Way back when I wor but knee-high to a grass'opper,
I sometimes used to play outside with a lad who lived a few doors up and went to a different school. Generally, he was OK - but often, he'd deliberately try to annoy the shit out of me and run away. As I was bigger and taller, I always managed to catch up with him and push him over, causing him to burst into tears and run back to his mum, and me to hurriedly go back home shitting myself in fear of parental retribution (which never came.)

A year or two later, I started secondary school and was in the same form as some folk from his school. Apparently, my name was already known to them, because this kid told them about the above... except in his version, he kicked my arse every time.

The moral of the story is: if you're a fat annoying little shit, chances are nobody likes you anyway and making up stories about your pugilistic skills is not going to help.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 13 May 2009, 17:33, 2 replies)

Standing up has side effects
I was a big sod of a teenager, I was also the only person in my school to play rugby and I was a Jiu Jitsu blue belt. By rights I should have been the one doing the bullying, unfortunately it was the other way round. Probably because I was English and studying at a catholic (i.e. republican) secondary school in Northern Ireland.

One day after a day of people making fun of my accent, something inside me snapped. I did a leg sweep of one of the schools more notorious hard men and when he was on the ground I started laying kicks in to him. His mates tried to lay in to me, but I had gone so psycho they didn't stand a chance.

Long story short, after the dust had settled no one would speak to me. It wasn't because I wasn't the hard kid who stood up to bullies, no it was because I was now seen as the psycho freak.

I just couldn't win.
(Grundie, Wed 13 May 2009, 17:33, 9 replies)

When I was a teenager growing up in Sweden
I was bullied by a boy who called me a little piggy. My friend told me to hit him really hard, so I hit him with a pole and he had to go to hospital. Then his big brother found out about it and told me I had a choice - I had to hold my breath under water for 3 minutes or lose my eye. He held my head underwater and just when I thought I would pass out, my friend, who turned out to be a vampire, chopped him into bits! Result!
We are now running away, she has to live in a box. It's ok, because we know morse code.
(allthatglittersisglitter, Wed 13 May 2009, 17:21, 8 replies)

Bullied by GF
A long time ago...

Wavy lines......

One of my first girlfriends was a bit...well, controlling.

When we used to go out, if I even so much as saw a (male of female) friend on a bus driving past me, then I would get a kicking - verbally AND physically.

This went on for years - I enjoyed the odd cigarette (this turned into a 20 a day habit, so maybe she was right - stopped AGAIN yesterday) - if she so much as smelled smoke on me, then yep, more mental abuse.

She put me in impossible situations where the only outcome could be a mental and/or pysical kicking no matter which path I chose.

One day, I had to pick her up from Uni. It's a long drive and on the way I saw a friend of mine walking along the path - I stopped and asked if he'd like to come along for the ride as it was a boring journey and it'd be good to have some company.

Well, the journey up there was fine. We drove up, picked her up, and drove back.

Only the drive back was in silence - with a scowling girl in the front seat making my friend very uncomfortable and me very scared.

Aparrently, picking up a friend for the journey was the wrong thing to do. I dropped my friend off at home.

The moment he was out of the car than she started on about "Why did you bring HIM with you" and "Don't EVER do that again" etc...

I jumped out of the car and slammed the door shut. We weren't that far away from my friends house and he heard me slam the door and had (wrongly) guessed that my head was between it and the body of the car and came rushing out.

We looked each other in the eye. He'd known this girl for as long as I had - and hated her. So did I. It was time to break up with her.

I ran round to her side of the car and opened up the door. I dragged her out by her hair and threw her on the ground. Rage had taken over me.

I kicked her in the throat and she let out a little gargled scream. By this time - and I admit to being in such a rage that I hadn't even notice him running towards me - my friend was on the other side of her, smashing his foot into the back of her knee in an attempt to break it...and break it he did.

In total I broke 3 of her ribs and 3 fingers on one hand, 1 on the other, severe bruising to the windpipe. He'd broken her knee and dislodged a vertibrae.

I'm not sure who the bullies were - her, or me and him.
(dchurch bah, Wed 13 May 2009, 17:11, 11 replies)

I was bullied by my school teacher.
My primary school was a CLASP system-build school, outdated even then in the early eighties. One of the problems with these schools is the walls aren't strong enough to hold the weight of a traditional blackboard (this was the eighties, remember). This particular school solved this problem by mounting the blackboards on huge great fuck-off wooden a-frames which could be wheeled around.

Now, this one teacher took a *real* dislike to me. Right at that pivotal moment in your emotional development when you're working out how to sustain friendships, this teacher decided an example had to be made. I don't know why.

She elected to move this a-frame monstrosity into the corner of the room, leaving a triangular floor space behind it. She then put a single desk there, jammed tight into the right angle corner of the room, so there was just enough space for a single chair between it and the back side of the blackboard.

And I had to sit there. For two years; P4 and P5 I had to sit with my back to the rest of the class. I was not allowed to interact with them, let alone even look at them.

This turned me into the offical class gimp. Object of ridicule and not to be interacted with. I spent my days jumping up and down from my chair to peer round the side of the blackboard to copy down whatever the old hag had written up there. All the time being made fun of by the rest of the class. I spent the breaks completely isolated; left to wander round and round the school building perimeter while others actually got to play with each other. I was the lesson, the cross on the hill; lest "it happen to you."

Why did she do this? I really don't know. I do recall I was bored shitless in her classes and could do the work way faster than anyone else. Perhaps this was her way of keeping me in my place, who knows.

Come the parent-teacher evenings and I was made out to be a right little shit; a disrupting influence on the rest of the class. Depsite this, I was still excelling academically and this kept my parents happy. They didn't care about anything other than academic achievement and I think the teacher played on their weakness.

I do know I can't keep a friend because of this period. I was robbed of the opportunity to learn how to do that. I became a social leper because of it and the reputation hung around until I left home at 16 to move to another city 200 miles away to try to start again. It was then that the cold, hard reality of not having leart how to interact with other people hit home. And it rocked me to my core. I realised just what impact those two years had. And they continue to do so now.

So thank you, Mrs. Forester. I hope you're dead by now. Or if not, growing old and senile. This is my defining memory of my childhood and I hate you for it.
(dxg, Wed 13 May 2009, 17:08, 5 replies)

Jesus cunting christ
I hope Guy Ritchie is reading this, there's enough juvenile "hard man" dialogue on here for 13 Rock-n-Rolla sequels.
( Goatworrier had your mum and she was shit, Wed 13 May 2009, 17:03, 2 replies)

True Story....... possibly.
I was bullied at school by a teacher. He taught French and for a while was my Form tutor.

All I wanted to do was art, but he was having none of it, we clashed constantly, in the end I bunked off so much, everyone had pretty much given up on me.


In the end, I stole his car and died.
Kendaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Wed 13 May 2009, 17:02, 4 replies)

king of crazy
Being well known for being a crazy person i was rarely bullied..
But one child believed they were crazier.. and one day decided he'd fight me for the crown of craziest? im not sure.. anyway it lead to him punching me 4 times in the face (ish i wasnt paying attention) right infront of the headmaster.. i never lifted a hand i just let him hit me.. and he has run away from me every time he has seen me since.. craziness champion?
Im thinking he won that battle.. but the wars all mine
(Fluffylegend, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:59, 2 replies)

Been through tough times.
I go to a school called Barry Boys. It's where the rough and tumble boys come to die. It's toughest rules, no gingers, no fatties and no small nipples allowed or you're fucking finished.

This is a crying shame for me, being a fat ginger with small nipples. It all started on the very first day. I was moving up from a decent primary school to Barry Boys as it was the only school to accept me with my embarrassingly low SAT scores. I was excited for the fresh start, the new surroundings. Little did I know I was entering a living hellhole.

I walked to school on the first day. I was a slim lad with nicely combed ginger hair. Outside the gates were three ruffians, smoking cigarettes and playing a lovely game of cup and ball. I could see they were going to be trouble, so I whispered to myself, "Don't make eye contact, that's what sets them off". I went to walk in the gate when one shouted at me,
"OI MERT",
I could feel my penis retracting in fear.
"Y..Yes?", I replied, visibly kecking myself.
"Got the time?", he said, with a grin on his face. I realised he was just a pleasant old chap wondering if he was late for his class, not trouble at all!
"Not a problem", I proclaimed, "Not a problem at all", as I whacked out my Nokia 3310 which I had modified to a point where it was able to send and receive video calls.
"It's ten to ni-", I started, before he grabbed the phone and looked himself.
"Oh, you want to see it for yourself? Well that's ok I guess," I said politely.
"Thanks mert." was his reply, before he popped it in his pocket, laughing.
"Well, I'm sure you've seen the time now. Could I have it back?", I asked. He just laughed in my face. I started to get a bit annoyed,
"What's the crack", I asked.
"I'll crack your head", he replied, as he stood up to lean over me.
"Please, just give me my phone back", I requested, with a tear in my left eye. He pushed me on the floor and him and his pals started kicking me.
"You give us 3 pound everyday or we'll belt ya!", he told me. Seeing I wasn't going to get my phone back I timidly walked into school and to my first lesson (we didn't have tutor groups in this school, as hundreds of hooligans with nothing to do for half an hour was a recipe for disaster).

My first lesson was Mathematics with Mr Lobotomy. I walked in the class and was met by a furore of laughter.
"It's a ginger!", explained the bright spark of the class. The room broke out into a chant of "Ginger pubes! Ginger pubes!".
I tried to ignore it and sat down on an island table, a table isolated from the rest of the class. A few minutes later a whale of a boy came and sat down next to me. He was tall, bald and fat and I could see his trainers were 2 sizes too big for his feet.
"I'm Brandon", the fat cunt quoth. We spoke throughout the lesson and realised we had a lot in common, including our taste in anime cartoons and our favourite band GWAR! We really hit it off and became firm buddys.

After the lesson me and Brandon went to the lockers. He opened his. I could see he had a swastika sticker in it, but whenever a black lad walked past he'd rapidly throw his hand over it. A few lads were walking towards us.
"Oh shit oh shit oh shit!", whispered Brandon, as he shut his locker.
"Hello Brandon", one of the boys said, with a sly look on his face.
"Just leave me alone, this is none of your business.", replied Brandon.
"I will", said the boy, "but just one thing", what he did next was so disgusting it stunned me. He grabbed Brandon by the balls while his friends grabbed his legs and pulled them till he fell over. Then they started stamping on him.
"Pussy", they said as they walked away. I could see Brandon sobbing.
"Are you... Are you crying?", I asked.
"They went to my primary school, they never left me alone", he explained. I helped Brandon up and rubbed his back to comfort him. Eventually he stopped crying and we went to our next lesson- English. Unfortunately we were in different English classes so we had to split.

I walked into English. The teacher, Mr Hogblom, was short and bald and constantly trembled.
"Ginger pubes!", shouted one boy. The class broke out into chants of ginger pubes.
"Oh gosh, not this old song and dance", I proclaimed, rolling my eyes.
One fellow snuck up behind me and pulled my jean shorts and Spongebob Squarepants briefs right down! The class broke out into hysterical laughter. You see, I only had one pube. It was long, thick and ginger. My mum had tried to pluck it out for me the night before but suffice to say, it was a tough'un! Then the whole class started circling around me and throwing things at me. Mr Hogblom turned a blind eye as he was busy playing Michael Bublé Shooter on his laptop.

English seemed to last forever, but after a while it ended and I was relieved there was only one more lesson before lunch- Geography. I walked into the class expecting the worst and instantly someone threw a globe at me and the class started chanting ginger pubes, once again. I'm not ashamed to say I ran out of the class, out of the school and back home in floods of tears.

I barged through my front door, fighting back the tears.
"Water you doing here?", asked my father.
"I can't go back.", I said.
"Nonsence!", he shouted, as he kicked me back out the door. I didn't go back to school though did I rofl I went to the ice rink for a quick skate. Then came back home.

That night I went on MSN so I could talk to my asian pen pal, Mindy. The conversation went something like this...
hardboy1388: hello mindy :)
pureazn101: i cant believe uve done this.
hardboy1388: ;o wot? i dont really like pie i just say it because it is funny
pureazn101: those nasty txts u sent. no i will not show u my "growler" and tht dus not make me frigid
hardboy1388: mindy ;o that was not me!
pureazn101: oh sure it wasnt, i suppose ur cusin wos on ur phone
hardboy1388: no! some naughty boys stole my phone
pureazn101: wutuf? u let ur phone get robbed? i thought u wer a hardboy
hardboy1388: i... im sorry
pureazn101: its too late t'apologize.
And with that I was blocked. What a terrible first day.

I was miserable, but I had to go back to school the next day. As I walked through the hallways more and more slurs were shouted at me. I couldn't stand the banter that no one on hell or earth deserves. I soldiered on and made it to my first lesson, double P.E., my least favourite lesson doubled.

I got into the changing rooms and whacked my iPood t-shirt off.
"Haha! Look at his small nipples!", one boy pointed out.
The next thing I knew I was being whipped by towels coming from all directions. All I could hear was a mess of guffaws and taunts.
"What's goin' on 'ere then?", shouted our P.E. teacher, Mr Lulzstrom, as he burst through the changing room doors. The lads backed off a little but I could see Mr Lulzstrom smirking at my small nipples. I felt like crying, but I held the tears back.

After double P.E. I had English. It was pretty much a repeat of yesterday, but I tolerated it and finally lunchtime had come.

I caught up with Brandon and we walked onto the playground. I hadn't realised what a jungle it would actually be! Bodily fluids were being flung around in all directions, fighting, drug taking and even anal sex was going on right in front of my eyes! One boy started pissing on me and Brandon, I recoiled in horror.
"Follow my lead!", Brandon said, as he started running. I followed him and we ended up at his house.

We calmed down by watching some Naruto. We both agreed that Sakura Haruno was the smexiest ninja.

School continued to be a living hellhole for months. I ended up comfort eating and ended up obese. I dyed my hair black but it didn't change anything. After months and months of abuse Brandon said,
"I can't take it anymore! We have to do something!", so we thought on our feet. I decided to make a poster depicting us both as real dangerous dogs. This was the result.

i42.tinypic.com/3463yp4.jpg

This didn't help matters. It only made us a bigger target. Will the bullying ever stop? I'd like to think so, but so far it's early days.

-James "SirStromming" Bowles
(SirStromming, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:54, 2 replies)

The Notorious BIG
There were 2 main bullies in my year. Jason was, and still is by all accounts, a fuckin nutcase. He quite famously walked up to a lad who had lost a fight with someone else and asked what the matter was, "my head hurts" the lad replied. At which point Jason head-butted him and uttered "well now it fuckin does". He also picked on me a few times, not out of hatred it seemed, but just for shits n' giggles... he once tripped me up and stood on my head.... literally stood on it for a good 10 seconds!... in form time.... in front of the teacher! The last time I saw him, a couple of years back (I'm early 30's BTW), he had a swastika tattooed on his forehead, Classy! (note the capital c).

Anyway, I didn't come here to tell you about him, I came here to tell you about probably my greatest moment at school.

Trevor was The Notorious BIG. He was a big-un. Taller than the average bear pupil and just enough fat to be considered a fatty without being a waddling freak. Our bully/victim relationship WAS based on hatred and it all started when we were in the first year. I had become friends with Dan (and still am, I was his best man etc), who had been Trevor's best friend at primary school. Trevor took exception to my pal-plundering antics and yea, that's how it started.

Fast forward to a typical day in the 4th year. It was the afternoon and we had Drama. The class was split into groups and we were each given a prop and asked to devise some...thing drama-ish probably - what ever we were supposed to do never happened anyway because of the earth shattering events that would take place.

I can't remember what our group's prop was but Trevor's group, who were situated next to ours in the classroom, had been given a policeman's helmet. The said "pigs tit" wasn't being used - it was on the floor, which gave me the perfect opportunity for some HILARIOUS "'ello 'ello 'ello" japery (lol, I know, like I said... hil-arious). Trevor took exception to me soiling their prop with my 1st class comedy stylings and gave me a sharp but not too painful jab on the shoulder "gis it back... it ain't yours!" he guffed. "Pffft" I thought as I tossed it across the floor, specifically away from him. He got up and retrieved the helmet, came back and swiped it at my shoulder, again, not with any meaningful force.

Now at this point I have never been able to fully understand why I did what I was about to do... I wasn't in pain, I didn't feel particularly threatened or humiliated. My only explanation is... hormones. All I do know is that independent witnesses later described that I "leaped from my chair like a frog".
I grabbed him in an Insta-headlock^TM and began to kinda... "spin around a bit" (official wresting jargon)... this was to be the fatty's downfall, literally! His knees buckled as we slammed into the wall and he collapsed onto his front, I mounted his back and began to pummel, yes pummel, the back and sides of his fat head as fast as my legs could carry me, erm... with the speed and accuracy of a diving Peregrine Falcon, like a poorly built, yet eager, punching machine.

As the dust had settled we were pulled apart - he hadn't landed a single punch - and as I'm sure most of you know, in secondary school fighting terms, this meant I had "beaten him up". Plus, me not being a twatty fatty bully, the people holding me back quite liked me and so when I exclaimed "ALRIGHT!, alright... I'm not gonna fight any more" they loosened their grip on me, freeing me for one last triumphant KICK-TO-DA-NUTS!! BOOYAH... ahem.

Epilogue.

Lets not beat about the bush, what I had achieved on that fateful day was nothing short of momentous, a true story of David and Goliath, and subsequently word spread quickly. For the rest of the day, and the next, my walks to class were like something you only ever see in cheesy American teen movies. All I saw were smiles and grins, admiring glances (no not like that, I was still an ugly cunt) and nods of acknowledgement.


I... HAD... ARRIIIIIIIIIVED!


*fade to black*


Hey, hey, hey ,hey
Ohhh...

Won't you come see about me?
I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby

Tell me your troubles and doubts
Giving me everything inside and out and
Love's strange so real in the dark
Think of the tender things that we were working on

Slow change may pull us apart
When the light gets into your heart, baby

Don't You Forget About Me
Don't Don't Don't Don't
Don't You Forget About Me

Will you stand above me?
Look my way, never love me
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling
Down, down, down

Will you recognise me?
Call my name or walk on by
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling
Down, down, down, down

Hey, hey, hey, hey
Ohhhh.....

Don't you try to pretend
It's my feeling we'll win in the end
I won't harm you or touch your defenses
Vanity and security

Don't you forget about me
I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby
Going to take you apart
I'll put us back together at heart, baby

Don't You Forget About Me
Don't Don't Don't Don't
Don't You Forget About Me

As you walk on by
Will you call my name?
As you walk on by
Will you call my name?
When you walk away

Or will you walk away?
Will you walk on by?
Come on - call my name
Will you all my name?

I say :
La la la...
( mr.dogshit The world's premier anthropomorphic canine faeces, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:50, 1 reply)

Work cnut
A few weeks ago I left my job of five years.

This was partly due to the fact I was getting bored and not learning anything new, partly because I wanted more job security, but a far larger part due to the fact that a few months previously my MD saw fit to hire a person whom I can only describe as a mysogynistic, racist twat. And that's me being polite about him.

We took him on because the company was doing badly and he was recommended as an amazing salesman. And he was good, to be fair, and in his first two months made a good deal of money for the company. However, he was also acting like a complete cnut. Here's a few things he thought acceptable:

- kicking and punching a bookcase repeatedly because his computer broke (actually, he made it overheat because he'd covered the fan on the hard drive with a pile of folders - I did tell him this but he didn't pay any attention)
- trying to kick the door in when he got an email he didn't like
- throwing a chair across the room because he thought someone was ignoring him
- refusing to speak to certain members of staff as they 'did not carry out his orders' and instead insisting that messages had to go through a third party
- slamming the phone down on people that didn't want to buy from him and yelling around the office "fucking paki/wog/other"

This continued with various complaints to management but it wasn't until he went completely mental, physically threatened another member of staff and called her a cunt (she was a 50 year old woman, one of the nicest people I've ever met and a good foot shorter than him - brave guy!) that my boss finally took the decision not to sack him, but at least to move him off site.

So, the complete twat got his own off-site office, as well as a new mobile phone, expense account and computer. Meanwhile, he refused to apologise to any of us about what happened and the nice woman whom he yelled at got made redundant.

It was at this point that I started to look for new jobs, but with the recession I was worried that I wouldn't find anything. I actually applied for a ton of stuff - some paying a lot less than I was on, just because I was desperate to get out of the company - even though he was off-site, just the sound of his voice when he phoned in (mainly to shout at someone down the phone) made my skin crawl and by this point I didn't want to work for my MD any more, given the way he'd handled the situation. Lucky I did, because two months later the decision was made that the twat was being moved back on site as we couldn't afford the separate office.

I went for an interview just a week later and got offered the job straight away. I actually now have a far better job with more pay (more than he's on), lovely people around me (no chairs flying across the room), free food (including a dessert!) every day, really close to where I live (no more sweaty summer tube journeys for me!) It also looks as though the place where I worked before will soon be going bust...

Part of my job is to book advertising space, exactly the sort of thing my last company sells. He will not be getting any money from me. I look forward to telling him this when he cold calls me and realises who it is at the other end of the phone.

In a few more weeks or so, when I've been away long enough it doesn't look suspicious, the twat is being signed up to a number of 'interesting' websites with his personal email and mobile number. My housemate also advised mailing lists, such as those offering free samples of male incontinence pads and the like - any other suggestions greatly received...
( hanabanana, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:49, 4 replies)

Back at school, some kid who barely came up to my elbows
once walked up to me, bold as brass, and triumphantly yelled "You're UGLY!!!!!" before running away as fast as as little legs would propel him, cackling like a loon all the while.

Well, that certainly told me.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:47, 4 replies)

Freed From Desire By Ghana
I accidentally thought that 'Freed From Desire' was by Ghana not Gala, some kid from Ghana beat the crap out of me, fair's fair it was a terrible smear.
(Paper_clip You are hearing me talk, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:44, 1 reply)

You want to be my "friend"?
Like most who end up in IT or generally coherent enough to be here school days could have been better and I don't want to depress me and you by going on about it.

However what totally confuses the shit out of me is why on earth someone who was a cunt to me at school would assume that 15 years later I would want to be their friend on facebook!?!?!

I didn't want to have to deal with them then when I had no choice, why would I now?

Also there is a certain reward in realising those person(s) are still in the same shit town doing shit jobs and generally miserable. While I.... well I live in a different town.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:43, 3 replies)

karma?
so one school i was at had a main bully who delighted in battering me daily and stealing my stuff, because i was poor and lived in a mobile home, and was there on a scholarship on account of being smart, he was rich and lived in a mansion, and dumb as a rock. call him kid A
when we moved house, the next school was similarly equipped with a meathead bully, who liked beating on me because my mum was a teacher there. (not my classes thankfully) kid B shall he be named henceforth.

fast forward a few years, i'm at uni, and a letter from home arrives, inside is a newspaper clipping.
a guy had basically got in a row in a pub with some rugger bugger, left, sat in his car waitign till rugger bugger came outside, then ran him down, reversed over him, ran him over AGAIN and drove off. he got life as it was his 55th motoring offence, he was disqual, in a nicked car. the rugger bugger was in a wheelchair for life.

the interesting part was the names.. very familiar, distinctive and unusual for the area names. the driver? kid B. the rugger bugger? kid A.
you can't make this shit up.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:34, 4 replies)

Mine became
school dropouts.

One became a stoned, school drop-out. The other failed his apprenticeship yet still managed to make it into uni (que?). The latter turned out to be an 'alright' guy.

The former wanted to 'finger' a friend of mine last time i saw him. At 20 years old i found his concept of small-talk hilarious.
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Wed 13 May 2009, 16:08, Reply)

Talk.
Morning fatties.

Your mum.

Whats for dinner then?

Your mum.

And your favourite cheese?

Edit. Cock Tuesday. Dont be nasty PLEEEEEEZE Wormulus.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Wed 13 May 2009, 16:04, 3 replies)

get over it people
bullies suck. ok, fine. we can all agree. you know what? i had it all. i was the new kid a lot (moved schools 9 times in the end due to parental wekaness. get bullied- moan-move school-starts again) i was the fat kid, the shrt kid, the goofy kid, the kid with big ears, the poor kid, the kid who lived in a mobile home, the kid whose mum (i shit you not here) was on local evening news talking about fairies at the bottom of the garden, at the same time as teaching in the school i ended up in! that was sweet.
i got my nose broken, concussion, fractured skull, kickings galore, ate more than a bushel of dirt, was ostracised, talked about but not to, scapegoated.. i'm not gonna bore you with anecdotes of what happened, or the times i fought back or tried to, or how wonderful my shit is now and how they ended up on smack.. though one thing i WILL pearoast later which deserves a mention.

all i will say is this
it happened at SCHOOL people. fuck me. if you're much older than say, 18-19, and you're STILL using the fact that people weren't nice to you at school as an excuse for being a gutless, timid, specimen then you have problems that lie WAAAAAY deeper in your psyche than mere playground bullying.
i didn't become an internet millionaire, i didn't bed a gaggle of supermodels, i didn't beat chuck norris in a pressup contest or leave schoool gain 100lbs and become arnie. for their part, they mostly, AFAIK, didn't turn into craven dribbling junkies, withered and unloved, pleading for my pennies. and you know what? i don't give a FUCK. because when i walk into a room, i walk in as me, not my hangups, and i'm ten feet tall and a self made man. bullies only matter between the ages of 4 and 16, and then only term time between 9-3pm. suck it up. it could be a LOT worse. wait till you have bosses, at least. stop hiding behind your issues and man(or woman) up.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:04, 19 replies)

Ah, P.E.
There's nothing quite like it for separating the strong from the weak, and even sorting them into a pecking order. The particular bête noir in this case was the Cross Country Run - out of the school gates, along the gully to the park, along the canal, down the hill, through the wood, across the playing field and back to the sports hall. Two and a half miles, come rain, snow, sleet or hail.

Like most people with an ounce of sense I figured this for more of a "taking part" than a "try your utmost" type lesson, and so used to regularly come in the last 5 out of 30 in about 26-28 minutes. The other five were a couple of other smart-and-uninterested types, and three fat kids. In retrospect an attitude of "we're too good for this" probablty didn't endear us to anyone.

Now I didn't have slope-browed, knuckle dragging bullies. I got a set of smart, easily bored sociopaths who identified early on that it's more fun and less danger to bully other kids than set fire to pets. So one fine frosty morning, as we're all milling aimlessly prior to the start, 5 kids approach me and the other strollers.

"We've got a new game, lads!" they announce gleefully. I get that sinking feeling. "It's really simple. Whoever out of us you don't beat, gives you a beating. If you don't beat any of us, we'll all give you a pasting. If you beat all of us, you get off scott-free!" Chortling to themselves and smacking fists into palms, they stroll over to the start line.

Now, to be honest, while they carried themselves with confidence they probably weren't that good. But I didn't know that, and we were so consistently bad they must have figured it was a done deal.

"Go!" yelled the PE teacher, heading indoors for a cup of tea. I suspect that nowadays you couldn't get away with letting 30 young boys run off into the local woods unsupervised, but those were simpler times when a paedophile was just encouragement to run faster.

I was first to the gully. Third as we reached the canal - so far, so good; the two who'd passed me weren't "game" players. I settled into an easy rhythm along the towpath, surprised to discover that I'm not actually that bad at running. A glance behind me as we came to the end of the canal stretch revealed one of THEM closing on me. Nooo!

I stepped up the pace. So did he. For the next 3/4 of a mile he was right on my shoulder but I refused to let him pass, my vision narrowing to a tunnel. Finally he gasped, "Christ! You're giving it a proper go. I'm out - I won't beat you up." I glanced back and he nodded at me with something like respect as he passed.

I was flagging now and more runners came up behind me as we wound through the woods, but none were my nemeses so past me they went. Just the playing field to go, there's Sir in the distance sitting in his deckchair checking times.

I crossed the finish line in 6th with a time of 18 minutes 50 seconds. My fellow victims, it turned out, were either insufficiently motivated or genuinely crap at running, as they got the shit kicked out of them.

Of course, by the next week it was back to beatings for looking at them funny, but just for a little while life was good.
( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:04, 1 reply)

I was bullied at school, for many years.
Then I grew up and got on with my life.

The end.
( The Baroness The Harlot Pimpernel, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:03, 1 reply)

A massive coincidence has just occurred.
One of the guys who gave me a fuckton of grief at school has just tried to add me on Facebook. Considering the man was dimmer than a brown dwarf, how he is using a computer is beyond me.

Any suggestions on precisely how I should tell him to fuck off?
( jim_bob can herd cats., Wed 13 May 2009, 16:03, 19 replies)

I was bullied at school
That said, if I met me aged 14 I would punch me in the face. I was an aloof, trite, annoying little fuckstain with ideas way above my station. I needed taking down a few pegs.

I'm now pretty normal, I think.
( Anthropos Was making beer on, Wed 13 May 2009, 16:00, Reply)

I wonder how long it will be
before QOTW finally takes its mums advice and tells the teachers about /talk ?
( Goatworrier had your mum and she was shit, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:56, 4 replies)

The wrong person to trip up
There I was, at a new school, on the playing fields minding my own business, till I hear a 5th former chasing a guy a year older than me, shouting for somebody to stop him..

Naturally, as he passed, I stuck my foot out and "did the good deed", superbly timing the trip, and watched in slow motion as this lad did a cracking impersonation of Superman before my very eyes.

The 5th former was laughing his head off..the other guy turned out to be 'the local nutter', and all he wanted to do was beat the living crap out of me.. The older guy knew him well and said "Leave him alone, it's not worth it". However, every day, at the end of school, he would find me, and we would fight.

He had that cold stare that would un-nerve the strongest of minds, and no matter how hard I defended myself..this guy wouldn't stop.

And so it went on, and on, and on.. for years. I have seen him since in the streets and have said hello..he's got a couple of kids now. Funny how things change as you get older..
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Wed 13 May 2009, 15:54, 2 replies)

Bullies?
As in belonging to the booby prize on Bullseye?

Some big boys with sticks did it, and ran away!
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Wed 13 May 2009, 15:50, Reply)

I'm a bully and I like ruining people's parties
Last year I invited myself to a girl's party and because she had a strange long face I decided I'd go round and burst all her balloons which made her do a sad face. The worst thing I've ever done though is I went to a party and told a young girl that Harry Potter books are rubbish and she ran off and got reinforcements and I was told I was no longer welcome at the party so I went home and played Wings on my Amiga.
( Imhotep is Invisible - Consider this a divorce, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:46, Reply)

I got bullied at school.
Which is why I am so shy and timid now. If I see a fight I run away like a girl. In fact, I just wet myself thinking about it and it's all b3ta's fault.
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!
( Captn Hood-Butter is not dead yet., Wed 13 May 2009, 15:44, 3 replies)

Bigger boys
Some bigger boys came along and closed last weeks QOTW early and I was playing with it :(

(bindun? My phone won't load page one...)
( SeasonTicketless is too often the statue, and rarely the pigeon., Wed 13 May 2009, 15:43, Reply)

Pearoast as it's apt for the only person who ever bullied me
The story of broken legs man
Again, not particularly proud of this and wouldn't do it again, but I wouldn't allow myself to be treated like that again, so it's a moot point.

Broken legs man and I first met when I was an impressionable 14 year old at YMCA day camps. He was tall, handsome and a whole year older than me. Very charming and outgoing, he went to the local posh school, whereas mine was a highly sought after comprehensive 2km away. He was going out with the camp bike and I was left to the role of best girl mate.

We met up again each summer, sometimes seeing each other during school time if our paths crossed, him looking very smart and cool while I was reduced to blushing and gibbering like a freak until I was 17, but then his mother died and with all the best intentions we lost touch for a while until I went to uni.

He spotted me in a pub back home where I had a new found confidence in myself, lots of friends, four years training in kickboxing, a decent haircut can do wonders as well as good skin which had been the bane of my life until then.

We hooked up and all was good for a few months until for reasons unknown he decided to systematically destroy my life. Not by major things that would be noticed by others, but little things like saying I looked fat in some clothes I liked - I was a size 12 at this point, but lost two stone at his behest, pointing out my weaknesses like intolerance for stupid people, how I should be nicer to his friends - not sure why as they were never nice to me and how all of my friends were shit and didn't like me.

Over the course of two years he basically broke down all my defences and made me feel like crap. He then slept with one of his hideously ugly friends and gave me an STI - not one of the horrible permanent ones thankfully, but enough to be pissed off about. I had no idea at this point that was how I'd got it as he made me think that I had it and passed it onto him. So we split up for the summer and missed each other inbetween burning doses of pain administered by nurses. He got back in touch with me and I jumped at the chance of getting back together as although I'd had plenty of other offers, I was infatuated with the little fucker.

Turned out he didn't have any treatment for his dose of nasties and within a week I was showing symptoms again and wondered why. One of his (nicer) friends took me aside and told me broken legs man had slept with another of their friends and then bragged about how stupid I was as I didn't realise. He then went on to tell me that my initial suspicions of him taking smack on a regular basis were in fact correct and the way he mashed up his chin a few weeks before was not in a car accident, but his dealer seeking to teach him a lesson for not paying up on time and sleeping with one of his bitches.

Armed with this information, plus some other stuff that I'm not going to discuss here I went to see him and when confronted, he laughed in my face. A swift roundhouse brought him down, a couple of punches broke three ribs and a few well times stamps broke his legs. One below the knee and one above the knee. The rising smell of fecal matter necessitated my exit, but not before hocking up a greenie and depositing it on his face.

Aside from everything else, if you're going to cheat on me, make it with someone better looking, not a chavvy minger with shit for brains as that's just insulting.
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:42, 12 replies)