Does a story about avoiding a fight count?
I used to run a pub with my dad, it was a bit rough. It was opposite the Magistrate's Court, so Thursdays usually saw the place full of the less desirable members of society celebrating their acquittals or drowning their sorrows. Most of the time it was fine, some of the guys were, although clearly scallywags, quite a good laugh, and generally they were always nice to me, my mum & dad & the other staff - it was just each other they used to like knocking seven bells out of O_o

One Saturday afternoon there was a Scottish guy sitting at the end of the bar, getting steadily more and more and more pissed. He wasn't a regular, I'd never seen him before, and he was making me a bit nervous. He'd already kicked off a couple of times and been calmed down by his mates - proper stereotypical drunken ranting along the lines of "I love you, you're my best mate you are, I fuckin' love you, wanker, I'll fuckin' 'ave you, fucking cunt, what are you looking at? mumble mumble" before settling back down - this usually being directed to whoever was walking past him at the time.

At one point, he beckoned me over and told me he was having one more pint, then going. That was a relief, I hadn't been relishing the idea of throwing him out - those of you who've met me have probably realised that I might look like a bruiser, but I'm actually more of a teddy bear fucking wimp. Before he went though, he wanted to tell me a joke.

Remember I mentioned he was Scottish? Well he had a proper Glaswegian accent, which was fairly hard to understand when he came in; several pints had rendered him nearly unintelligible to me. Seriously, it was like Russ Abbott's C.U. Jimmy. So the joke went like this:

Him: "Ah hee a hur a hee a hur hur a hee a hur"
Me: "Right... go on"
Him: "Ah hee a hur a hee a hur hur a hee a hur"
Me: "Okay!" *smiles encouragingly*
Him: "Ah hee a hur a hee a hur hur a hee a hur"
Me: "Ha, right?"
Him: "Ah hee a hur a hee a hur hur a hee a hur"
Me: *nods"
Him: "Ah hee a hur a hee a hur hur a hee a HUR!!!" *laughs*
Me: *laughs uproariously*

With that he downed his pint, shook my hand and left. That was twenty years ago, and I don't know a single word of that entire joke.

tl;dr - I pretended to understand someone so that he didn't punch me
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 14:19, 3 replies)

Just leaving
this here.
As much for some renewed shit-flinging as anything else.

Enjoy.

Or not.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Thu 14 Mar 2013, 13:52, 16 replies)

Bar fights (shameless repost)
While I was at college I had a holiday job in a rough-ish pub in Wolverhampton. It was a bit of a bikers' pub and had a bad reputation for that, but I never saw any trouble from them. I used to work in the bar, not the lounge, and there was a group of young blokes who used to come in most nights, and get smashed Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. When they were pissed there would usually be arguments and sometimes a fight. It was always obvious when they were going to get physical - you would see one of them strutting around, touching his groin, psyching himself up. It was like something off a David Attenborough programme.

One Friday evening one of these blokes came in, obviously the worse for wear. He started arguing with another bloke: they were standing face to face, yelling at each other, both rubbing their (own) groins as hard as they could. The landlord, who was out the back, was ex-army and a boxer: he kept a 2-foot long iron bar under the counter just in case. I yelled, "Keith, get out here". He yelled back, "Hang on a minute." Suddenly the two blokes started laying into each other: beer went flying, glasses smashed, innocent people leapt out of the way, and their friends started to join in. "Get out here now Keith," I yelled as I (foolishly, and quite out of character) jumped over the bar and went to break the fight up.

Just before I managed to lay a finger on anyone there was a meaty hand on my shoulder pulling me back, and another meaty fist reached out to grab one of the fighters by the collar. "Get behind the bar, you soft arse, watch the till", growled Keith as he separated the ring leaders and defused the situation in an instant. I sloped back behind the bar, happy that he'd waded in, not me, and wondering where I got the idea that I'd be able to do anything. That night Keith showed me the switch for the panic lights - ultrabright lights you switch on if there's a problem, which temporarily stun everyone. "Next time, throw the switch you daft cunt."

Incidentally, the blokes in the bar used to call me 'Bamber Gascoigne' because I was at university, I wore glasses, and I could work out their change without using the till.
(Smale is stuffed, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 13:47, 3 replies)

Curry shop smashup
I started my first ever job for a high street car insurance broker back one December in the mid-90's. I was told that they would be having their Christmas do at the local curry shop across the road. Fueled with the excited anticipation that all sorts of shennanigan's happened at company Christmas parties i was looking forward to a drunken rendezvous with Louise the data entry girl. After the main course had finished and several pints had been downed the MD stood up to give out various prizes for peoples achievements throughout the year. Just a load of tat really. I won the new boy award, which was some kind of misshapen teapot!

The boss then gave his last prize to Stephan..the office wideboy who sported an impressive mop of hair. Stephan opened the present to find a pair of scissors, to which the boss shouted "You've won the cut your fucking hair award", to which he impressively jumped across the table, grabbed the scissors and started chopping into Stephans locks.

Well, fuck me, every grudge that had built up through the year was let out as 15 people started beating the crap out of each other. At one point a full pint of larger went whizzing past my face and smashed into a picture on the wall. It was like something out of one of those wild west bar fights!

Louise ran past me crying and i left following her hoping for a comfort shag which alas never materialised.

The best bit was the next day where we all watched the MD walk sheepishly back to the restaurant with brown envelope full of cash in an attempt to not get them to press charges!

Christmas parties have all been downhill since then!
(wozza_c, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 13:38, 9 replies)

Rev up those Hondas, we're in for a week of ULTIMATE HARDMAN 2013.

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 13:26, 2 replies)

Acton, 1994
Or maybe '95

Me and a couple of my housemates decided to go for a quiet weekday evening pint to a pub we'd not tried. It had one of those bars where the lounge and saloon are on opposite sides so you can see through from one to the other, like a large serving hatch with beer pumps on the bottom edge. There were steps up to it, so we could only see the top 18 inches or so of curtains, pictures on the wall, and a TV mounted on a shelf up by the ceiling.

So we're sat sipping our beers in the lounge, the only people in there. The bar person had nipped out to collect glasses or something. Our conversation lulled and we noticed the whole place was eerily quiet, then suddenly, from the bar, there was a cacophany of shouting and a single chair sailed through the air from left to right. Followed by a dartboard from right to left. Then several glasses, some arcing beer out of them in a spray of malty yellow droplets, passed each other as unseen hands on both sides of the room threw whatever they could at one another.

Then a yell, and the dull meaty thud of fists, knees and elbows on flesh. More chairs arced past, sometimes repeatedly, as (presumably), someone hit someone else with one several times.

It was like watching only the top third of the screen while a Wild West bar-room brawl scene played. We sat, slack-jawed, and watched as the furniture flew

Then, blue lights and sirens, and the barman reappeared with a bloody nose, the first sign we'd had that real violence was taking placed, and not some arch piece of physical theatre. We handed him our empty glasses, bade him goodnight, and went back to our local.

tl;dr I saw the top half of a room in which a big bar-room brawl took place, couldn't see any people fighting but saw the things they threw around, and it was weirdly fascinating.
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 13:23, 2 replies)

When I started with the company I work with now, at a works drinks thing, I found myself abandoned to the delights of
a 40yo ragged-haired, roll-up smoking bespectacled and brown-toothed IT geek keen to tell me about his ninjitsu training. Politely fielding the conversation, I started enquiring about blocking moves, which he was happy to demonstrate.

Seeing this happening, a bald, bearded 50yo came over to enquire, casually dropping his karartay black belt training into conversation. I asked whether the blocking in karartay was the same as in ninjitsu, and soon the pair were doing a slow informal dance of demonstrating blocks and punches, at which point I was able to extract myself and find some other company.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 13:19, 1 reply)

'Tis the Season
Having a pint in my hometown in the arse end of nowhere (the rural West Midlands) a few years back. Me and an old school friend were back home with our families for Christmas and had agreed to go for a pint one night, so we headed to the local Wetherspoons (before you judge me, it's one of only two pubs in the town centre anyone under 60 would want to go to, and the other one's full of cunts).

Anyway. I was always a bit wary in this place ever since a Christmas several years previously where a chance remark from a friend of mine, asking someone if they'd mind terribly letting him past, had very nearly led to a brawl with the entire local football side, who were on their Christmas Party and doing their best to impersonate the obnoxious behaviour of their professional counterparts. So we had a few beers, kept ourselves to ourselves, had a chat, etc.

After a while, two blokes asked if they could share our table. Of course. We got chatting, and it turned out that were also local and our age but had been to another school, we knew some of the same people around town. We had a good chat, had a laugh etc. It was all in the Christmas spirit of peace on earth and good will to all men.

Then, as we were heading off, one of them said 'Hey... I don't suppose you er... fancy a fight?'

Eh?

'Sometimes we pop up to the car park by the old market at the end of the night, meet a few mates, and have a bit of a scrap.'

Eh?

'It's sort of like... Fight Club.'

No thanks.

'Alright. No problem. Have a nice Christmas.'

So there you go. I was invited to join my home town's version of fight club by having a Yuletide punch-up in a car park. I'm slightly worried I might be breaking some sort of rule by talking about it, actually...
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 13:18, 2 replies)

I once invited the Birmingham uni women's rugby team to my flat.
One of them stayed behind and beat the crap out of me so I had sex with her in the bottom.

Star Wars.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 12:48, 5 replies)

Fucking Star Wars.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 12:45, Reply)

The homeless do like a punch up
I used to volunteer for Crisis, ending up as a shift leader running temporary shelters.

We had quite a lot of training on how to break up fights, so that less experienced volunteers didn’t have to get involved. As I’m only 5’9’’ I appreciated the training a great deal.

The rules of tramp fight club seem to be:

 Security guards in local supermarkets deserve to be punched for trying to stop them shoplifting.
 If the two people fighting are of different nationalities then every other person around will want to join in taking one side or another (time to call the police, fuck trying to break a riot up).
 They always want the other party arrested afterwards.
 Weapons are a priority. It is possible to use pretty much anything as a weapon (I have seen tables being thrown at people)
 Carry out your threats or you’ll lose ‘face’.
 Don’t spill blood in case you contract HIV from the other person. (WTF?)
 Nothing is too trivial to fight over (I have witnessed two women kicking the shit out of each other over a disposable lighter).
 Visible injuries should be considered a badge of honour.
( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 12:37, Reply)

I'm more of a lover than a fighter
So when the 6'6'' meathead offered me out

I fucked him up the arse
(LetsGetDownToIt, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 12:30, 1 reply)

I once got in to a fight with the old man
I lost an arm, but then he lost an arm when I beat him in the re-match. He's dead now anyway. Star Wars.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 12:27, 4 replies)

Where's your tool?

( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 12:24, 9 replies)

Gah!
I was called for jury service in the early 90’s and the first case involved a fight in a pub…or something. Anyway, after a couple of days of carefully presented evidence, sob stories, character references and the like the judge bloke gave us a reminder of our solemn duties we were locked away to decide the guys fate. One and a half seconds after we were seated a woman to my right decided to give her pronouncement;

"Guilty! I knew he was as soon as I saw him. He looks just like Dirty Den."

I wanted to punch her repeatedly in the face til she stopped twitching, but apparently that’s not allowed.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Thu 14 Mar 2013, 12:19, Reply)

Getting the most out of your fight...
I’m actually a black belt in Ju Jitsu, and also did a bit of Judo. Haven’t trained for years, but when I was a teenager I trained three or four days a week, practiced at home, watched a lot of instruction videos and the like. Due to going to a fairly horrible school, and then living in some fairly horrible areas since, I have had one or two chances to practice. So here’s my SnowyTheRabbit, Internet Hard Man guide to fighting.

1) Can you get out of fighting? Is it absolutely necessary? Even if someone’s getting in your face, they’re just trying to intimidate you most of the time. Can you just walk/run away? Because you might get hurt, fighting, you know… If in doubt, leg it.

2) OK, so you’re in a situation where you really do have to fight. You now have two options. You can either take the initiative, or be defensive.

3) There’s often much to be said for being defensive: the fight may still just fizzle out without anything happening, they may just try and lamp you once and then give up. Most fights are like this. People are much more willing to threaten violence than to use it. Also, if you know what you’re doing, being defensive gives you the opportunity to react to their moves. Think about how boxers fight – they wait for the opposition to strike and then use the opportunity to counterattack whilst their opponent is not focussed on guarding themselves. Don’t be the one who loses focus on guarding yourself.

4) On the other hand, if you decide to be offensive, get in quick. Going at someone like a madman and trying to hurt them as much as possible is likely to scare the shit out of them and make them stop. In martial arts it is generally discouraged because you’re fighting someone who is trained to react, but if you’re just getting involved in a brawl in the street with someone who’s probably drunk, emotional, and not thinking very straight, then committing to attacking them may be your best option.

5) Now assuming they haven’t given up and you haven’t legged it, you have to attack at some point – this is true whether you’re being defensive or offensive. Hurt them. Lots and lots and lots. And as quickly as possible. A kick to the goolies is good, but you generally find most men have such an inbuilt protective instinct that it’s actually harder than you think to get someone this way. A hard kick to the knee is much more likely to hit home as they probably have their feet rooted to the ground, and it hurts like fuck and stops them chasing you (caveat: you may break their knee). Another point is that you probably don’t want to punch them close-fisted to the head, because it will hurt you as much as it hurts them if you make a decent contact. Boxers have great big gloves on for this exact reason, but you won’t. Try punching open-handed with the ball of your hand if you go for anything hard. Also, why always go for the head? That's what they expect. A punch to the solarplexus will wind someone badly,and if you miss you’re likely to get the gut or the throat, both of which also work quite well. Don’t try to kick them anywhere above the knee – even people who do martial arts all the time know that this hardly ever works.

6) If all else fails, and you haven’t now run away/hurt them enough to stop fighting, you need to take them down to the ground. Most fights end up on the floor, and whoever brings you both down has the advantage, generally. Trip them, throw them, push them… whatever works. Get on top of them, so they can’t get away. DO NOT try and punch them. You won’t get any force behind it and you’ll probably miss and punch the floor anyway. If necessary, use your elbows. Mainly, though, I’d advise using this as an opportunity to end the fight by getting other people involved to break it up, or calming them down yourself. Remember to keep your head down at this point or they’ll use a loose arm or leg to get you.

7) Most importantly of all, after a fight, it’s important to think about how you bring it up in conversation. You don’t want to sound like you’re a total bullshitter, or a violent thug, but you do want people to know that you’re a hard man. Try to make sure any injuries are on display (short sleeves are good for bruises, and the like), and then when someone asks you what happened, seem reluctant to answer at first, before casually explaining that you had to get in a fight. It’s important not to exaggerate too much at this point: stick close to the actual facts. No one will believe you if you claim to have pasted three big guys, but they might believe slighter exaggerations. Also, you generally get a better reaction if you can blend their admiration for your fighting skills with a bit of sensitivity. After explaining how you beat the shit out of the guy who tried to rob you, try adding ‘Still, though, I was really shaken up by the whole thing. And I hope I didn’t hurt him too much, despite everything…’. This will ensure women fuss over you whilst also admiring your hard man credentials.

In short, though, and in all seriousness, don’t get in a fight unless you can't avoid it. You don't want to end up in Casualty with a glass in your face.

The golden rules are: Run when you can. Don’t forget to defend yourself. Don’t do anything that’s going to hurt you more than them. Get it over with quickly.

Happy scrapping!
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 12:17, 21 replies)

See you, you cunt
I'll cut you first
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 12:16, Reply)

Street violence and the world's worst have-a-go hero
(I'll get this one in early, as it's a shameless double-pea-roast so you've probably all read it before.)

One night I was strolling home with a friend after a night out. Up ahead there was a couple having a blazing row in the street; we were going to have to pass them, so I was watching them carefully.

Just as we reached them, the argument appeared to reach a crescendo, and the bloke suddenly reached behind to his back pocket, whipped out what I assumed was a knife, and was bringing it around towards the woman's face.

Then, to my utter amazement, I find that I've tackled the knife-wielding maniac, and I'm pinning him against the wall by the wrists. He looks totally shocked; I suppose I look fiercer than I really am, especially from about 10cm away. In reality I'm a soft southern bastard who couldn't fight a cold, of course.

We stare at each other for a moment, then both our eyes flick up to the knife. Which, I'm sure you've worked out already, wasn't a knife at all. In fact, what he was holding was a piece of paper, which he was intending to wave accusingly in his partner's face.

So, now I'm stuck. There's really no well-defined protocol for having aggressively attacked a total stranger for what could have been no more than literary criticism. I release his arms, and we gradually back off, with muttered apologies and careful, watchful reassurances. Eventually both groups could go on their way. The last thing I heard as they wandered off was the woman, saying to the man, "See! Now look how you've embarrassed me in front of those people!"
.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 12:02, Reply)

Ah memories...
Back in me yoof, in the dark satanic MIGHTY Macclesfield, much drinking and moving about to music had taken place at The George. We moved in our collective to the local burger shop. While waiting outside, a local lass passed us by shouting at anyone who listened. Seeing she was a bit refreshed, we waited out the storm and in time she passed us by and in to the burger shop we went, half a dozen at a time as it was only small.

Having successfully obtained the food, I wandered into the night once more. She was back. With her 'man'.
"it was him, he were laughin at us" she said to anyone who stood close enough, her fella then gave them a good dose of lookin at... none of us caved though and the pair moved over to a corner with some more of their friends that had gathered.

I turned to one of my fellow night dwellers and whispered (I'm sure I whispered it, but alas no, twas more of a shout) "Aren't ya glad she's not ya mum eh?" I then took I bite of my burger, feeling triumphant I had summed the situation up with such wit.

Her fella heard my claim and came bounding over. I managed to duck his fist of fury that was aimed square at my face. But his momentum threw him on my back. I was now giving a piggy back to a man who wanted to hurt me in many ways. He had a good grip of me too. At this point I remember vividly shouting out "ay! watch me burger!".

His arm had swung up ready to deliver the killer blow. At this point 2 things happened in quick succession. first my mate managed to grab his arm mid flight, stopping the punch. and second the blokes mates came running over shouting "leave it, it weren't him, leave it".

More importantly, the burger had survived (it was a double cheese burger, £2.50). I Don't know what I'd've done if i'd dropped that burger. Probably bought another I guess.

That's the only 'fight' I've ever been in.

Length? I never apologies for length, only content.
( Ya What Skiddlyboop, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:58, 2 replies)

I have quite a big nose.
I found this out the moment I started school. I am also built like a streak of piss, and have the sort of face that some people love to hate.

In my early 30s, having left a stunningly crap staff Christmas party, I decided to dip into my old local in my borough of Mordor, and have a sharpener before going home.

The pub is pretty empty, and I prop up the bar with a cigarette and a pint, enjoying a quiet moment.

There is a bloke a few feet away from me doing the same.

"Oi." says bloke.

Oh god, thinks I - here we go. I ignore him.

"OI." says bloke, "OI BIG NOSE!"

This prompts me to go a bit Steve Martin on him - "Honestly?! Really?! Is that the best you can come up with?! Jesus Christ man it's pathetic! It's RUBBISH! Get some GOOD material because that's CRAP!" rar rar rar I rant on for a bit - against my better judgement, I add, as the bloke is really quite big and hard-looking.

Somewhat taken aback, the bloke initially appears to concede "Alright, mate, alright ..." and then the kicker "So, er ... do you fancy a fight?" he asks - almost coyly.

I look him up and down, "No!" I say, "You're about six foot three and built like a shit brickhouse; I'm five foot eleven and built like string! You'd KILL me!" What the fuck gives me the impression that being this shouty and aggressive to him is a good idea I don't know.

"Fair enough." says bloke, and returns to his pint and pondering.

Ten minutes later, he reaches into a pocket, and pulls out a quid.

"Here you go," says bloke, "I bet you a quid down that that bloke over there can't spell dyslexia."

Christ.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:53, 5 replies)

Some bloke cut my arm off
then this other time I stabbed him and he fell down a hole.

Despite this, that other bloke and my sister became really famous.
(username failed moderation, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:39, 3 replies)

Like some scene out of a Martial arts movie.
My best mate has a friend who was a highly ranked multi displined martial artist and one evening they were enjoying a pint in a rather dodgy pub. At some point in the night some guy came in with a group of mates and without warning punched some girl to the ground.
While her friends were attending her the martial artist guy approached the group and rather than retaliating, politely suggested that they'd better leave.
He gave appropriate warning to the group of guys and, as he was hoping, when one of the guys started to kick off decided to act physically.

My mate described it as 'There was a bit of a whirlwind lasting maybe 30 seconds or so which ended in all the guys lying on the floor in varying levels of unconsciousness.'
The guy then sat back down next to my mate and carried on drinking his pint as if nothing had happened.

On another note the martial artist guy once bought my mate a birthday present of a Katana Samaurai Sword. After unsheathing it and noting the ease the razor sharp blade cut through various test items he realised it wasn't any old ornamental device and decided the safest place for it would be in his loft out of harms way.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:35, Reply)

Silent punch up repost
Ive seen some bizzare scuffles in my time but what I saw in one of Waterloo station's pubs about 10 years ago really takes the Huntley and Palmers...
I was waiting for a girlfriend to come back from a trip away with her posh kids Army cadets-the OTC- I decided to have a few to fight off the boredom..
So yours truly sits down with the paper and a pint of Red Stripe noticing the large group of rather inebriated teenagers swarming the place..
The aforementioned teens became more and more pissed and lairy but there was something about them I really couldn't fathom..something about their rowdiness that I couldn't put my finger on..soon a fight broke out and it was quietest fight id ever seen...no shouting, no swearing, no threats, no bravado...it was only when the Plod turned up and arrested them all that I found out why this fight had seemed so odd...on questioning the Plod about who they were I was told:'they're all deaf and mute mate..cant you see their hearing aids?'

....which explained the complete silence during the fight and its build up
( bigmeuprudeboy is using powerpoint or paint...have MERCY, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:30, 3 replies)

I'd like to start a fight right now. Come on, any of you... Outside.
Pffft. 'Outside'

/as if
( The Great Architect is still waiting for his account to be deleted on, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:28, 4 replies)

I'm thinking about
buying a shed.

Any suggestions?
(username failed moderation, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:22, 4 replies)

Of all the suggestions made, this was chosen?
Speechless.
(username failed moderation, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:19, 2 replies)

first
at least i think i am because i'm ignoring everyone, i thought you should know
( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:19, Reply)

FIRST!
First important one, anyway.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:12, Reply)

If you're not furst
you're last
(Geoff Furst Always coming first, so you don't have to, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:09, 1 reply)