Elevenerife
When I was about 19, myself and a couple of mates decided to go to Tenerife for our first proper lads holiday. We'd been there a couple of days working on our tans and having a few beers in the evening before we decided to do a big night out. I put on my brand new bright green 'pulling shirt', and off out we went.

We'd been to a few places before we got ushered into one shithole by the promise of 2 for 1 jugs of drink by some bird we probably thought actually wanted to fuck us since she was 'being so nice'. Almost immediately as we crossed the dancefloor, the DJ 'took a liking' to us and christened my mate Jamie 'Worzel Gummidge' due to his mop of hair, my other mate Rhodri 'Desperate Dan', and me 'Shit Shirt' for obvious reasons.

Not impressed by his wit and repartee, we all decided this was not the place for us and our chances of pulling had just gone into the minuses. As we walked out I couldn't resist sticking the V's up to the DJ. Ahhh, how I had the last word...

Don't be silly...

As I walked out the back way, my friends seemed to disappear sharpish back the way we came. The next thing I know I had that sharp 'freezing' feeling you get when you've been punched in the back of the head. A group of the DJ's mates/bouncers hadn't got quite the same sense of humour as him it seemed and all jumped me, kicking and punching seven shades of shit out of my entire being.

I tried valiantly for a few seconds to land some punches of my own before assuming the fetal position and covering my head. Eventually their legs must have got tired from kicking every inch of me and I scrambled to my feet, and made it up the stairs leading out. They finished off with a 'See what you get when you fuck with us?' kind of goodbye. At this point, still alive, not in much pain surprisingly most normal people would have hot-footed it out of there pronto.

19 year old me? "Is that all you've got you bunch of benders?"

So they dragged me down the stairs where I landed on a broken beer bottle and it went a couple of inches into my arm. Then kicked me about some more.

The second time I got up, I decided I'd had enough. And my fucking shirt was RUINED!
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 20:03, 1 reply)

Since I'm back, have a cheeky pea:
ivesb was in a fight once, sort of. He'd just come out of a shop, with a carrier bag containing his purchases: some beer, to enjoy when he got home. A CD, to listen to while he drank the beer... and a pie, to eat on his way home as he was hungry.

Anyway, someone came up behind him, smashed a bottle over his head and said "give me your money". In a rage, he turned round, chased the would-be mugger off, dropping his carrier bag in the process.

His lament of "I was looking forward to that pie too, I was really hungry" was interrupted by me, in wide-eyed childish wonder asking him what this amazing emporium of delights was, that sold not only CDs, but also beer! And pies! They certainly didn't have record shops like that round where I live... or maybe it was an off licence with a MUSIC section. Just imagine! How exciting, I couldn't wait to go and peruse it. I had mental images of a little smoky bohemian-looking place, smelling of incense, with loads of obscure music. Probably unusual beers too, imported ones that you can't normally get in this country...

Looking at me incredulously, ivesb replied:

"It was Asda"
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 19:59, 7 replies)

Blimey, I flounced!!
I've never done that before. It must be all this talk of fightin' an' shit, got me all riled up.
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 19:52, Reply)

Maybe....
....Rob should lock some of the more voluble, racist, trolling, disability mocking contributors in a room to slug it out? Given the predilection for abuse lower down the thread, it might offer a solution to the Middle Ground.

Then they could write about it.

Just a thought.

(Sorry, never been in a fight, never wanted to, in over five decades)
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Wed 20 Mar 2013, 19:10, 5 replies)

alright

( Sir Sand GOBLIN ^popular page dis, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 18:39, 10 replies)

I have had a very quick stepping for what i said about Kenny and Jess.
Sorry kenny. Sorry Jess.
( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 18:10, 20 replies)

For fuck's sake, will you lot harden the fuck up and stop whining before I kick the fuck out of you.
Honestly, you bunch of mewling pansies.
( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 16:16, 16 replies)

Token actual fight story amidst all the flouncery
Halloween 2003 I walked to the shop for pre-pub tinnies and wore a witches hat for some reason that escapes me, then this group of dickheads started bellowing "TRICK OR TREAT" at me from across the road, then a glass bottle exploded near me, then they caught up with me, and I realised I was going to have to batter the living fuck out of them.

To give them an advantage - and to protect my carrier bag full of beers - I decided to only use my face as a weapon. After breaking a few fists by headbutting them, I realised that they'd had enough, and very gallantly ran away. Like a MARINE.

Now applaud me for writing a QOTW story which is 100% true and doesn't involve bitching and moaning about trolls.
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 16:08, 21 replies)

My fight failures #32431
As outlined in another post, I used to fancy myself as somewhat ‘tasty’ in a fight.
Just to be clear, I am not. My reasons for thinking otherwise were muddled to say the least, but I think they mostly revolved around my height and my genitals. “I am tall so must be hard, I am male so HAVE to be hard.”

Here for your delectation are my top three fight failures.

NUMBER 1!
I left a nightclub with some mates and saw a mass brawl kick off in front of us. “Let’s walk home the other way,” said my friends. NEVER. I am drunk, and afraid of no-one. I walked through the middle of the scrum, flapping my wrists about and shouting OOOOO, HAVING A FIGHT ARE WE GIRLTH?
One man broke away from his grapple and hit me once, twice, three times with some admittedly beautiful left and right hooks.
Result: black eye, broken nose, the hooting derision of my friends.

NUMBER 2!
Bullies! Bullies, in my local! The fucking nerve. After an hour of their goading and unpleasantness, I threw Hulk mode right in their face. Lots of roaring and snorting and intimidation. And the result was … absolutely nothing. Not a flicker of concern from any of them. Better take this up a notch, I thought, and promptly swatted a lit cigarette from the ringleader’s mouth. That’ll show him.
His mate ran up behind me and walloped me, then kicked me in the head as I lay on the floor.
Result: skinned forehead, broken jaw.

And my favourite … NUMBER 3!
Some dishevelled weirdo began vocally harassing me and some female friends as we walked home from the pub. Everyone else ignored him and walked off. Not me. Time for some rough justice, wino! I pushed him to the floor and told him to FAAAAAAACK OFF YOU CUUUNNT.

He got up and stabbed me in the chest.


Don’t fuck with me, people. I’m very very dangerous.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 16:02, 10 replies)

This place is a bit like fighting not to drown in shit...
Even if you win, you're still swimming in shit :/
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 14:26, 3 replies)

The Mystical Power of Air
The best fight I saw was in Magaluf (naturally).

Apparantly relations had turned sour within the Wolf-Pack and two splinter sections had been formed. Each side had chosen a fearful Warrior to pit their strength and bravery against that of the Enemy. The Warriors were supported on each side by a gaggle of braying, gesticulating Followers - the testosterone in the pub could have been cut with a knife.

Each Warrior stepped forward a yard and settled into their respective ockeys, about two meters apart. And then did the Battle commence. Both Warriors unleashed a dizzying flurry of merciless head strikes, filling the pub with powerful shockwaves of air. More and more head lashes came forth and I do swear that at one point I could see a vortex form in the centre-point between them, such was the force of their cranial lashing.

Eventually - and suddenly - it finished, with neck muscles strained and blood vessels filling their cheeks with a vibrant red. Honour had been restored and the Wolf-Pack was one again. And not a drop of blood had been spilt.

Respect
(Mean Mad Mutski, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 11:52, Reply)

I got really punchy this one time when I overdosed on Calpol.

( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 10:28, 10 replies)

It was just a simple family gathering.
And then it all kicked off when my dad said I should probably put some smart trousers on.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 10:26, 7 replies)

The day before my sisters wedding
Me and a mate went for a pint. This mate had a gift for opening his big fat gob and saying the wrong thing. After closing time we were crossing over a road away from a massive group of very threatening looking hoodies when one of them called out some insult. Perhaps a reference to the slackness of our mothers vaginas or the gaynes of our leather jackets I forget what it was ..just an insult. Any normal person would put their head down and keep on walking ... Not Phil he turned around gave them the double finger and and shouted GO FUCK YOURSELF GAYBOYS!

Thanks a bunch Phil you prick

Boy did those hoodies move quickly. Suddenly my vision was filled with Kappa, Adidas a Nike logos as they swarmed around us, shoving, sucking their teeth.....

What followed wasn't pretty I got the shit kicked out of me to such an extent that when I was ushering the next day at the wedding nobody from my family recognized me. I look like the elephant man in the photos ;)

I couldn't eat any of the food but did get an awful lot of sympathy drinks bought for me that I drank through a straw
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 10:11, 2 replies)

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 9:46, 1 reply)

I always enjoy how the mods on this here comedy website will always...
...come down hard on genuine dickheadery like mocking someone's bereavement whilst keeping up silly stuff like spinning pictures of Noel Edmonds and thus keep the peace.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 8:04, 25 replies)

Don't think! Feel.
It is like a finger pointing away to the moon.

Don't concentrate on the finger,

or you will miss all that heavenly glory.
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Wed 20 Mar 2013, 7:46, 2 replies)

Fight Fairy
Stag dnight. We roll out of a central London pub and attempt to decide where to go next. There are two factions that largely divide by alcohol intake into the need more booze and the need food camps.

It seemed terribly funny at the time to offer up one person from each camp to fight it out. No actual violence or anything - just play fighting in the street. Until, that is, a semi-naked drunk bloke with fresh cuts on his face appeared from nowhere to offer tactics, advice and to help out himself.

Never met a fight-fairy before.
( chthonic, Tue 19 Mar 2013, 21:02, 9 replies)

Not a proper fight as such...
..but I got married last year and caused at least one documented, Internet Breakdown.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 19 Mar 2013, 19:22, 18 replies)

I'm fighting
off depression at the mo'. Death in the family and work bollocks. Depression is a sneaky bugger; deals out sucker punches, pisses off and then comes back. Any tips how to floor it anyone?
(roysin, Tue 19 Mar 2013, 19:16, 88 replies)

I've had the shit beaten out of me loads of times, but I've never got round to throwing a punch.
Does that count as A Fight?
( fred zeppelin II: Electric Boogaloo, Tue 19 Mar 2013, 19:03, 3 replies)

Beach Fight
Few years ago I was at my local small town festival. I invited a few mates up to it from where I was working at the time so there were 4 of us on the beach at 2 in the morning beside a crappy dying fire. Then a group of lads (10 people at least) came up all around us. They started asking for beer and we were down to our last 12 so said sorry no can do.

Lead guy then leans over grabs a can from the case and I jump to my feet asking for it back, he kinda laughs and snorts and opens the can in front of my face.

Fuck it I think and reach out grabbing the can and squeezed it as much as I could covering him in beer. Him and 2 others jump me and start throwing fists and kicks. Seeing as I’ve been bullied pretty much my entire life I can take a fair beating easy enough so my main concern is to get away from my mates so they aren’t dragged in.

I guess it worked as most of the group followed my tussle but one of the other lads jumped to help me so both of us ended up with guys hitting us as we defended ourselves the best we could.

Anywho we got a bit away from where it started and somehow managed to get the upper hand (not sure how but I guess working on the funfair for the summer gave me muscles) and managed to get away.

So both me and my mate got away but started thinking of the other 2 who last we seen were still back at the fire so desperate phone calls to them we finally got them and met up beside the fun fair.

We laughed and joked about the whole thing turns out they had even managed to grab the beer before retreating (they classed themselves as pacifists so refused to fight which is quite annoying when you are getting a kicking) until some girl who nobody knew came up behind me and told us to run now and that these lads were just looking for someone to put in hospital.

We looked around and started seeing people coming our way so we started running thinking put some space between us and they’d forget about us. Nope

2 cars full of people and a group of at least a dozen followed us up the road. We were outnumbered and couldn’t out run them in their cars so we needed plan E at this stage.

Being from the town I knew some of the little shortcuts around town etc so we duck into an old ruined abbey which looks like a dead end (built to stop attacking Vikings) but I knew at the back of the garden area the wall had a hole in it that we could just about fit through.

It was here that we had to part with the beer as it was weighing mate down and despite all we still had a brief debate on if we could somehow keep it but that’s Irishness for ya!.

Once clear of there we kept to the shadows and ended up in someone else’s garden as the cars drove past at a crawl.

We got up on a mates garage roof and that woke him up but when he came out to see what was going on for whatever reason we didn’t ask for help just shouted we were getting chased and jumped off his roof and ran to the school where we had a look over the town and could see the 2 cars circle the town on the road and every now and then they’d stop do a search of the area then head on again.

Using the back roads and fields we made it back to my house where I fell and shattered my phone screen (the only casualty of the night thankfully) and laughed about the whole thing while having a can and ham sandwich.

It was only in the clear light of the next morning that it kinda dawned on us how serious the situation was especially when I got talking to the guy whose garage we were on. He stayed up for a while and seen the cars too but it seemed that they were dropping people off to be lookouts for us and trying to effectively trap us in a closing net using phones and one outside the house was overheard saying “aye we’ll do them proper when we get them”

Fun times.
(Samantha Bricks Better half done a poo on, Tue 19 Mar 2013, 14:15, 18 replies)

Righteousness
I’ve never been in a serious physical fight in my life. I’m a really, really fucking passive, very fucking relaxed sort of bloke. It takes a lot to piss me off, but...

I’ve never understood why some blokes love to go out, get a gutful of piss and start a blue.

To my mind, it isn’t worth giving those sorts of blokes the savage near death beating they deserve. After the stitches come out, they’d be back out there, looking to inflict violence upon another easy target, like a demented skinhead Energizer bunny. Life usually sorts them out in the end. They become car detailers, service station attendants or lifelong welfare recipients. Facial tattoos do tend to somewhat limit your employment prospects.

If I am enjoying a nice night out, I’m not too pissed, but I’m unfortunate enough to attract the attention of a particularly obnoxious mouth-breather eager for conflict, and I’m in an equally feisty mood with no fear of consequences, I will happily give a fucking good gob full of “life coaching”.

To whit;

Pissed moron shoves you, utters some threat. He has to be immediately informed at absolute full controlled volume, with full eye contact, with no swearing whatsoever, he’s not very smart, not tough, and he’s very unpleasant to be around drunk or sober. A propensity towards unmitigated violence actually isn’t a very good social skill. It doesn’t translate to a successful and happy life (particularly in an office environment). His friends fear him, rather than respect him, in time they will drift away and he’ll end up in prison for bashing his infant step-kids if he doesn’t address the need or desire to inflict violence upon others. It’s not normal, it’s wrong. Society will rightfully hate him and resent his very existence. Obviously no-one will ever stand up to him for fear of nasty retribution, but they will absolutely hate him, for the rest of his life.

He has the choice to exercise some tiny shred of self-discipline, sort out his problems and lead a fulfilling life, or keep going until inevitably someone bigger, stronger and more violent sticks a knife in his guts, so he can die a noble street warrior’s death, bleeding out on the footpath amongst the cigarette butts and dogshit.



The last time I pulled this stunt was in a remote work camp, some machinery operators (bulldozer drivers) had a day off in middle of their roster, they duly got stuck into the piss throughout the afternoon and by evening were well and truly shit-faced and being very fucking obnoxious to all and sundry in the camp. No coppers within cooee, a few security guards who specialised in watching late night pay TV and eating donuts.

It was getting stupid; non-existent reasons for starting “retribution” fights, threats, shoving and just being cunts because they were big, pissed, looked tough with the their hard-man stickers (tattoos) and shitty attitude.

After receiving a few shoves and some primal drooling utterances to goad me into retaliating, I was so very fucking over it. I stood up to them, risked a beating, and fucking spelt it out in a barely controlled Mr Darcy–esque rage.

Maintaining full eye contact, I held forth a full, loud heartfelt diatribe until they just stood there, silently swaying, dumbfounded, slack-jawed and drooling.

Fucking cretins.


After a small silence, some of them mumbled apologies, we engaged in the obligatory handshake/backslaps shared a few cigarettes, and then the sorry stories of fucked up childhoods and ensuing justifications for abrogating personal responsibility started.

The same old stories started to come out, growing up in a broken family blah blah, all the usual pathetic self-pitying shit that “explains” the complete lack of personal responsibility. Fucking spare me the violins.

I’m just standing amongst them, staring them down, King of righteousness and reason.

One bloke with tears tattooed on his face actually starts crying, and in between the sobs and saliva, blubbers some crap about how he’d fucked up his whole life up, but he was going to go straight now. This was his first real job, first time in his life. He’d just been released after serving 10 years inside and had jagged this job through a rehabilitation scheme. Not going back inside, ever.



I pause in mid-drag on the cigarette...err, sorry. What? Did you just say 10 years?


That’s, ummm...a lot of time, to err, you know, be in prison, like.


oh, manslaughter. really?



Jesus. What the fuck was I thinking?



No, no, of course, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. Well, yeah, it’s great that you have a job, and ahh, yeah..no, no, please, take the rest of the pack, I really should give them up. No, no, I insist. Here, have the lighter too, and ah, yeah, I’ll see you later mate, sorry about you know, the yelling and stuff. Just can’t seem to control the temper, yeah, the old man used to beat me and stuff when I was a kid, but I’m working through it. One more hug? ahhh, yeah sure, sorry, what’s that? A hug’s better than a punch up? Ha ha ha yes indeed, oh my word yes, ha ha...look, I gotta go and err...get some sleep, so I’ll see you blokes tomorrow. Nice to meet you, great tatts. Bye now.


Couldn’t have stuck a pin up my arse, I was that puckered.

10 years. I mean...fuck...I could’ve ended up with a knife in the guts.



Moved out the next morning to another camp.
( Ken Oath, Tue 19 Mar 2013, 14:07, Reply)

What
colour is the boat house at Hereford?
(Biff..., Tue 19 Mar 2013, 10:46, 6 replies)

I punched a microwave yesterday. Does that count?
It wasn't intentional but I still lost. Got a deep gouge on my knuckle now that keeps opening up whenever I think of going near a tap.

I also once punched my locker at work because the lock was sticking. Unfortunately I'd left the key in and got another huge gouge on my wrist.
( vix0r was not Matthew on, Tue 19 Mar 2013, 10:23, 6 replies)

I'll just repost this. Because I'm LOVELY.
nameless let rip with an earthshaking splatterfart bellowing his challenge like a bull elephant seal.
Gonzo looked up from examining the droplets of baby oil glistening on his chest hairs and responded with a resounding splatterfart of his own, his Pringles tin acting like an echo chamber. The soundwave caused some of the lime jelly to spill out of the paddling pool.
Nameless began to oil himself up in preparation for the fight to come. He'd been rehearsing this fight in his mind, and what was left of his intestines for weeks now, loading himself up with spicy curries washed down with fizzy pop. He was sure that Pringles tin or no Pringles tin, Gonzo would end this day defeated.
Gonzo waited patiently. To him this was just another challenge, and he had never lost one yet. Still in his prime, he wasn't about to relinquish his hold on the remote with the Hollyoaks Omnibus about to start in ten minutes. The Chinese Food was already ordered and he had his pick from his b3ta harem to hold hands with, all he needed to do was send nameless packing with his carrier bag between his legs in shame.
To Be Continued
PART 2
Recap in FILM TRAILER VOICE: CHALLENGED BY NAMELESS FOR THE RIGHTS TO WOO THE B3TA HAREM, GONZO MUST ENTER THE FIGHT OF HIS LIFE! WHO WILL SURVIVE AND WHAT WILL BE LEFT OF THEM? FIND OUT IN PART 2!

Gonzy knew what was coming, the telltale fluttering of nameless' carrier bag letting him know what was about to occur in the same way that a gunslinger could read his opponent's intentions from the muscles around their eyes.With a roar nameless charged.
Gonzo started to neatly sidestep, only to slip in the jelly and fall out of the paddling pool. However nameless was moving too fast to adjust and charged the empty space where Gonzo had been a heartbeat earlier. Momentum carried him straight across the jelly filled pool and straight into the garden wall, stunning him.
Meanwhile Gonzo had managed to get back up and now it was his turn to charge. He hurled himself at the staggering nameless' back.

Please insert your credit card details for a further five minutes.
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Tue 19 Mar 2013, 3:33, 2 replies)

I had a scrap with an obese grubby pikey from the local camp when I was about 10.
He was a proper gentlemen about it, set out the rules and everything and we set to with gusto.

He wasn't exactly a prizefighting Brad Pitt, although he did speak very fast and almost totally incomprehensibly.
I wasn't much of an opponent either so we seemed quite well matched.

Inevitably it broke down to rolling on the ground after a few minutes of half hearted punching and wrestling. As each of us grappled for a good position to pin the other's arms and commence a facial workover, the fat fucker farted very loudly and made me laugh so much that I became instantly weak and helpless.

To be fair to him, once he had me pinned, me still laughing, he then told me it was a draw and let me go.

Not once did he mention scatter cushions, those fillums aren't at all true to life.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Tue 19 Mar 2013, 1:50, 2 replies)