only now realised that this was the cause of my own unhappiness in later life and I've put it all behind me in the satisfaction that I now have a well paid job with the BBC in London, in a comfortable gay relationship with a man that I love to bits and most of the people who done this are now dead, in jail, or constantly on the dole.

Remember, when we take our anger from our schooldays into our later lifes, it hurts us a lot. We must remember that sometimes the only way to be happy is to forgive and forget the people who are responsible and take satisfaction that they are probably worse off than us, deservedly or not.
(scotsbloke, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:10, 9 replies)

Right you lot!
I’ve already noticed a trend here.

We seem – to a man (woman/cat etc) to have all been victims of bullying (including me).

So, I’m seeing a gap in the market here. I’m going to go from nice-bloke to the Gripper Stebson* of B3TA.

Based on that, I’ll be requiring all of your lunch money, any jewellery you might have, and if you are not a white Anglo-Saxon please identify yourself so I can add some sort of racist ‘edge’ to the aggravation you’ll be on the receiving end of.

I accept PayPal and I’m thinking about setting up a Just Giving page as well – alternatively, click ‘I like this!’ and I’ll leave you be for a couple of days.

All monies will, eventually get returned when one of you – possibly going by the name of Pogo Patterson – recruits enough of you to stop me.

Just to complete the ensemble, I could do with a couple of henchmen, it would help if you found everything I said ‘funny’ always agreed with me and, if you are a little bit over-weight and a bit tasty with your fists, that’ll also stand you in good stead.

Just to make it fair, I’ll only take your money during term time.

All clear?

Mullered.
*For those of you too young – or too far away from BBC1 in the 1970’s/80’s google him – he put the fear of god into every kid who was about to go to secondary school for the first time.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:06, 7 replies)

Jordan McBitchtits
I was a right hippie at school. Long flowing hair, bushy sideboards and a goatee (okay bushy may be pushing it a bit. I suppose bumfluff would be a better descriptor, after all I was but a bairn).

This endeared me to the small clique of rockers and weirdos, who were to become my close friends, and provided me a small measure of success with the ladies.

It did however have the effect of making me a prime target for the radge packet charvers and thugs whose ranks provided a fair percentage of my school's pantheon of pupils.

Now one of these genetic misfires was Jordan McBitchtits* a lumbering tower of inarticulation and aggression housed within a mountain of beef a Wagyu bull would have been proud to possess.

*Name changed to protect me in the, admittedly, unlikely event she's since learnt to read and use a computer.

She was naturally the de facto leader of the group of bad girls in our year. You know the sort. The ones that made a concious decision to never show any sign of intelligence. The ones with the harsh chemically treated hair and vacuous stares. The ones that traded their infinite potential for a blokey yobbishness and threw their scarily fertile bodies at anyone who could get served booze at the Happy Shopper.

Obviously she found my appearance, bookishness and sarcastic wit distasteful but generally left me pretty much alone.

Until, alas, one day while I was lounging around in class, shooting the shit with Foz and paying little attention to the banal wafflings of our teacher, a shadow crept over me plunging me into an ominous pool of darkness.

I looked up to find Jordan looming threateningly over me. Obviously some broken neuron had flickered into life and I had been promoted from irritant to target in her wildly damage psyche.

No preamble for she, instead she raised a pudgy arm and slowly, oh so slowly, sent it swinging toward me.

"Aha!" I thought "I see she wishes to punch me in the chops" and promptly batted her paw away from my nose to prevent bloodying.

Apparently no-one had ever tried this technique on her before as her eyes widened in shock as if I'd just waggled my willy at her.

"How dare you lay hands upon me you bounder" quoth the psychotic hose beast, "I believe I shall have to take you to task come our repast"

Granted those may not have been her exact words but the gist is there.

In a smooth placatory manner I replied "Fuck off you fat bitch, I didn't hit you I just pushed your hand away"

Bizarrely this seemed to incense her further and she appeared ready to get pugilistic on my face again until the teacher noticed the affray and told her to sit down.

All was well until the lunch bell rang. I, the incident already out of mind, strolled happily out of the gates and began to make my way home.

As I passed the bus stop (bus stops... this shit always happens near bus stops) Jordan and her phalanx of harridans hove into view.

A cacophonous cackling began and, amidst accusations of being a women beater and a puff, I attempted to push my way through the group.

Unfortunately this wasn't to be and Jordan unceremoniously grabbed my flowing locks and swung me round in a wide circle while blows began raining upon me from the half dozen hell bitches surrounding me.

This presented a Catch-22 situation in my mind. I was here receiving a hiding for supposedly laying fists to a women and my only two options were to A: punch their stupid faces in, therefore incurring more wrath or B: give up and hit the ground and adopt the fetal postion.

I couldn't choose between the two with the distraction of fists and feet striking me so I just kept my feet under me as I was whirled around and beaten.

This continued for what must have been no longer than 30 seconds but felt like an hour before I managed to extricate myself and strode purposefully away to my mother with blood, snot and tears adorning my battered face.

And the worst part is now I have to pay hundreds of pounds to receive the same treatment.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:04, 6 replies)

Wooo...
...first post in forever! Yay me!

I'm glad to say that the little pugs who bullied me at school have remained the same scummy scrotes, destined to a life without joy and happiness, while I absolutely rock! Yay me again and ya boo sucks to the pig-dog bullies :-D

Bullies? What a load of old shit!
(angelica666, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:01, 5 replies)

I was getting bullied by guys at school, one was big and bald and one was small but had big hair.
They were taking the piss out of my house and I was “STFU NOOBZ!!!” and they were like “LOL MAYK US!”

So then I went like OMG and my hair turned yellow and all buzzweeoo buzzweeoo buzzweeoo and I was like “SUPER SAIYAN MOTHERFRUITERS!” and dey were like “OMIDAZE 9000?!?!?”

I gave them nipple cripples and den everyone else nipple cripples and then I hit myself in the chest with a broom to make myself feel ‘Mek’ and ‘Unbelievable.’

After I made all mums with buggies walking past headbutt their own chins I sat on a wall and ate TWO curly whirlies and did a sick in a bush from the excitement.

I then spun around a pole in the rain shelter and got rust on my jacket and a trouser tickle that made my willy hard.
( Donkey Gums @mattcomedy, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:56, 5 replies)

Where's the question?
I never got bullied, and even if I did I wouldn't dredge it all back up for the sake of internet sympathy. Christ.
( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:55, 5 replies)

Seriously poor advice on dealing with school bullies
1) Tell a teacher
2) Say "you're bullying me and I don't like it"
3) Punch them back.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:52, Reply)

In which the bullies get their come-uppance
Bit of a pearoast - a cautionary tale from my home town.

There was a family. The kind of family that every town has really. A thoroughly nasty and antisocial bunch of turds with a predisposition for glue sniffing, violence and petty thievery. A distinct lack of brain power characterised this unholy bunch of scrotes, and the petty thievery usually involved stealing from their own neighbours - they were so lacking in scruples that they had never abided by the petty criminal's unspoken mantra that you never shit in your own nest.

The three siblings of the family - all brothers, with about a year each between them, so quite close in age - had finely honed their behaviour at school, as they ran the gauntlet over the nerdier kids like some kind of mini-mafia; mercilessly bullying them into handing over dinner money with the threat of having their heads flushed down the toilet if they refused to comply. They made school a misery for a lot of kids there. Fortunately I wasn't one of them for some reason; possibly because my Gran was good friends with their neighbour.

Now, those of you with a dislike for extreme violence I would advise you to stop reading about here...

This acutely developed antisocial disregard for anything and anyone ensued for years. The brazen swagger they had at school continued as they graduated from education to the dole queue, and strangely, as often happens with bullies, they didn't find themselves on the receiving end of a good hiding from blokes a few years older than them and a great deal harder, pissed off that 'new blood' was trying to muscle in on their turf.

Oddly, they also had very little, if any, trouble with the police, who repeatedly were unable to pin anything on them in order to put them away. The neighbourhood lived in abject terror of the fact that next time they were targeted it could be a lot worse, and so tended to say nothing so as not to provoke any kind of response.

The three brothers were each blessed with an abject cluelessness as to what was considered acceptable in the world. They followed the family pattern of bullying at school, substance abuse, violence and thievery, but the eldest was particularly unpleasant and had spent his years making various 'points', usually with a sharp object. And several blunt ones too. This particular error of the gene pool had also developed a little sideline in selling drugs, and it was this that proved to be especially irksome for some people in the town.

So, one evening, a couple of local hardmen who'd had enough of this family riding roughshod over their fair town followed him, being careful not to be seen, and waited for an opportunity. Armed with a baseball bat, a stanley knife and a pair of pliers, they followed him to a not altogether remote spot on one of the estates, but one which consisted of a large expanse of grass leading down to the railway. An expanse of grass that after a certain point wasn't lit by streetlighting.

What followed was, even by his standards, pretty nasty. As he was sitting on a bench with his head in a bag of glue, the two hard men crept up behind him and smacked him squarely across the back of the head with the baseball bat. Being utterly off his box on Bostik, he wasn't in any fit state to defend himself as the blows rained down on him. Once he was rendered suitably unable to move, they then set about removing his teeth with the pliers, and for good measure also broke both his kneecaps with the bat, before (reportedly) slashing the tendons in the back of his legs with the stanley knife. Then they left him lying there.

About an hour later he was discovered by someone walking their dog. The police were called, but the beating he had received was so severe that it had rendered him permanently brain damaged and unable to speak. He now spends his life being looked after 24-7 by his family, nothing but an empty shell of a dribbling vegetable, which has in some small way been instrumental in keeping them out of trouble. Fortune smiled once again on the town when the middle sibling died of a drugs overdose, thus removing the world of another genetic abhorration. Perhaps seeing that the lifestyle he had adopted wasn't going to do him any favours, the youngest apparently became a bit of a reformed character, although his by now established reputation as a troublesome little cunt meant that opportunities for anything in the town were scarce.

Apologies for the gruesomeness of this tale, but honestly, the family got what they deserved after over 20 years of getting away with everything they had ever done to the people of the town.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Wed 13 May 2009, 14:49, 7 replies)

Matt, Traps & Raging Hormones
I was always too fucking weird to be bullied at school.

The bullies tended to leave me alone; they didn't like dealing with the kid who would spend his lunchtimes talking to trees, eating bird poo (yep, I actually did this - good source of berry goodness, your average starling turd), or standing in the middle of the playground singing Private Dancer by Tina Turner at the top of his lungs.

Fuck that, they'd rather go and pick on the weak kids who'd give them a reaction. I was an unknown quantity, they didn't know if I was incredibly hard or just a little bit slow, so they left me alone. (It also probably helped that my cousin Gino went to the same school, was a little older, had been shaving since he was eight, and looked a little bit like The Thing out of the Fantastic Four).

The real hardnut in my year was a lad named Matt. Big ugly fucker who liked nothing better than whacking kids and pocketing their lunch money - he told me once he was saving up for a swish pair of LA Gear trainers with the flashing lights built into the souls. Industrious little thug, this Matt was.

And one time I saw a group of kids I'd occassionally hang round with getting the full Matt treatment. After the Matt-attack and when he's a safe distance away - what with me being an innate coward from an early age - I saunter over to the kids with a plan.

I tell the kids my plan and the lead kid, Simon, says: "That's not gonna work."

"Oh yes it is!" I say. And then I add: "I saw it on a program on the telly."

Well, that had this little group sold - if it was on the TV it must be a fucking great idea.

So I go and find some cardboard from outside the school block, go over to the sandpit, and start working on my scheme with the help of the trodden down masses. Excellent. Fucking marvellous job! This is gonna work a treat!

With the trap set, I go and find Matt.

"Oi, Matt!" I holler across the playground. "Has anyone ever told you you're an ugly bugger with a nose like a pig and ears like a donkey?" I'd like to point out I was only six or seven - this was about as eloquent as my abuse levels got back in those days; I've improved tremendously since then.

This got Matt's attention, though. Nostrils flaring, he legged after me in the playground while I ran off towards the sandpit, hooting like a fucking gibbon.

Unfortunately Matt was bigger than me and quicker. And I had a close encounter of the brown trouser kind as he very nearly caught up with me. But I made it, bursting onto the sandpit and vaulting over it I stopped and turned to see-

-Matt step ONTO the sandpit and set off the trap we'd set, having scooped out the sand and lobbed it over the hedge, placed the cardboard ontop and then covered the cardboard with a little more sand. He fell-

"YES!!!" I proclaimed in my squeaky voice of David-over-Goliath triumph. "LET'S SEE YOU GET OUT OF THAT!!!"

-he fell about half a foot. Oh, bugger! Really should've dug that hole a little deeper...

And now he was fucking ANGRY.

Matt stepped out of the hole and proceeded to close me down. My comrades in arms, the kids who received a beating from Matt on a regular basis, scarpered.

I was alone with the beast of Coventry.

"I'm gonna fuck you up, Spanky!" growled Matt.

And I very nearly shat myself.

And then, as if from nowhere, as if delivered by an angel from upon high, a wall of Italian-English prepubescent muscle descended on Matt and squashed him like the bug he was. Ahhh, Gino! Bless your holy Bic disposable razors and raging hormones!

My cousin grunted at me and strode off, explaining that one of my little mates had come running to find him when he found out what I was up to. I thanked Gino, gave Matt a friendly kick up the arse, and went about my business, doing some quality tree-talking and starling shit eating.

And I took a mental note that if I ever decided to set an ingenious trap for a bully in the future, I should make it a little deeper than half-a-fucking foot deep.
( SpankyHanky, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:49, 2 replies)

Well, this is going to be the most cheerful QOTW ever!
This is cathartic, but bloody depressing. Best read while listening to something cheerful.

Hrm. My story. I actualy didn't get too much greif at primary school. To this day I still do not know why. I was an awkward kid. But that all changed at secondary school.

To start with I was smart, but not smart enough to know to hide it. I could be pretty gobby at times, and I still can be to be honest, and worst of all I was poor. Being poor in a school with a fairly well off catchment area sucks. It realy does. I never had a decent PE kit, or uniform for that matter. So yes. All sorts of bullying, from getting a girl to ask me out then arranging it so she stood me up - verbal bullying, nicking my stuff, hiding it and then laughing, standing in a circle round me and knocking me about, beating the shit out of me after school (I especialy enjoyed the way that they'd tell me what was coming during first lesson, so I'd have all day to stew over it). Oh, breaking stuff then claiming I'd done it, which got me banned from art, one of the few lessons I enjoyed. Oh god, to be honest it wasn't much fun. Until 6th form I don't think I had one friend.

You see, all this bothers me, obviously, and still does, but what realy, realy fucking hurts is that it's around that time I learnt never to rely on authority figures. You see, my parents noticed this, probably due to all the torn clothing, and self harm and that - and did what they should have done, they notified the teachers. The teachers pushed it under the carpet. They claimed that I was often the instigator, that I bought it on myself and I had to learn to stick up for myself a bit more, be more friendly, less "odd". Mostly because the claim that bullying was "not realy a problem" at the school was more important than actualy dealing with bullying.

Well, I learnt that important lesson regarding authority, and decided to take things into my own hands. Literaly. One day, after years of this I snapped and smashed one of the cunts round the head with a chunk of brick. So yeah, after all the blood and fuss and that it was decided I had "emotional" problems. To this day I don't think I did, I'm not a violent person, it's just everyone has their breaking point. So yeah, that solved nothing and I just managed to get more shit for being a mental and having to go see the school counceller.

To this day, what angers me is not that I was bullied (hell, I was probably asking for it a lot of the time) It's the fact that the teachers I was supposed to trust, and who where supposed to look out for me did nothing. They shifted the blame and ignored it until something so bad happened that they couldn't. Then they blamed the victim. And having worked in schools since then, I've got to say I've seen this happen to others more times than I can count.
(Fredz A graveyard of hopes, a dump of ambition, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:47, 7 replies)

The best way to deal with bullies
is to flounce off of b3ta in a huff, then return a couple of weeks later with a comedy account.
( Goatworrier had your mum and she was shit, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:41, 2 replies)

Seeing through the Specs
I've worn specs since about age 10, and it led to a couple of interesting situations in school, since that was what bullies focused on. Sometimes these bullies were much smaller than me, and I found it frankly confusing. I was tall enough to be accused of bullying myself, on one occasion, when I wasn't; it was just a discussion, probably about girls, that had become heated. (I was one of those "new men" before I was a "man", that's all I'll say on that!)

In the last case I had, it was the final year at school, I was about 17, and I was slow to recognise that a couple of guys were bullies. It came to a head as a History class was starting. One of the guys slammed his elbow in to my ribs, and before I knew it, I had broken his nose. He ran out, blood everywhere, and his friend said something like "we'll get you", though nothing came of it.

The funniest side to this story was that it all happened in front of the teacher: this was when I was living in South Africa, and the History teacher was this gruff old Afrikaner who would have been at home as a General in the Second Boer War. (How do I know there were two Boer Wars? It was a History class, silly.) He just looked at me after I sat down, and said nothing: he had seen all he needed to.
( bnt what, me worry?, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:30, Reply)

Bullying
I suffered in silence for 3 years, it was actually 4 years but after the 1st year and not getting any help or support I pretty much gave up and just accepted that this was the way my life was going to be.

It didn't just affect me - it affected my parents. They couldn't help and this caused a few arguments between which only made me more determined to stay silent.

When I pushed through a 3rd storey window I still tried to keep things quiet.

When I had broken hand held down and punched I still kept quiet.

When they would climb 12ft fences around the tennis courts I didn't bother to run - they'd only get me later.

They knew where I lived so going out was always a bit fraught. Staying in was the same. Sometimes they'd wait outside my house.

Taking the dog out for a walk was a bit of worry - things were always worse outside school, although attacks were much rarer.

I had my ears pulled so hard that they ripped. They're now a bit knobbly.

My parents did their best, and I love them for it, but they could never help. To ask them for help would have been weak.

That's just a few of the things I went through. It might not sound much but even today they still affect me to an extent. When I see those people in the street (which is thankfully rare!) I become that person I was and shrink inside. Even though all this happened 15 years ago I still wonder how I could have been so weak as to let it happen.

I'm a father myself now, as some as you know, and made a promise to my son that I'll never let him suffer like I did. I hope to God that he never does. I love him, he's special and I'll always do my best to protect him.

Writing this post has been a tough. It's not something I like to talk about and it's not something that many of my friends know about, but in a strange way its something of a relief.

As is the norm in many tales like this, most of the people who bullied me are habitual criminals and/or junkies. In hindsight I guess (and in some cases know) they had little or no family life. I suppose they were missing something and thats what made them the way they were. I'm man enough to forgive but I'll never forget.
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:30, 4 replies)

Victim Alert!
So where do we start?

Probably with a bit about me. At school I was neither popular or unpopular. I was happy to mix with the ‘cool’ kids and they weren’t unhappy to have me around, I was happy to mix with the Goths, the geeks, the wiggers and the sports-players I wasn’t close to any of them, I was just ‘there’. All in all, I was known to everyone, but without my own identity. Simply because my identity (as I’ve learnt in adult life) is that of a tolerant, laid back, friendly, pacifist with no hate and no violence in me, but a love of music.

At school though, some people took my happy-go-lucky-mates-with-all-sorts as a weakness, and here in lies the problem.

You see, everyone gets victimised at school in some way, shape or form. Maybe you can’t kick a football as far as someone, aren’t a bright and someone or your family aren’t as wealthy as some others so you haven’t got the latest clothes, the designer trainers and a watch that can simultaneously given you the time is dozens of countries you are never going to visit, and for that, kids get grief.

The other ‘rule of the playground’ is if the bullying isn’t happening to ‘me’ then that’s alright, in fact, I’ll go as far as to humour the bullies who are handing out kickings, demanding money and making other kids life hell – if it means its not happening to me, no matter what anyone’s standing within any group is, as long as this happens on the outside of the group and not to yourself, you’ll put up with anything if it stops it from happening to you.

And herein, lays my problem. With no identity, I was affiliated with no group. Yes, I had mates in all of the cliques, yes, I was funny and yes, in general I was happy. And for the first 2 years of secondary school, there was no incident that comes to mind that was either uncomfortable or saw me ‘excluded’ from peer activity.

Then it changed. My older brother had completed his studies and left (as you would do after your 5th year) and, whilst I hadn’t needed ‘protecting’, having a big-brother at school certainly helped as this made you ‘untouchable’ what I hadn’t banked on though, was my brother having a reputation. A reputation as a ‘hard man’ (to me, he was just my bruv) and when he left, I suddenly found myself on the receiving end of comments, punches and kicks that were apparently ‘owed’ to my brother. This wasn’t constant but slowly, older kids had started a smear campaign against me and my welcome into a variety of groups became more strained.

Before too long, kids in my year were having ago at me – seemingly because ‘I deserved it’ (or at least, that’s what they’d been told) the physical beatings were fine, it was the mental cruelty and the sick ‘jokes’ that were paid that got to me. It was things like walking down a school corridor and having people flick ink at your back, getting to the bike sheds to find both of your tyres has been deflated, sitting in the wrong seat in class and not being able to concentrate because you know that behind you, someone is getting ready to do something you won’t like. I was slowly being distanced from all groups, the kids in these groups not wanting to be tarred with the ‘what’s wrong with you? Hanging around with Mullered’ brush.

For about a year I put up with this, there was graffiti in the toilets and on walls questioning my sexuality, suggesting I was in a relationship with a disabled boy – stuff that to a 14 year old, is tear-inducing.

And then something happened.

I got a girlfriend – and, thankfully, not a girl from the school, someone I’d met away from school – and she was really good looking, had lady bumps and liked me.

The girlfriend of the day also did a paper round from my local newsagents and it was there that we’d started chatting, before too long, we were inseparable, going to the cinema, sharing a bag of chips and snogging in the car-park of the local newsagents. Now, being a youngster trying to fight rumours about my sexuality, I would – naturally – claim when faced with another ‘Mullered is a uphill gardener’ – ‘how can I be gay? I’ve got a girlfriend’ This was usually met with ‘yeah, right’ and other cries of disbelief. Any then, one Saturday afternoon, en route to the Odeon to see a film, I’m spotted by one the guys making my life hell, who simply gave me a curt nod.

For what I can only guess is this reason –everything changed. The bulling stopped, people wanted to be my friend (again) and party invitations started coming my way. The reason? Apparently, most of the boys in my year at school liked girls, but none of them had ever been out with one. And they wanted Mullered here to teach them the ways of the force as far as relationships and bagging yourself a bird.

So, I did what any self-respecting teenager did. I complied, suggested friends of my girlfriend they might like to meet and I sucked up to them all in an attempt to fix them up with girls and to stop myself from being bullied.

This story isn’t funny. It’s true though.

I had absolute no self-respect, low self-esteem and to me, the weight of relief for the bullying to be over was worth sacrificing any scruples I may have had, by going over the top to ‘fit in’ with these shits who’d made my life hell.

I’d love to tell you all that I mugged them all off and got on with my life, but I complied. I let them make my life a misery and then, with a click of the fingers, I was bending over backwards to be their ‘friend’

If I could hate, I’d be hating these people, but I can’t. Nothing riles me enough to ‘hate’ (well, nothing so far in my 30+ years on this planet).

Saying that, maybe I do hate them, because at a school reunion some 5 years ago or so, names were thrown around as to what everyone was doing and apparently, one of the bullies is dead, another is living rough following a drug issue. I found that quite heart warming.

Right – cathartic type over.

Bullies might be ‘cowards’ but teenage boys desperate to be accepted are shallow, weak and timid – at least I was.

Mullered – over and out.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:08, Reply)

School Bullying methods
We had the following at Broadwater County Secondary School, the finest state school in Surrey. They were called "tortures":

Tunnel of death: 2 rows of people facing each other with compasses. Victim has to run through the middle whilst being stabbed;

Salt'n'Shake: Victim is tied down, and those little sachets of salt poured into his mouth;

[name of victim] Through the Looking Glass: This was just for summer. Victim is tied down and a ray of sunshine concentrated through a magnifying glass onto his forehead for the duration of the lunch break;

Stabs: The victim is stabbed;

And various ones just for members of the Christian Union:

Jesus and the Jews: Victim is tied to a fence by his tie, his shirt removed, and is whipped with stinging nettles;

Jesus is crucified: Victim is tied to a fence and has nails fired at him from a nail gun.

Happy days! Anyone have any more?
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:07, 4 replies)

My middle brother and I went to a total of 11 different schools between the ages of 8 and 14
Dad was a fun guy who'd come home from work every now and then with the news "hey, i just got a new job!".

So we were always the "new kids" and as such, treated like shit.

The last school we went to was in Elizabeth - the pommy ghetto of South Australia where they dumped all the immigrants, lots from Liverpool, Manchester and Glasgow.

My brother, 2 years my junior was about 4' nothing and weighed about 35 kg when he started there and was picked on mecilessly by a vicious little shit called Thomas Mc Dougall. I could do nothing because his older brother, Callum, threatened me with beatings if I intervened.
After 3 years they left the area and the school.

When we were in our early 20s we ran into young Thomas again. By this time my brother had filled out to a healthy 6' 4", 120kg so Thomas didn't recognise him. At the time we were both working security in clubs - in this country the security industry is almost exclusively run by biker gangs, as is the amphetamine industry. When Thomas was offered a substantial amount of speed, by my brother for a very good price and on credit he jumped at it. He was arrested, convicted and jailed shortly thereafter, the police apparently knowing his address and exactly where his speed was stashed.

he necked himself 4 months later.
(wallynothere rnot without protection, Wed 13 May 2009, 14:04, 3 replies)

There was a kid at school I really really really hated. Many people did too.
When I was about 23, I watched the shit being kicked out of him in a night club. He dropped to the floor and got his head booted like a football. Fucked him up really well. His older brother told me he's now moved to Australia.

One person's bully is another person’s dream “maker”.
(waxdart hello., Wed 13 May 2009, 14:02, Reply)

Not very funny.
and probably long. So if you're not in the mood for long and not funny - don't bother reading. Don't bitch - don't complain - just properly don't read it.

okay.

When I was a wee Vampyrekitten, only 7 or 8 years old, was when it first started. I was one of the "bright" kids who got to read the "big kids" books and thus was horribly unpopular because of it. I could read before I started school and some of the other kids didn't like that.
I was excluded from games and parties (which, while completely insignificant now - meant a huge deal back then. I'd hear everybody talking about Mollie's birthday and all the fun games they got to play and how Sam won a teddy bear etc, all the while being looked sideways and laughed at), pushed around and generally ignored.
I remember one particularly notable incident where we had show and tell and when I got up for my turn everybody laughed at my very loved and scruffed Humphrey (who has graced this QTOW before) and called me a baby. Then another boy (I think his name was seth?) kicked me in the back when I sat down, just because he could and he didn't like Humphrey.

I did what all "babies" do - I cried. I couldn't understand why they didn't like me so much. I was incredibly shy as a kid, had glasses, so naturally got called four eyes and such but I just couldn't grasp why they hated me so much. I never spoke much unless people spoke to me first, never hit anyone, never called anyone names, never did anything to anybody.

I moved a few years later, down from multicultural Melbourne where last names like mine weren't fussed over, to monocultural Warrnambool. It was cold. It was wet.
I was nine and still wearing glasses. I had a woggy name. I was pale and Dutch and I liked pickles and cheese in bread for lunch (still do!).
My shit of a brother decided to introduce a few of the choicier "nicknames" I'd had up in Melbourne into the school population to make himself look cool.
So it all began again, getting nastier and more vicious as I moved up through school. I began swimming - and I was pretty good at it. I began playing soccer - and I kicked the boys butts. I began playing netball and I was okay at it. But in every sport I tried to play - they already had their friendship groups - and they made it abundantly clear how much they *didn't* need me and how much I wasn't *wanted* around.
In my final year of primary school, I was still the oddball. I still had glasses, read stacks of books, ate woggy food. I was relentlessly bullied every single day by three girls who were determined to make me miserable. When I started growing breasts, they called me a whore. When I got pimples they called me pizza face. Nerd. Geek. Dictionary. Fugly. Freak. It. Every single day. I was asked if I'd ever picked anyone up, if I'd ever let a guy fuck me for money.

One day I cracked. I'd been in tears the whole day because people kept stealing my book, snapping my bra strap, calling me names, passing notes about me around the whole class and then "accidentally" showing them to me. When the end of the day came I slammed my chair on top of the table, except I gave it a little too much force and it went flying off the other side and hit one of my main antagonists in the back of the leg. And I didn't even say sorry. I just said "fuck you" and walked out, bawling.

Highschool was pretty much the same.
Went there, incredibly shy, in the accelerated program but even there I wasn't accepted. People still bullied me - my "best friend" (who has also been mentioned here before), bullied me to the point where I was pretending to be sick so I didn't have to come to school. We had a fight which culminated in her getting her 16 year old friends to threaten to kill me, bash me, break my nose etc etc.
I didn't cope very well. At the time I was also really struggling with my sexuality and the double stress just made me spiral down into depression. I did some very stupid things to myself.
I stopped playing sport because people on my own teams were looking for excuses to bash me up (from memory I suffered several blood noses, many dead arms/legs, quite a few net/basket/volley/soccer balls/hockey pucks to the face). I eventually refused to participate in sport classes altogether. I think I participated in maybe three classes in the last 4 years of high school.

Last year I was friends with a girl called Sheridan. I have no problems in naming her because, quite frankly, she is a bitch. We had maths together and became close friends. She was the first person I came out to. She threw it in my face.
One day we were friends - the next we were nothing. She hated me. She spread rumours about me, wouldn't let me talk to mutual friends, constantly belittled me if I tried to talk to her about it, completely did a 180 degree turn. I was confused and hurt and horribly gutted. She was pretty much the only friend I had - and on a single whim - a single, stupid, petty whim, she decided she hated me - literally over night.

Over the years I was systematically and deliberately bullied and bullied and bullied. I was their chosen victim. You know how there's always that one kid - that one person who is too shy to stand up for themselves, too scared to say anything, thus leading that one kid to be the vent for *everybody's* spleen?

I was that kid.
I was that kid and it still affects me. I am too shy to talk to people I don't know because I don't want them to judge me. I am too shy to say "Hey how's it going?" to somebody I want to get to know because I'm afraid they don't want to talk to me. I can't string a sentence together properly in front of people I don't know - because I get that nervous.

I don't wear glasses any more - I don't eat woggy foods - but I still get bullied. Every Day.
And I cope with it now. Don't say anything, don't react, just try to put it all behind me. I ignore the stares, the whispers, the outright bitchy comments.

But it still doesn't make it hurt any less.
(Poppet some assembly required., Wed 13 May 2009, 14:00, 31 replies)