Full Beanbag Jacket

Picture the scene:

A quiet little borough of South London, and an equally quiet junior school, whose crowning achievement was that they had found some WW2 era bomb shelters buried beneath it that had been forgotten about.

It had a very active Parent-Teacher association, which always strove for the best for their little pupils, always battling for that little extra piece of funding, bright classrooms, constant school trips, and of course a playground the envy of any of the rival schools.
The school would spare no expense on the playground, with bright coloured hopscotch grids everywhere and of course plenty of toys.
These came in the form of footballs, giant hoops, basketballs, etc…

Then one day the school had a special announcement, they had recently spent hundreds of pounds on beanbags. Literally thousands of colourful beanbags, apparently clueless to the sheer horror they had just unleashed.

Cue an hour of terror the normal man only sees in the likes of Apocalypse Now and Saving Private Ryan.
Within seconds of gaining access to the new “toys”, hundreds of young lads began throwing beanbags at anyone they saw.
Dinner ladies franticly ran around trying to stop the madness, but were forced to retreat under a constant hail of ammunition that’s commonly used by police to subdue large scale riots in the adult world.
The nurse’s office was full, and the girls were herded up in the far end of the higher playground, safely hiding behind the huts.
The playground was thinly scattered with the occasional boy who just wasn’t moving. The next door infant school had brought its children inside, to spare them from being warped by the mayhem they were witnessing.

Soon two major battle lines had formed, separated by a no-mans land that was several metres deep, and contained several lifeless children. Any who strayed into the middle for extra ammunition or to help his unconscious best friend became easy pickings, especially for those younger boys on the other side who didn’t have as strong a throw as the elder years did.

The slaughter continued for an hour, any teachers who went near the window to see what was going on risked their windows being shattered by those lashing out at the authority the teachers commanded over them.
Bright colours filled the sky and brought death from above, pitched battles took place everywhere as huts and hills and the football goal were taken from each other in some savage instinct of territorial warfare, the world moved as a blur, if you got close enough to the enemy it soon turned to hand to hand.
Without any clearly defined enemy, the same kid who helped you defend the bench could be fighting you tooth and nail for the traffic cone. You were too scattered to find any of your friends, and when you did it wouldn’t be long before you were separated as you dived in different directs to escape from a particularly heavy volley.

Then eventually it came, a loud whistle. The fighting died down, as you returned to the classroom, bruised, battered, beaten. Several kids had to have the next few days off school; one or two had broken bones, maybe a concussion here or there. No grudges were held, it was all vs. all and was both pointless and impossible to be bitter about being hit by someone, when it was quite possible that every kid had battled with each other at some point during the madness...

The next day there were no beanbags, and all staff denied their existence, probably explaining their disappearance to the PTA as theft, hundreds of pounds all gone.

That day shall forever haunt me and the hundreds others as our first introduction into the pure blood thirst and violent nature of man.

The horror...
(Danage, Mon 13 Mar 2006, 22:54, Reply)

Gentle Giant
Now, I'm quite a big bloke. Always have, always will be. And as such, I tend to attract attention from little angry men with serious masculinity issues. Especially at school. Being not only tall, but quite a little boffin and not fitting in at all. Naturally I was an ideal target for bullies, who made my school life hell, constantly starting fights with me, burning me with cigarettes, etc. You get the idea.

Sufficed to say, I would always defend myself, but I wasn't particularly interested in fighting. In fact, I hated it, it scared the shit out of me. To say I was meek and shy with an intense desire to blend into the background was a severe understatement. Well, until one day, anyway, when it all changed.

Now, the biggest bully of my younger teen years was Damien Harris. Pretty bullet, one of the hardest kids at our school. We used to be great mates, spending loads of time together and hanging out at his enormous house. But like so many young friendships, it went very sour very quickly and he and a group of his mates took a real dislike to me. No doubt because I was different and they had normality anxiety. Anyway, he became the biggest tormentor of my school days, beating me up at school, constantly flobbing huge greenies at me and covering me in flour and eggs. I wasn't the only one he gave grief to, but that didn't make the torment any easier to deal with. Basically most of my so-called mates were shit-scared of him, so sided with him to save their own skin. Tossers. So I was getting bullied and I was more or less friendless. Brilliant. Best days of my life, my fucking bellend.

Thankfully, it all turned in my favour one fateful Friday. I was walking home from school through the town centre. Two of my more reliable mates were with me, and we were just chatting and chilling. As we walk past HMV, who should appear but Damien and his posse of wankers. They clock us and Damien goes through the motions of abuse and outright begging me for a fight. Of course, my two mates make themselves scarse after a feeble attempt at diffusing the situation. I don't really blame them, I was bricking myself as well.

So there we are, walking through a packed town. Damien is still thumping and punching me, still gagging for a proper fight. His mates are laughing themselves stupid, and my mates have all but disappeared from view. We are outside Army & Navy, and all this abuse just gets too much. He asks me one last time for a fight. I ignore him and push him off me. So he grabs my jumper and makes me face him.

You want a fight mate? I'll give you a fucking fight.

I drop my bag at my feet, and I headbutt the bastard square on the bridge of his nose. His nose explodes, blood goes spurting everywhere, and I lay into him good and proper. Just a flurry of punches, kicks and yes, I send him flying to the ground with a tremendous roundhouse kick to the side of the head. Fuck knows where it all came from, probably too much Mortal Kombat-playing. Anyway, once he's grounded, I grab my bag and peg it. I was totally shit scared, I ran all the way home. My mum comments on the vast spatters of blood on my face and clothes. I tell her and my old man what's happened, and was still freaking out in fear of a reprisal. His family were a little bit on the rough and ready side, and his reputation of being bullet was known throughout the town. But my dad, still in the Forces at this point, assures me that I'll be fine. He was a big, double-hard bastard too. When he says you'll be fine, you know he means business.

Following an uneventful weekend, I return to school, and get summarily pulled up before the Head. Again, another pretty bullet ex-Forces chap I was pretty scared of. He gives me the lowdown of what I've done for the school reputation, fighting in the middle of town like that, parents outraged, detention, blah blah. The usual Headmaster dressing down speech, turn the other cheek, and so on. After I've been dismissed, he stops me at the door. What he said was something I'll never forget.

"Good job, son. It's about time you stood up for yourself, and showed that little cunt what for in the process. Well done."

Coming from him, it was a real confidence booster. Especially because he used the word "cunt".

When I caught up with the two mates who'd been with me that day, they were absolutely starstruck. They'd hung around with Damien after I'd done a runner, and told me everything that had followed. Apparently, the fuzz and paramedics had turned up, and Damien had been carted off to hospital for stitches. When he eventually came back to school later that week, he was a right mess. Not only had I broken his nose, I'd also broken six of his teeth after putting them through his top and bottom lips, broken one of his ribs, fractured his right arm, given him a concussion and ruptured one of his testicles which he'd had to have removed. Not sure how I managed that, I don't remember kicking him in the bollocks. Twenty two stitches and minor surgery. Pretty good result overall.

He never bothered me again after that, and neither did anyone else in town or at school for that matter. I had the quiet life I'd wanted and was left alone. And got a reputation for being pretty bullet myself despite never getting into another fight since that day. Bargain!
(TheInfamousMrD, Sun 12 Mar 2006, 19:05, Reply)

My Brother
Occasionally posts on here so I thought I get this one in before he does.

My bro was in the army and this meant that he regularly had to uproot his kids and move them to his new posting. On one move, Barry his eldest came up to him for a talk. Barry was worried about starting at a new school the next day as he thought he might get beaten up for being the new kid. So Steve put him right.

"What you've got to do, Number 1 son, is to find out who the *2nd* hardest kid in your year is. Don't go for the hardest - he'd probably murder you - but find the 2nd hardest and try and give him a good kicking. Even if you lose people will leave you alone after that"

So armed with this knowledge (and remember this was the guy who told me as a kid that to stop a dog attacking you you should ram you hand down it's thought and grab it's tongue..) Barry went confidently off to school.

About three hours later Steve got a call. From the headmaster who demanded his immediate attendance at Barry's school. So Steve shot off there and was ushered into the headmasters office where he was given the biggest dressing down he'd ever had in his life. 35 year old and been bollocked by a headmaster!

Turned out that Barry had found out who the second hardest in the school was. Tracked him down and brained him without warning with a half-brick. When he was dragged off and taken to see the headmaster he was asked why he'd attacked somebody without warning on his first day.

"My Dad told me to do it......."

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 11:36, Reply)

Been in exactly one fight...
First off, I've never, ever hit anyone in my entire life. These fists have never been used outside the bedroom.

So I was in The Firestation (Student bar here in Bournemouth), minding my own buisness, getting rat-arsed.

Standing at the bar, beside a rather attractive young first-year. Guy standing other side of her giving her grief, pawing at her, trying to kiss her. She's obviously very pissed off with him. I decide to be a hero, and tell him to piss off. He takes offence to this, and takes a swing at me, which brushes my jaw, failing to properly connect.

Without thinking, I swing a mighty left, and knock out the girl.

Oops.

And then I ran away.

-demonic
( Demonic Omelette, Sun 12 Mar 2006, 12:49, Reply)

FIGHT CLUB! FIGHT CLUB!
Ah, room 12...

Room 12 was the form room of 10H, and also doubled as Mr Brown's music room. Because of this, there was various musical equipment and other large heavy things to play around with. Some of our favourite games were Put Johnny In The Grand Piano, Drop Johnny Off A Table On His Head, and Pin Johnny In Between The Filing Cabinet And The Wall Then Run Into Him. There was also the fire extinguisher which was put to great use, such as lying it on it's side next to a filing cabinet, then using the upright piano to push in the lever, firing the extinguisher and sending it off spiralling into the room. Great stuff.

However, the highlight of the week was always Friday lunchtime. The curtains would all be drawn and the lights turned out, then all the desks and chairs would be pushed to the edges of the room to create a large space in the centre of the room. Everyone then removed their shoes, jackets and ties, much like in Fight Club, then patiently wait by the edge of the room.

Mark Curling would then get behind the grand piano and start playing a long fanfare-type intro. However, no one moved until the proper music kicked in. As we waited for this, the tension and anticipation was electric. Mark would then start playing The Entertainer, at which point EVERYONE in the room ran into the centre of the room and beat the crap out of each other, usually ending in Rowlands or Bradley getting cut in the facial area, because Rowlands was fat and Bradley was The School Goth. One particularly memorable moment was when I jumped on Jack, sending us both to the floor, at which point Manji ran across the room and kneed me in the side of the head. Another was when Martin stood on one of the tables at the side of the room and sprayed the CO2 fire extinguisher into the crowd. I seem to remember it tasting like Orange Tango.
(scoob666 Ain't Nuthin' Ta F' Wit, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 14:37, Reply)

Oh Gosh
You do not know true terror until you have been bullied by cute little blonde girls.

Allow me to set the scene.

I am a year 11. For those unfamiliar with British comprehensives, this makes me top of the school. Those below me bend to my will, and anyone who crosses me feels me wraith. Unless they're in my year, or otherwise bigger than me, because I'm a weedy little fucker, but let's not go into that.

Enter Year 8 girls.

Imagine three cute little girls. Blonde, they are, and about waist height. The kind that would make a child molester drop to his knees and weep.

Now add the general demeanour of a nineteen year old chav who's been in and out of young offenders and jail since he was eight.

You are left with three cute little girls who are capable of driving up the fucking wall.

But what are you supposed to do? I mean, if they were male, you could smack them around a couple of times and teach them a lesson. That'd be fun. But you can't hit girls, especially not little girls. You can't ignore them, because then they nick your stuff and chuck things at you. And you can't report them to a teacher (always a last resort) because that makes you look, frankly, pathetic.

It all reached a head one Friday. It was deadline day for technology coursework, so lots of year 11s had taken the day off to avoid it, and those that had come in had mostly pulled all-nighters. Hence, an awful lot of tension in the air.

At break, my group hung around in the hall. This is a normal thing; it was cold out, and the year 11 common room was full of dickheads. However, today there were no members of staff on patrol in the hall. God knows where they were, but it could only result in one thing. Complete fucking chaos.

The inevitable happened. The little girls came over with a big group of cronies and commenced to harrass us. But today they took it too far. One of them threw a chair at us. Things were said that perhaps shouldn't have been. Mistakes were made. But the resultant insanity was wonderfully worth it.

My dear friend Robbie, in an act of brilliance that has never been paralelled since, snapped. One of the girls was yelling at my friend Shom, quite heatedly, totally involved in the moment. Robbie, sensing his opportunity, grabbed a bin from nearby and proceeded to upturn it over her head.

His intention was to trap her, and cause hilarity as she stumbled around. However, he did not expect the bin to be full. Full, specifically, of shitty cold soup and old yoghurt.

When it was upturned over her, I almost wretched. In slow motion, a bucketload of what looked like cold puke (with lumps) dropped all over her. The whole hall stood frozen for a few moments, waiting for her reaction.

She screamed.

The silence broken, we all fled out the back door and ran off to next lesson.

And that, my friends, was last Friday for you.

No apologies for length. I'd say the ladies love it, but they are proving remarkably resistant thus far.
(BathrobeHaver, Sun 12 Mar 2006, 22:13, Reply)

Comedy Classic
Some break times me and my group of mates used to form a large circle, facing inwards and start chanting the world standard "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!", which obviously attracts the attention of anyone near by, and causes them to come running to watch.
Except when they got there, there was never a fight, just another one of my mates doing "the robot" in the middle of the circle.

Made us laugh anyway
(Nyphur, Sat 11 Mar 2006, 0:32, Reply)

Indestructible.
A lad at my high school, who was a good 2 or 3 years older than me (let's call him Simmo) took an unusually big disliking to me. It was odd because a lot of the other lads in that year I got on with ok, not mixing with my own year all that well.
Anyway - months of taunting from him and occasionally slapping me round the head just pissed me off - even though some of the other lads did point out that 'he's done nothing to you - leave it.'
He eventually challenged me to the dreaded "Outside school, end of the day."

I figured this was the only way to settle things and when one of my own year asked me "You going to fight simmo?" I replied with a "Yes. He's a poof anyway."

This bold statement on my part caused an upswell of interest - to which a large crowd gathered - including simmos sister who was my age.

His face was bright red when he saw me, having clearly been taunted by all for picking on a younger lad who in turn had no fear of him. He wanted to instill fear in me - that was the way it worked.

He walked right up to me and punched the side of my head. I blinked, licked my lips and said
"Nah - you're still a fucking poof."

this enraged him even more, causing everyone to be overawed by his attempts to pummel me.

He knocked me to the floor with a fair blow to the forehead. I shook my head, stood up:-
"Fuck me Simmo, can't your sister fight me instead?"
This caused everyone to burst out laughing and he kicked me squarely in the nuts.
Wanker.
That hurt.
( Razor What the fuck - a sig?, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 12:16, Reply)

I won my first fight in playschool
According to my parents:

Some other kid stole my plasticine, so in true WWF style I clobbered him over the head with a plastic wheelbarrow.
(Minty Hit, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 11:58, Reply)

Bigger isn't always better.
So there I was, a small eight year old, being beaten up by four bigger eight year olds. I look around for some help, and see my five year old sister. She runs off. I think that she's abandoned me, until she comes back with five or six of her friends, who are all five year old girls. They set about the guys giving me an ass-kicking, who are swiftly driven into retreat. They never lived it down.
(area, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 20:10, Reply)

The Last Laugh is on the IMD
Got the shit kicked out of me at school, on a routine basis by a trio of scally shits, on the grounds that my dad had a decent job and I wasn't thick.

But Ha Ha! The last laugh is on me. Because i'm not rotting in a grave.

#1 died joyriding into a wall aged 15.
#2 died in a pub fight aged about 19, with a spiked baseball bat through his head
#3 died as well, alas I can't remember how as he was less significant. So let's say he got anally raped by a goat until he bled to death, for comedy purposes.

Best bit is, as an Atheist I won't even go to hell for feeling cheered at their welfare state burden reducing deaths. Yay!

* Disclaimer: Whilst their deaths fail to sadden me, I didn't do it. Officer.
(incrediblemonkeydoctor www.rantatsomeone.com - go on, have a rant, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 16:38, Reply)

Poke in the eye?
When I moved to America for 5 years, i had the horror of attending a rather rough highschool where i was picked on constantly for being British.

One day- it went too far and one of the school "jocks" decided he was going to square up to me. Knowing full well that his shoe size was probably double his IQ, I stood my ground.

"I'm going to beat you boy, what you going to do about it?"
"This!" I replied, holding my fingers out ready to poke him in both eyes.
The jock immediately put his hands up in front of his nose, stopping any chance of a poke.

So i held both hands out ready to poke him in the each eye with a different hands.
So the dumb jock covered his eyes with his hands.

I kicked him so hard in the nuts, I hear he can no longer have children.

For some reason i never got picked on again
(no apologies for length, im trying to protect it from someone doing it to me)
(bignutter, Tue 14 Mar 2006, 16:12, Reply)

School fights back
Long ago when I was about 14 I went to the local comprehensive school where there were loads of fights between pupils. The best fight ever tho was the whole school versus the headmaster.

This was back in the eighties but our headmaster was straight out of the Victorian era, a real old-school and formidible character who terrified even the hardest 16 year olds, let alone the little 11 yr olds.

With a single glare he could turn you to stone and his booming authoratative voice would stop the naughtiest bad-ass in his tracks. Needless to say the whole school both feared and hated him.

Every monday morning the entire school would go to the large gym and have to stand before the head for a general asembly where he would be stood on a plinth making announcememnts about this and that.

One winter monday morning we are all standing in the gym listening to this scary old relic when it became clear that some poor lad in the first year (11-12yrs old) had been packed off to school by his mum despite the fact that he clearly had quite a nasty cough.

As the headmasters announcements continued it was obvious this lads cough wasn't getting any better and suddenly, mid-sentence about an upcoming school play or some bollocks the headmaster shot out his long bony arm and finger at the unwell kid and boomed "Stop that coughing boy!!" whilst simultaneously leaning forward on his plinth at an angle that appeared to ignore gravity.

Something strange and amazing happened then, I dont really know if it was about the injustice of the sick boy being shouted at or the fact that our headmaster had momentarily lost the plot but a dozen or so kids scattered about the hall began to cough as loudly as they dared without moving their lips. Within a couple of seconds about 90% of the school's pupils had joined in so the best part of 500 kids were openly telling our archaic headmaster to "Fuck right off" - albeit with a cacophony of coughing.

After a few seconds it became difficult to cough because very few people could refrain from laughing - including quite a few of the teachers (who in fear of losing thier jobs were desperately trying not to).

The headmasters face was an absolute picture, he went the deepest shade of purple, drew in a huge breath and with a bellow that could have stopped a charging rhino he announced that the whole school would reconvene for general asembly at the end of the day (esentially giving EVERYONE detention) before storming out of the hall, clearly gobsmacked at the fact the whole school had the audacity to stand up to him.

That was one of the best school days ever, despite the looming 15 minute detention the feeling of solidarity from lowly 11 year old to strapping 16 year old bully was tangible, we'd all stuck together and put one over on our scary (straight out the dark-ages type) headmaster.

It would be interesting to know if any other b3tans went to the same school and were there that day.

Apologies for nothing
(Twizla)
(SoapbarStars, Mon 13 Mar 2006, 23:18, Reply)

My mom's advice
regarding fights was this - "Never start a fight, but if you must defend yourself, kick them in the knee, at a 45 degree angle. The kneecap dislocates, they fall to the ground, then you run away."

So, there is this girl who's been bullying me for quite some time, and one day, I've had enough. I kick her in the knee. Her kneecap went *pop*. She fell to the ground crying. I ran off home and promptly told my mother what happened. She congratulated me for standing up for myself and gave me milk and cookies.

Two hours later, bully's mom calls my mom, and proceeds to complain to her. My mom listened to her ranting very calmly, then shouted into the phone "If your daughter wasnt a BITCH my daughter wouldn't have to kick her ass." Slams the phone down. End of story.

I love my mother.
(grrlatthrockshow, Sat 11 Mar 2006, 23:39, Reply)

I'm not a violent person
Really, I'm not. I don't think I've ever hit anyone or deliberately broken anything in my entire life.

Except this one time when I was 13. One of the big 5th year bullies did something terrible to me that raised my moral indignation to an unprecedented level; he didn't hold the door open for me.

In fact, he did quite the opposite. He made eye contact with me, and there was a premeditated glint in there. He shut the door on me just as I was passing through. Then I thought he chuckled.

It was a fairly innocuous misdemeanour, especially as my shoe took the full force of the feeble blow, and I was in now way injured. However, I was enraged at the rudeness, the like of which I had never encountered before.

So I picked him up and threw him through the very same door with which he had so successfully managed to raise my hackles.

I was a normal sized 13 year old kid, and he was huge, hairy and two year my senior. I was as proud as a child could be at my derring feat of strength and bravery.

But then I looked at his unconscious body a little closer. In a tangled mess of blood and glass I could just about make out one of his lower-arm bones protruding through his flesh. He had glass in his face and a mouthful of blood. His right knee was bent to an extremely unnatural angle. There was a gash to the rear of his head, the crimson contents of which was gushing out onto the lino. And he wasn't moving, or even breathing, so far as I could make out.

To cut a long story short, he had more injuries than a usual road traffic victim could expect if involved in a collision at 30mph. I was told that he 'must have fallen at a very awkward angle'. He spent three weeks in hospital, and had his arm in plaster for what seemes like months. And he had, in total, 60 stitches to patch up the holes I had made in him, and, to me, it seemed that he never really walked properly again.

And the irony in all this? He wasn't a bully at all. In fact, he was a corridor monitor who was trying to tell me that the door was brokn and that he was attempting to lock it before fetching the caretaker to fix the hinge.

So, whatever your name was, if you're out there and reading this, sorry for fucking up your arm when all you were trying to be was a Good Samaritan.
(rymix, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 16:46, Reply)

silly me
I went to posh wanky boarding school so excuse me if I use some JOLLY HOCKEY STICKS terminology.

Anyway, I was spinning around in the 3rd year prep room with a pair of pliers in my hand.

What I had not bargained upon was the immediate entrance to the room of the year's resident JUG-EARED FOOL (he always used to say 'It's my mastoid bone, leave me alone!'. We always used to say 'Shut up McEars!'. He's an all right guy now and I believe his ears have shrunk).

Anyway, he was universally bullied - once he got locked in a trunk and rolled down the stairs by some vile idiots - but, since I had cerebral palsy (the mild unco-ordinated kind) and a temper, he thought he could get one over on me, and did, often.

The git.

So, I was spinning around, and I accidentally let go of the pliers. And they made a ramrod straight line through the air, on a collision course with this guy's crotch.

He ran at me, yelling and frothing like Thoth the Unavenged.

'WHYNFUCKYOUNTHROW PLIERS AT ME YOUNFUCKENPSYCHOOOOO' etc.

Bear in mind that as well as having ears like the tits of the old, he was about 4 foot 3.

We then proceeded to have the most laughable fight imaginable. Gnome Fights Tramp. I was flailing my arms in impossibly wide 359 degree arcs and winding up every punch like an overzealous grandfather clock. He was 'concerned about my disability' and got me in a headlock whilst tapping my head very very lightly indeed and whispering insults in my ear.

Imagine frozen ladybirds falling on breezeblocks. That's what it was like.

WHOOOSSSH! (arms)

thesoundoffallinginsects (ouch)

FWWWHOOOOOOOOOSH! (arms)

frozenladybirds (ouch)

DIE!!!! (arms)

taptaptaptaptap (ouch)

This continued for TWENTY-FIVE SODDING MINUTES.

Then, I tripped over my FILA trainer shoelaces and bruised my rib on a chair.

To add insult to injury about 2 weeks later I broke my own nose trying to punch him. (Yeah, I swung round so far that my bicep hit my face. And I missed).

And then I punched a 6'7'' guy in his (rather spongy, I found) testicles.

And then I bloodied someone's nose, who later found me with my arse stuck out of my duvet cover trying to hide from him.

Oh well.

Apologies for length (of the fight, more than anything else).
(sjflangehound, Mon 13 Mar 2006, 19:02, Reply)

Floats like a butterfly, shits like a baby...
It’s a Wednesday afternoon and there’s a-rumbin’ in the school playground. The rumour has gone round that one of the J4 boys (that’s year 6 in new money) is a bit of an expert at Karate. A senior boy strolls over like a scene from High Noon and challenges him to a fight, mano a mano. The junior boy, let’s call him Stu (for, predictably, that was his name) refuses. The older boy challenges him again, using the time honoured method of questioning his sexuality, parentage and mother’s nocturnal habits. Again, brave Stu refuses. The older boy cracks and in a moment of madness wrestles Stu to the ground. A cry goes up… then the older boy jumps off the heap of child he’s attacked, with a look of puzzlement and disgust on his face… The unmistakable smell of shit fills the air…

Turns out Stu had been quite good at Karate, until a bowel problem had meant that he’d had to have a colostomy bag fitted, which had burst when the other lad had decked him, spilling its contents everywhere.

He was known as ‘Pooey Stuey’ from that day forth, and, as far as I know, probably still is.

Apologies for odour.

EDIT: I've just realised that he, quite literally, had the shit kicked out of him... Honk!
(Rakky, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 13:58, Reply)

During a mock fight,
I once pinned my cousin to the ground. With a pitchfork, through his foot. He wasn't impressed.
( pxyzyzygy, Tue 14 Mar 2006, 13:12, Reply)

Well, actually...
We don't have fights at my school because we are Well Brought Up Young Ladies(TM).

The teachers have fights instead. Rar, the rivalry in the Art faculty... well, let me tell you about a certain Ms W.

This woman was actually clinically insane, but they didn't want to fire her because it might look Prejudiced (oh noes), so they just put her on a years suspension. Somehow she got it into her head that when she came back she was going to be Head of Art. In fact, Ms S was made head of art. You can see where this is heading, right?

So the announcement is made. Zoya (who I heard this from) was visiting Ms S's class to talk about missed homework or something, when Ms W walkes in...

Ms W: YOU FUCKING BITCH!
Class: ._.
Ms S: Um... *discretely points at ickle year eights*
Ms W: [Lengthy rant about how Ms S tricked her out of the head of Art position, has been conspiring against her for five years and arranged to take the position from her just cos she hates her]
Class: O_O *edges back in seats*
Zoya: *still at the front* *cowers*
Ms S: *frantically trying to placate crazylady* Oh, no, I'm sure it's just because I have... management skills, you're the more artistic one, you have a... creative spirit!
Ms W: Don't you patronise me! I'll teach you to steal peoples jobs! *grabs short Ms S by the shoulders and pushes her into the art storage room and locks the door* Who's so great NOW, huh?
Class: |O_O|
Ms W: And you can STAY THERE! In fact I'm going to throw away the keys! *stalks towards the window*
Class: *terrified* {someone should stop her?} {are YOU volunteering?}
Ms W: Oh, fuck it. *Throws keys at wall and storms out*
Class: *Sits in stunned silence for about thirty seconds*
Ms S: *in muffled tones from behind the store-room door* Um, girls? ...could you please let me out?

Ms S is let out and tries to tell the class that Ms W has issues at home, it's alright and they don't have to tell anyone. Meanwhile Ms W is pacing outside the class room screaming at the top of her voice and breaking things. Ripping artwork off the walls and stuff and destroying HSC artworks

And do you know what she actually got fired for? The HSC artwork thing. Not for locking somebody in a CLOSET, oh no, (well maybe partly for that) for destroying the artwork, which apparantly she had done before. Although admittedly it being about a month before the due date would NOT be pleasant for the students it belonged to.

There are Other tales about this teacher, but they don't involve fighting, so it would be a bit of a stretch...
(Lieutenant Colonel Oblivious brought to you by intravenous sugar, Mon 13 Mar 2006, 10:30, Reply)

Age 7, cartoon rules still apply to fights...
I remember a lad from my school called Kevin Martin, thought he was the dog's bollocks (although his hadn't descended by this point) and used to bully smaller kids for no real reason other than he was a first class vagabond.

Anyway, I'd just finished second of 3 in a rousing "Grand National" (run as fast as possible, jump the flowerbeds, pretend you fell off your horse if you were tired... I was a fat kid, go figure), only to get taunted by said boy. I was still quite tall though myself, and whilst backing towards the toilet block I thought I'd risk my chances and insult him back, safely in the knowledge that I could hide (and, if it was that scary, shit myself) in a cubicle in relative comfort.

Facing the wrong way, I backed directly into the side wall of it, the door around the corner. Just as I'd realised, Kevin was running at me, screaming and rotating his arms in some kind of double-vertical helicopter, obviously homing in for the kill. I flicked him the V's (I'm a Northerner, again go figure) and... wait for it... moved out of the way.

His eyes were closed, but didn't see his hands turn to mush on the brickwork. I did. He must've broken about three fingers of his right hand and one of his left, plus the various nasty scrapes. It got so bad that, 2 years ago, I found out through a friend that he had to start writing with his left hand as his right was pretty much minced from that point, and never really recovered. I think my friend's techincal assessment was that "his handwriting's wank". I can't remember caring at the time, I was too busy playing Grand National the next few days to realise that I didn't see him for about 2 months after the incident.

This story has a charming epilogue, though. In the big boy's playground of year 3 he called me a "Poo Bum Wee Wee" while I was playing football - I only remember this because my friends from Primary School all those years ago still call each other it in the present day - so I chased him up the yard. He turned round, dropped a banana skin from his lunchbox, and kept on running. Obviously he thought it was the pursuer's natural enemy, perhaps through his SNES or Looney Tunes. I picked it up and threw it at his stupid face. It hit him in the eye and I got in a load of trouble, but it was worth it.

It was only when I got home did I realise he thought I'd slip up, I thought he just threw like a girl.



It's not the length of the post, it's the how you post it that really drives the ladies wild
( TGP on the rock 'n' roll, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 23:48, Reply)

bloody hell
I didnt realise this thread would warrant so many 'im a right nutter' posts. Being dangerously under-weight through out most of my child hood, I often attracted many chav attacks. I once fought off swine in my primary school with one of those long whip like reeds. I was like a gay little Indiana Jones.
( HelloIamAdam and Adam is my name, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 21:21, Reply)

*Snap*
High School was pretty boring for me when it came to fights, alot of my mates were in the year above so I was generally left alone.

Whilst in Sixth year we were given a common room which we'd furnished with a TV, N64, couches etc. Sitting in the common room one lunch break around exam time I happened to be owning all at Goldeneye (35-2 type scores), taking away from the prick of the year who had crowned himself "King of Goldeneye". Said prick was having none of it and started spouting shite, "am gonnae kill yer ma" etc.

Now I'd normally laugh this off and slag him back but my mother happened to have just been diagnosed with breast cancer a month before and coupled with the stress of exams I wasn't exactly full of happiness and sunshine.

One of my mates explained to him that mother jokes weren't a good idea to which his reply was "Fuck off, I hope his ma's tits turn black and fall off". Long story short, went fucking mental, threw the closest thing to hand off his face (an N64 controller) and then dragged him screaming from the common room occasionally stopping for a quick boot to the face. Got him outside into the main hall, chucked him to the ground and started stamping on him whilst screaming "YOU FUCKING DIE".

Teachers made him apologise to me.

Was known as a bit of a bam after that.


*pop*
(Durth Voder, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 15:06, Reply)

Picture this...
Two geeks who were friends with each other had a falling out. One a loudmouthed twat of a lad, the other a quiet lad (a member of the sea scouts).

The usual “there’s a fight going to happen after school” rumors started circulating, and a huge crowd gathered to witness this “clash of the titans” due to the sheer weirdness of this fight happening. As you all probably know, it’s the nutters and hardcases that arrange fights, or it’s a kid getting a pasting by getting jumped on. Two nerds and butts of the school jokes is a rare, rare occurrence. Neither had been seen fighting before. Getting a kicking yes, but fighting? Not a chance.

As they were squaring up, the quiet lad assumed a classic boxing stance to which the loudmouth jeered a sarcastic “Oh, Queensbury rules eh? That’ll not help you” before veritably windmilling in.

The quiet lad took two steps back, left jabbed the loudmouths nose twice to disorientate him, then followed through with one of the mightiest right hooks I have ever seen, absolutely knocking him on his ass. He turned, and quietly walked away leaving approx 100 stunned people in his wake. It was like the parting of the red sea.

He was never looked at in the same way again.
(Pandaemonium, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 15:00, Reply)

Not really a fight, more of a kicking, but funny.
We had a lad at school who seemed to be so much bigger than anyone else, and although he wasn't really a bully, he knew he was harder than other normal sized kids and certainly used his size to his advantage.
After some argument - I have no idea over what - he decided to chase me and give me a thrashing. After landing a punch on me, I did the only thing I could - curl up in a ball and hope that a teacher came before I died.
Seeing me curled up, led him to give up on fists and instead went to kick me. As he swung his leg for the second or third time, I moved and he missed - his air shot causing his trendy slip on shoe with tassles to be launched into the air, and in what seemed like comedy slow motion, to land on the roof of a mobile classroom. I was crying with laughter as each subsequent sock kicked me in the ribs.
I think he got a detention along with a wet foot.
(Hotshot, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 14:44, Reply)

I was a late starter ... in more ways than one
I was at Oxford Poly (I am all of teh old now) and out on a 'date' with a prospective girlfriend. On the way walking her home, we passed some local townies on Magdelene Bridge. One of them said something terribly rude about my date, I said something equally rude back then he knocked me out. I had 3 stitches that night and lost my virginity at 3am the next morning. I think I won that fight on points.
(Freegan Bikefascist, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 11:17, Reply)

for the first 2 years of school
i was bullied daily, nothing too severe, but a dead arm everyday, and a few roughing ups. i never retaliated, figuring they'd just get bored, plus my high pain threshold meant it never hurt much anyway.
well, one day, i was already sitting in class, teacher present, when my antagoniser arrives, and on his way past, punches me in the back of the head quite hard.

now, im not sure if he caused some level of brain damage, or wether i was just fed up with it all, but, for the first time, i struck back.

i jumped up, grabbed him by the hair, and repeatedly slammed his face into the desk, while bringing my knee up into his stomach. i did this a few times, before pushing him over to his seat, and returning to my own chair as if nothing had happened.

best part? my teacher (who had witnessed the whole thing, and had seen me being bullied for ages) took the opportunity to send him out of the class to the headmaster for starting the fight.

after that, i never got picked on again. win-win :D
( lo, the Greebo Warrior - Est. 2002, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 16:15, Reply)

As a total wuss
I just accepted the occasional mild kicking from the cool kids to hang out with them and gain protection. As such I never got into a proper fight.

I did once get picked to play hockey for the school, because most of the regulars were in detention. It was clear after a few minutes that I was pretty useless, so I was just instructed to stick to their star player like glue and generally get in his way. I was actually rather good at this, and after hustling him off the ball for the hundredth time or so (whilst a wuss, I was reasonably strong) bhe lost his rag and twatted me around the head with a hockey stick, which broke. When I'd got up off my arse I was pretty dazed but landed a single punch to the jaw that put him on his arse. Lucky shot to be honest, i think he was amazed I'd got up again. We were both sent off and I was pulled aside after the game by our PE teacher for a bollocking. This consisted of "Nice punch son, now get on the bus".

We also had a Grange Hill (circa early 90's )style inter-year punch up. Well, pre-punch up posturing anyway. Could have been quite nasty as people came armed with knives, homemade knuckledusters, bike chains and sprockets. The 4th year (in old money) did the sensible thing and hid, although I think one kid got a bit of a pasting.

The next day we (5th year) got called into the school hall. The deputy head went seven shades of apeshit, threatening to involve the police as most of us were 16 and could be charged with affray. Looking back he was clearly just trying to put the fear of god into us. This was largely successful, right up to the moment when some kid farted. loudly. for a good 5 seconds. while sitting on a wooden bench. that reverberated beautifully.

This just led to increased fury from the deputy head, although it was entirely wasted on us. We were all shaking uncontrollably with tears of barely supressed mirth rolling down our cheeks. Eventually he just gave up.
(Throbbe, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 16:11, Reply)

yum..
not really a fight but i remember having to sit on the naughty chair when i was in nursery for biting a boys ear

that will teach him for trying to kiss me

bastard
(lola_fish, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 12:15, Reply)

Boy Band Battle
I'm too much of a wimp to get into fights myself. However, I do vividly remember the day that two of my friends had a fight during break time (just before Biology in case you're interested) - lots of pulling of hair, scratching of faces, gnashing of teeth and kicking of shins. The reason for the fight? They were arguing over the relative musical and aesthetic merits of Take That and East 17. If I remember correctly the East 17 representative won.
My friends were so cool.
(tallulah kittiwake, Fri 10 Mar 2006, 11:50, Reply)

divine retribution?
when i was a kid i used to get a fair bit of hassle for living in a trailer (well a mobile home cos i'm english but if i say trailer it at least gives me some kind of anti-cool cool) and i moved schools a lot. at one school, where i was stationed for being bright (all the other kids paid i was on a scholarship because i could do the other subjects not just rugby and humiliating other kids) this kid, let's call him mr Burrell, used to mess me up bad, him and his cronies, gave me over a year, concussion, a fractured skull, numerous other injuries includign a cricket-bat related near-loss of one of my pods.. oh and left me handcuffed to a tree for 3 hours because no-one did the register after lunch. well, i moved schools. anothere kid from the same mould let's call him mr Coad. same deal, less injuries as i actually decked him once, but same sort of treatment. made me miserable as fuck cos my 'rents were doing the 'let's divorce and use the kid to beat on each other' thing, and these guys ensured i had few mates.
roll on to a couple of years ago. my mum sends me a newspaper clipping form back home where a guy who had a driving ban and 21 prev. vehicle and violence convictions got in a fight with a rugger bugger in a pub, ran out, got in his car, waited for the guy to leave and ran him over 4 times before driving off. he got 14 years, the rugger bugger got wheelchair for life and goodbye promising rugby career.
the driver? Mr Coad. the rugger bugger? Mr Burrell.
vengeance is mine, saith the lord :)
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Mon 13 Mar 2006, 16:17, Reply)