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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)
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Instant parental payback

what a total cnut that geezer is. I wouldve done the same.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 14:02, 46 replies)
i once knew a kid
who was regarded by the whole school as slow.Time and again he'd be surrounded by a group of jeering morons who'd upbraid him in harsh terms for being a 'retard' or somesuch.
Their favourite game was to offer him a fifty-pence piece and a pound coin.They knew he'd always take the fifty pence because it was bigger.It was their favourite trick and they'd do it time and again to jeering laughter.
Once after many months of this I stopped him.
'Don't you realise that they're making fun of you with the whole fifty pence/pound thing,mate?They're doing it for kicks and laughing at you!I'm sure you know that a pound is worth more!'
'Yes,' he said,looking up at me shyly.'But if I took the pound they'd stop doing it.' and walked off shaking his head like I was an idiot which,in all fairness,I guess I was.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 13:51, 5 replies)
I used to live in a small, and probably rather inbred, village in the Midlands. No one ever moved out of there (to put it in perspective when I was an undergrad I did some research in the local library for my thesis using a set of legal and financial documents from 1570 to 1620 - there were four prominent families named in the village in that period - and in my class in primary school there were four kids with those surnames whose families were proud that they had inhabited the same festering gene slime for generations).

Edwin (as I shall call him), was a prime example of one of these families. Ridiculously parochial pride in being from the village, viewed anyone who wasn't from the village, wasn't white, and wasn't in the 'hard village crowd'(TM) was a target to be taken. Edwin also thought of himself as a hardman, mainly as his father had been in prison, and because he was now going to a local secondary school with a bad reputation in the nearest town. A lot of people just thought he was a cock, but couldn't say it to his face, mainly because he'd push your face through the back of your head for doing so.

*wavy lines*

A few years later I'm 16, Edwin must've been about 19 or 20 at this point. I was with a few friends in one of the local pubs - a real dive with a gravel car park. Edwin was also there. By this time he had graduated to petty crime, vandalism, intimidation, low-grade racial abuse of the only none white family in the whole place, and generalised bullying of anyone whom he considered to be an appropriate target - basically anyone. He wanted to be the village alpha bully and no one was going to stop him. Given that the village had had a policeman until he'd unfortunately died and after that you saw the police about once every two years Edwin got away with it.

Anyway, we're in the pub. Under-age rural drinking. Also in the pub is a quiet, withdraw fellow of about 40. He'd been in the village about a year, worked in a factory in a nearby town and, beyond that, all anyone really knew about him was that his wife had recently had an affair with Edwin's dad and that consequently his marriage had gone belly up.

Edwin, being the sensitive soul that he was, decided that it was time, in a crowded pub, to draw attention to the fact that his dad had screwed this guys wife. Repeatedly. We sat there watching in silence. You could see the poor man grinding his teeth, getting more and more angry, as this young thug mocks and abuses him. Eventually the wastrel throws a pint of beer over the guys face.

Silence falls in the pub... the local farmers wives hold their six fingered hands to their mouths in shock. The guy stands up, and Edwin squares up to him, malevolent excitement pouring of him like cheap aftershave. The guy then walks to the door of the pub and goes outside. Edwin follows, abusing him more, kicking at the back of his legs. We all crowded to the windows to see what happened.

It was probably when Edwin spat on the back of the guys head that he lost it. The guy turned round and punched Edwin, *hard*. Edwin fell over, a look of shock on his face that someone, finally, had hit back. He tried to stagger upright, threatening to beat the living shit out of the guy for standing up to him, don't you know who I am, I'm the village hard man I'll kill you. That sort of thing.

What happened over the next 5 minutes I still remember clearly. Edwin got the shit kicked out of him, at one point scrambling under a car to try to hide from the now incandescent guy who dragged him out by his feet to beat him more. It took three locals to drag the guy off, and the local doctor (who was also in the pub) took Edwin over to the surgery to check him over. As he walked past us he was crying.

It turned out the guy had been in the Army and, supposedly, had fought during the Falklands war. He was arrested but I never found out what happened to him. Edwin was black and blue for quite some time, but his reputation had gone and he seemed to be sliding into alcoholism and depression.

*wavy lines*

Few years later, I'm back from abroad an am drunk in a nightclub in a nearby town. Who should I run into but Edwin. He remembers me and, being drunk, I talk to him. It turns out that after being beaten like that he'd had a bad period and had reassessed his life. He'd done his A-Levels at college, and was now working, and engaged to his girlfriend. He freely admitted that he'd been a total cock when younger and said that his father had pushed him to be a hardman like he himself was.

I haven't seen Edwin for a few years, and I probably won't see him again, but as I understand it from my ex, who's parents still live in the village, he recently surprised everyone by deciding he wants to be a priest.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 13:51, 4 replies)
This one time...
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 13:39, 2 replies)
Being bullied by an eleven year old
I recently moved in with my long-suffering girlfriend, in doing so I’ve inherited a couple of stepsons. Non-identical twins in fact.

The transition from friendly bonhomie while I was first dating their mother to becoming an authoritarian figure now that I’m living there has gone remarkably smoothly, with very little petulance over the change in status quo. I’ve grown very attached to the little chaps, most of the time they’re great kids and a pleasure to be around, but occasionally something will kick off and their competitive spirit will force them into small acts of rebelliousness against the new regime.

Of the two boys “F” is the prototype brooding alpha male. He’s a popular kid who loves sports and being the centre of attention, it’s also fair to say he’s had the hardest time coming to terms with someone else being in close physical proximity to his mother.

One afternoon whilst the twins, their mother and I were sat in the car, “F” expressed his displeasure in a very succinct way, stretching the very limits of sophistication for eleven year old wit and dropping the ultimate in wisecracks for which there simply is no answer to.

“You’re gay”

At that point both boys dissolve into teary laughter. The resolve of my authority was being tested and “F” knew it. My girlfriend turned her head toward me and raised an eyebrow. The bar had been lifted.

“You’re gay. G-A-Y. Gay”

How can I respond to that? Do I challenge him to an arm-wrestle? Do I open my beer bottles with my teeth? How do you best a physically confident eleven year old who in all probability is going to grow bigger than you within a couple of years?

I thought long and hard. Whatever I said next didn’t just have to top the last remark in the here and now, it had to stamp my authority on the situation for ever after. I took a deep breath and replied.

“Your mum”.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 12:58, 14 replies)
I've never been bullied but i have bullied one person and i still do.

it's this little girl i found in an apartment in portugal i forget her name
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 12:50, 1 reply)
Bullied Boy
This is a story about an odd person in my year at school. This kid litteraly invited bullying onto himself with the things he said and did.

The best example (well the clearest one I remeber) was at the begining on a school term. He waslks into his (largly jewish) class and yells "Heil Hitler man" He gets a beating.

Things continue, he says/does stupid/nasty things and gets beaten up by almost everybody in school (including the nerds)

The other freaky thing about him is that he;s always smiling when he gets beated upon.

A few years later I'm talking about school experiences with a girlfriend and I tell her this story. She listens, thinks about it and asks: "Do you think he may of enjoyed being beaten up a bit too much?" The question sinks in and I suddenly feel sickened.

This kid is a masochist and we've been helping him get off..... ugh
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 12:45, Reply)
This swot got me chucked out of school because her dad was an overbearing cunt.
Then to cap it all I was put into a care home and raped by one of the carers in the back of his Honda Accord.

I might end it all.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 12:10, 27 replies)
Rugger Buggers

This story is well known where I used to live. How a man bullied an entire Rugby Club.

He walked into the bar at the local rugby club after the game, ordered a double whisky and walked over to the players. Staring at them he said:

"The next one of you bastards who fucks my wife I'll do time for. Understood?"

Drank his whisky and walked out.

(, Fri 15 May 2009, 12:10, 4 replies)
No heroics
I had a relatively bully-free schooling, but my problems started in adulthood.

Local cricket club is my 2nd home & I was regularly bullied by one person during my 20s & 30s.

Only ever after 10.30pm though, once enough ale had been sunk for him to get into one of his black moods. He chose his targets carefully, only people he knew wouldn't fight back, 60 year old blokes & the like.

I reckon there are three personalities when drunk

1) Daft as a brush
2) Sleepy
3) Violent

Yer man regularly fell into category 3

I haven't had any violent physical contact with another human being for 30 years now, a stat of which I am quite proud, but one of the reasons is my shy & timid nature, I avoid confrontation whenever possible.

In this situation avoidance wasn't possible, he had decided I was a cunt & responsible for everything he saw as wrong within the club. I tried to reason with him (pointless really) but there was no talking sense to a man in a drink-induced rage.
He always seemingly hovered on the edge of physical violence, but never actually had a pop at me, maybe because I'm a big bloke. It didn't stop him with other people on other occasions. The verbal abuse was awful though, a genuine attempt to make me feel like my username as a human being.
The next time we met, nothing had occurred, everything was fine. Until the next time. This happened seemingly at random, so it wasn't possible to predict danger & get out of the way, unless I avoided the place altogether, which wasn't going to happen. The number of incidents probably numbers over 20.

It is at this point in the story where I should tell of you my epiphany, the moment things changed & I discovered the solution.

But I can't, I told you I'm a gutless fucker when it comes to confrontation. You put it down to the drink talking & move on. I even bought my house from him.

Fortunately for me he no longer frequents the place.

He holds a unique position in humanity for me. The only person in the world I truly hate.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 11:47, Reply)
You shouldn't bully people.
It gives them a lifelong sense of vague victimhood, which leads to them eventually joining the Taxpayers' Alliance and UKIP.

Bullying's bad.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 11:46, 6 replies)
*deep breath*
Ok, I guess this is supposed to be cathartic, but I'm not so sure going over this will lead to a sense of relief. Still, time to man up and soldier on.

Way back in my childhood years I used to hang out with one kid (I won't name him, I still see him now and then) all the time, we were practically brothers. I say brothers, he could occasionally show a mean competitive streak on him, but he always looked out for me. We did the usual boy stuff, running around making noise, or building dens in the woods near the house, but during the cold hard winters of my youth I would always end up in bed with one bug or another.

It was during these bouts of illness that the differences between me and my best friend really came out. My Dad was kind and caring, always making sure I was kept warm, but my friend's Dad was a complete cunt. We weren't dumb kids, we knew his Dad was a drunk, and when he wasn't shouting at or threatening his wife, he'd be yelling or hitting his son. To be honest, it was frightening at the time, he could be so unreasonable and violent. There is nothing worse than a drunk coward who has to bully women and children to make themselves feel strong.

I've blocked out most of the details of the abuse that my friend and his mum suffered at the hands of this cunt, but the events of one night in particular keep coming back to me. It was a cold, December night, and I was ill once again (which had ruined me and my friend's chances of a bloody good snowball fight), when we heard shouting from downstairs. His Dad was drunk again, and yelling at my friend's Mum, but he was also yelling at my Dad! Sure, they'd traded insults before, but never before had he flat out threatened my Dad. Just as we left my bedroom, the shouts and screams were cut short by a loud noise.

I raced to the hallway, my heart pounding in my chest, where I saw a sight that shook me to my core. I feel nauseous writing about it now, but I distinctly remember having to struggle with every ounce of strength in my 9 year old body to stop from throwing myself on the floor and wailing to the heavens. My Dad was lying on the floor, barely moving, and that drunk, bullying prick of a 'man' was standing over him, laughing.

I saw red. I could feel every muscle in my body tensing as a primal rage came over me. I screamed aloud and threw myself at him, fists and feet flailing, images of my hurt father burned into my retinas. The details of what followed are fuzzy at best, but I do remember my friend picking me up off of his Dad, and looking down to see blood dripping from my hands and down the bone claws that now protruded from between my knuckles.

Turns out I'd just killed my real Dad, but thankfully my (now) brother helped me escape. Things were quite wild after that, but I've found that you just can't run away from your past. Still, things are looking up for me now, I've landed a sweet position in this school, and I've found a hot woman. Just need to separate her from her speccy-four-eyes dick of a boyfriend.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 11:24, 8 replies)
Bully deterrent: Steel Toe cap shoes
I never had that much trouble with bullies at school. The last couple of years the bullying dropped off to almost nothing.

Maybe it was because I had grown into a 6 foot, wide shouldered, long haired metaler. Maybe it was because I had a pair of shoes that I used to kick plaster off walls whever bullies were around.

I loved my steel toecap DM's. I used to kick everything with them. From walls to railings, bottles to bricks. Within a couple of weeks of owning them they'd developed a nice corrigated look and I'd had to take a hammer to them to knock the steel back into place and stop cutting my toes with the edges.

The bullying stopped completely once I accidentaly kicked my mate in the balls, causing him to pass out for a good 10-15 seconds. (I was aiming for his stomache)

Lesson: To discourage bullies, get some steel cap boots and demonstrate them infront of said bullies. Would you want to fight someone that can kick holes in walls?
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 11:22, 5 replies)
I was bullied until...

(, Fri 15 May 2009, 11:15, 11 replies)
Oooohhh!!! Dairylea triangles and crackers!!! I thought as I sat on the bench at breaktime, swinging my legs merrily as I contemplated the processed cheesy goodness I was about to receive.

Suddenly I feel an arm grab me from behind and yank me off the bench. My cheese triangles and crackers go flying, which made me cry a bit. Then I hear a gruff voice, its Dean, the designated thug of Class 4B, my form class:

"Spanky, you're a big gay! You wear glasses and that makes you a big gay!"

Being five or six, I didn't know what the fuck Dean was talking about, so, as I'm clambering to my feet and brushing leaves off my short trousers, I say:

"No I'm not... what's a gay?"

Dean starts laughing and thumps me in the arm: "You like kissing boys!"

With that I straightened my glasses, picked up my Transformers lunchbox (with matching Jazz drinks flask), planted both my hands on either side of Dean's cheeks, and gave him a big sloppy kiss.

Then I ran off.

And Dean never bothered me after that; he was too scared I might kiss him again, I think.

But this encounter made me realise something - I was different. There was something about me that made me stand out from the rest of the class, something I'd never really thought about before: I was a four-eyed little prick. This sense of being different was exacerbated a few weeks later when Form 4B went on their first ever trip to the swimming baths. It was scary. Particularly so for me as I had to get changed into my trunks, the strange and horrible smell of chlorine permeating the cold, harsh place, only to be told by the Nazi games teacher that I had to LEAVE my specs in the changing rooms. I then spent a confusing hour splashing about, walking into things and people, and generally acting like a drunken dwarf on account of not being able to see a fucking thing.

It was hard being a speccy twat.

Then I discovered something AMAZING! My dad bought me a comic on a journey over to my grandparents to keep me quiet - I opened it, and THERE HE WAS! AND HE WORE GLASSES! AND - MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL - HE WAS HARD AS FUCK!

Back in school on Monday morning Form 4B are sat round learning their two times table. I see that Dean and some of his cronies are knocking about at the back of the class. I'll show um. I'll put the fear of God into um. I put up my hand and ask if I can go to the bog. The teacher, harrassed and probably hung over with some strangers cum still dripping out her flange from the night before, agrees.

And I go.

And I come back moments later, running round the desks with my arms outstretched infront of me, making weird zooming noises. And I've put my Y-fronts on over my trousers.

"Spanky! What on Earth are you doing!?!" Screams the teacher, trying to catch me. The rest of the class are looking at me a little dumbstruck.

I stop, put my hands on my hips and declare: "I'm SUPERMAN, Miss!"

This'll learn um all! I think.

Then one of the other kids says: "Superman doesn't wear glasses. Clark Kent wears glasses and takes them off when he's Superman."

Shit - hadn't thought about that. So I slip my specs off my face, start the zooming noises again, and start running, arms outstretched-

-and being as completely fucking blind as the proverbial bat - slam right into the wall and fall back in a quivering little heap.


Bullies? Didn't really bother with me. I was far too fucking weird as a child to be bullied.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 11:12, 2 replies)
Controlling bullies
My eldest daughter was bullied at secondary school, The perpetrator was a fat ugly dim badly-dressed waste of DNA from a reputedly "hard" family. As my then wife was training to be a teacher, she urged, nay begged me to "go through the proper channels" so I did.

The teachers were worse than useless. In their own inimitable self important smug way (like all teachers) they went through the motions and even began to imply that the bullying was somehow my daughter's fault! I'd let my wife attend the meetings, she'd come back with some buzzword-laden "strategy" that they'd come up with and all would be well for a day or so, then my daughter would be back home crying her eyes out terrified to go back. When she started stuttering, screaming when the 'phone went (I later discovered that the scumbag had a habit of ringing her just to tell her what was going to happen the next day) I took control.

I arranged a meeting with the laughingly-designated "discipline committee" and the head teacher. I'd checked the relevant law regarding "In loco parentis", assault and battery etc and was ready to do my famous "Control the meeting from the start and PERSONALISE the complaint" strategy* and boy was I ready for them!

The meeting started with the head inroducing himself and the members of the panel. I didn't smile, just looked at each one whilst taking down their names. They didn't like that.

They also didn't like me taking down everything they said, in silence.

They also didn't like me referring to my notes, writing down everything they did (like leaning over to their neighbours and whispering) and demanding "One meeting, if you have anything to say it will be recorded in my notes, otherwise this meeting is over and we'll carry on at the police station".

All the staff were very nervous at the sight of this suited and booted, calm, polite, articulate and above all well-prepared (I'd been a governor at this school just 2 years before) parent rocking their belief in their omnipotence.

The head, after his speech said "Well Mr A****, how do you feel about our revised strategy"?

"It won't work"

"I think you'll find"..........I cut the twat off with

"It won't work because it's not going to happen".

One smarmy twat started to say "I think you'll find......"

I cut HIM off with " Shut up and listen"!

"What is going to happen is this:- YOU (pointing at the head) WILL remove this thug from your school - today".

"I can't do that!"

"In that case I have already instructed my solicitor to issue personal proceedings against each and every teacher that was "In loco parentis" of my daughter when she was assaulted, for professional negligence, I have their names here".

A chorus of "BUT but, I never" etc etc

"Furthermore" I said, calmly "YOU (pointing to the head) are the head of this organisation, therefore the main buck stops with you".

Twat thought I was bluffing.

I never bluff.

The very next LESSON, the dna waste was excluded. After "careful consideration" she was sent to a secure unit school where, two years later she was raped and eventually killed herself.


I've said it before.

Don't fuck with my daughters.

the moral of my story is this, if your kids are being bullied at school go for the teachers PERSONALLY. The spineless smug lazy bastards expect to be cotton-wooled through their cushy career and think they can just sweep anything under the carpet.


Protect the weaker kids, remove the scum and Joe Public will leave you alone. Don't do as above and we'll come for you - personally.
Teachers are all bullies (except Mr A who gave me a love of maths and Engineering, Mr T who was ex military and gave REAL guidelines on behaviour, and Miss B who gave me my love of language.) and expect respect from whoever they meet, just because they are a teacher.

Respect is earned and they, as a profession, have a very long way to go.

*even my boss is impressed when I go into "unreasonable" mode.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 11:07, 210 replies)
Bullied by a bloke who doesn’t exist
This has happened to me over the past few weeks and I’m still not sure what to think of it.

A few weeks ago I entered my office on a dreary Monday morning to find that my trusty coffee cup had been stolen and replaced with a plain white mug with the logo for the Dharma Initiative on the front (For those not in the know that’s the company on the TV series Lost that has various stations based around the island).

Thinking that this was some strange practical joke I set off to find the culprit. After a tour of the whole company (around 20 – 30 employees so nothing too big) I found out that everyone in the whole place has had their mug stolen and replaced by an identical Dharma Initiative mug as well.

No one took credit for this and basically everyone carried on as normal, except now looking like we were a company founded by Lost fans. I thought that this was the end of it but it got stranger.

A few days later we received an internal email from a newly created email account on our system, Jack Bauer (AKA the bloke from 24) stating that he has reviewed the current staff situation and realized that we are to be assigned to different workstations within the Dharma initiative (the email sent had each employees name and their new assigned station written next to it).

According to the email I have to leave a fiver on my desk on Friday 29th May and I will receive a new mug for the Dharma orchid station a few weeks later.

So to sum it up I think I’m being bullied into buying a mug by a bunch of ninja style Lost fans who don’t really know the series well enough to realise that Jack Bauer is in a different show.

I will probably leave the money on the desk as it is only a fiver and I think that if I don’t I may be mauled by polar bears/ beaten by a black cloud or some other weird death.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 11:05, 2 replies)
Well like most people on here, I was bullied
nothing too bad, never violent, always just snarky comments.Hell, the fat kid got more bullying than me. The one time it did get violent, I just ducked and she slammed her fist into the locker.

Anyway, by completely ignoring it, it went away. I made friends with some of the more popular kids in school, and even got talking to fist-locker girl when we were about 17.

She herself hated doing it, and was doing it to make her more popular. It's a vicious circle in school, and why the fuck we let it bother us I'll never know.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 10:53, Reply)
I sometimes come over from /talk and poke fun at people on QotW
I'm expecting a backlash any day now.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 10:53, Reply)
I used to bully everyone at school.
If you had glasses, were slightly over weight, ugly, had dandruff or I just didn't like the look of you, I'd give you a verbal or physical beating.

It made me the coolest, cleverest, hardest and sexiest bloke in the school.

Happy days.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 10:50, 2 replies)
When I was a young pup I worked as a janitor
not having a pedigree, this was pretty much the only job I could get. I worked hard though and enjoyed the solitude of the job.

Each night when I left work though, a gang of local kids would harass me. I quickly came to dread hearing their voices as I walked down the street.

"Here comes mild-mannered Penry with his gay mop !" they'd shout and within minutes I'd be bundled over, kicked and punched to a chorus of laughs.

I got sick of this quickly and decided not to leave work at all. I set up home in a filing cabinet at the office and began learning martial arts from a book I bought off a Pug I met in a bar. The filing cabinet was surprisingly roomy and once I'd perfected my martial arts skills I began work on a car. The car was just an old Honda Accord to start with, but when I'd finished, it was so cool it could change shape into any vehicle I wanted.

Soon I was ready to face my bullies. I wont go into details, but I KICKED THEIR FUCKING ASSES LOL! I fought them all at once, and didnt even use my best moves and I STILL KICKED ALL OF THEIR FUCKING ASSES AND ALL OF THEM CRIED LOL !

I now fight crime, and have frequent, hot sex with Rosemary, the telephone operator. All the guys who bullied me are now on benefits and in wheelchairs and get touched up by their gay social worker. HAH !
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 10:45, 1 reply)
Going to have to pearoast, but it's relevant
When I was about 10, one of the houses that back onto my folk’s place was owned by a local “hard nut” gangster-wannabe type, along with his wife and two kids. Really nasty piece of shit he was.

Every Sunday, he had the same routine, he would drive his prized BMW 5-Series to a pub a few miles away, have nine or ten pints with his “well’ard” cronies, probably glass some poor fucker who looked at his pint funny, then drive home. Once he got home, it would start “MY DINNER’S COLD YOU STUPID BITCH!” *SMACK* “HOW MANY” *SMACK* “TIMES” *SMACK* “HAVE I” *SMACK* “TOLD YOU” *SMACK* and so on. It would then move on to “AND YOU TWO CAN SHUT UP AS WELL!” *SMACK SMACK*.

You could hear this shit through two closed windows and a distance of about two hundred feet. And it would last for hours. His two kids went to my school, but kept having time off with things like “measles”, which they must have got a couple of times a year and “the flu” which caused mysterious swellings around their eyes.

So anyway, lovely guy.

One Sunday, he was down the pub as usual when he spotted a black kid walk past the afore mentioned Beemer. Did I mention he wasn’t exactly fond of the darker-skinned members of society? Well, he wasn’t. He comes flying out of the pub and accuses this kid (who was about 8) of first trying to steal his car, then of keying it. After hurling a bit of racist abuse about, he gives this kid a "normally reserved for immediate family members" slap and goes back to his drinking and general hardcuntness.

Ten minutes later little black kid arrives back in the pub, still crying, being dragged by his dad, points at knobhead neighbour and says “that’s him”. Guy goes up to big bully boy and says “what the fuck do you think you’re doing hitting my kid”. Bloke, safe in the knowledge that 1) He’s well’ard (in his mind at least) and 2) he’s with 10 of his “crew”, turns to the guy and says “Oh fuck off, you stupid n*****” (radio edit for racism).

Father of crying child sticks the head on the racist, bullying prick, slamming him straight down to the deck. One of the “crew” looks like he might intervene, but is stopped by a look from the now very angry father. This angry bloke then proceeds to paint the pub with the guy who hit his kid. He proper battered him. He actually beat him so badly that he lost an eye and walked with a limp for the rest of his life, since he was pretty much paralysed down one side. All while the guys “crew” stood and watched, shitting themselves in case they caught some of what he was getting.

Funnily enough, we never heard him hit his wife and kids after that, possibly because he couldn’t anymore. He moved out about 9 months later, since he could no longer afford the mortgage and, rumour has it, his wife took the kids and fucked off not long after, since she was no longer scared of him.

You lie down with dogs…
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 10:44, 1 reply)
So basically by the time I was 13 I was a black belt in every martial art known to man.
I'd started developing my own style called the shrieking cat but I did all of this below the radar because I wanted to keep my secret ninja skills hidden until I needed them.

But then this one bully at school pulled all the braids out of my hair after cooking class and I went mental. I released the shrieking cat on him and clawed his face off while all the while going "RYAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWW."

Almost immediately afterward I bedded several of the hot female teachers who daredn't tell me off cause of how bad ass I am.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 10:43, 1 reply)
I got it off Sam the Sham and the Pharoes

It was a Woolly Bully
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 10:24, Reply)
What goes around...
When I was in primary school, I was big for my age. Being a child and being bigger than everyone else, I exerted my dominance by picking on the smallest, weakest kid in our year. Ben his name was. Not a day would go by where I wouldn't make him cry and, more often than not, leave him with a new and interesting bruise. I made his school life pretty much hell for about three years or so until we left primary school and went to different secondary school.

Fast forward two years and Ben moved school to where I was going. Only now the tables had turned. In the year or so that we hadn't seen each other, he had grown about a foot and I hadn't. He was now MUCH bigger than I was. Not a day would go by where he wouldn't give me a new and interesting bruise. He pretty much made my school life a hell for three years or so until we left secondary school.

Fast forward about five years, I'm stood in a pub with a couple of lads from the gym I kickboxed out of and who should walk in? Ben! For years, I'd harboured rage about the misery he'd made my life. It was basically why I had taken up kickboxing - not only to get revenge but also so it never happened to me again. I'd always thought about what I'd do when I saw him next and it almost always ended with me being stood on his neck.

And here he was in front of me.

I ended up buying him a pint, we chatted about what we were doing with our lives for a bit and went our seperate ways. I still see him sometimes when I go back to Liverpool.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 10:24, Reply)
How to turn things to your own advantage..........
Hope this doesn't give the game away too much, but here goes......

I worked, for a while, in a fairly male-dominated environment. It was also a lab. As is the way in these places, there was a fairly high level of office 'banter', which sometimes got a little out of control. I was asked by my boss (a good guy), to let him know if I ever felt myself to be a victim of bullying or sexism in the workplace.

I told him then what I tell you now - the banter was harsh but friendly, others took more stick than me for less easily-labeled reasons. And I never experienced any true discrimination on the grounds of gender. (On the grounds of being an idiot, maybe, but not gender.)

Nevertheless, sometimes things got a little too one-sided, and a little grating. One particular day, things got a bit out of control. Myself and a (male)friend decided we had to act. We invented -

Sexism Tuesday.

With that one idea, we reduced sexism by 80% in the office.
The best part of this was that people started to self-censor. Angry rants would tail off into '.......oh, shit, it's not Tuesday, is it?'. And everybody was able to keep joking, but to let people know when they'd had enough. Of course, it tailed off eventually, as these things do, but never mind.....

The moral? - Sometimes, being able to turn things into a joke stops a situation getting out of hand. It remains my finest achievement over those 2 years.

Be nice, its my first time....

(, Fri 15 May 2009, 10:07, 7 replies)
The "Intellegence" of teachers.
Ok, before the Grammar Nazis start, I was diagnosed with mild Dysleixa after I left school-which was really usefull by then.

I started Comp, in the 2nd stream, quite a comefown for someone who had been on the "Top Table" in Primary school. I later found out the Comp operated a "Education by Postcode" system, all us kids from the scuzzy areas, 1st Stream, no chance. Apparneltry your postcode did denote your Intellegenge.
First week of Comp i'm pulled up in front of the Humanties Teacher. Who shows me my name, written in fountain pen across the Arse of Eve (adam&eve) Illustration of a schoolbook.
"What have you got to say about that?"
"It wasn't me."
"It must have been you, its your name" (I have quite a memorable name. Thanks Mum&Dad!)
At this point I had a rare flash of intellegence "Why would I write my own name?"
"So someone else wrote it then?"
I can't remeber my answer, probaly a shrug and a "looks that way"
Memory fails me now, but I think he stared at me for a while then let me leave.
Me I thought no more of It, after all it wasn't me. I knew it wasn't me because I wasn't allowed Fountain Pens, too expensive and they made my handwriting look terriibe all that smugung ink.

Then it started for 3 years till I dropped the subject.
My school reports would look like this A,A,A,A,E,A,A,A. Guess which subject?
My parents were spectatuarly useless, as the had a low opinion of the school (but were happy to send me there) At one point I had a half decent Form Teacher who noticed the discrepancy in my school reports, and "had a Word" Didn't stop the situaltion, just made the Teacher more Subtle in his methods.

Teachers Huh.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 9:51, Reply)
A lot of people are pearoasting so I thought I'd pearoast this


Be warned, this post is pretty disturbing and I'm not proud of what I did.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 9:10, Reply)
My dad always told me to hit bullies harder than they hit you
... so when I was in Year 5, when the nasty girl in our class started shoving me out of the way in the cloak room, I punched her so hard in the mouth that her teeth bled and nearly fell out.

I might sound like the mean one here, but she really deserved it.

She cried and the headmaster came in, but being a very traditional schoolmaster-ish kind of guy, he listened to both our stories and ruled in my favour. Not only was she on liquids for a week, but she also got detention.

Recently I heard that she's now a member of the labour party.
(, Fri 15 May 2009, 8:45, 6 replies)

This question is now closed.

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