First round, first minute.
I was quietly minding my own business at the beginning of my lunch break, thinking about whether I could afford a Subway or if I should once again resort to the paper shop and its vile breed of sandwiches. As I pondered and ruttled through my locker a punch slapped my hard in the kidneys. I gave a groan and told the dickhead (a ginger weasel of a man) to never ever do it again. He decided to hit me again and I turned around once more. However this time I was moving fast on my toes like a tornado with my arm left arm stuck out half a mile and my fist clenched like it was holding my soul in place. I hit the bastard with the sweetest punch I have ever thrown, a beautiful hook of both power and grace, and for a split second in time I was standing there a pale, bespectacled, English version of Muhammad Ali connecting with a ginger, freckly, irritating Sonny Liston. He bounced head first off his own locker door and slipped to the floor blubbering. I stood, shocked, and then went for my sandwich.

The most stunning moment in any fight I've seen was one between my mate Jam and the dick of the school who was known as Taz for his violent descents into madness, full on foaming at the mouth things. He was great, he used to charge full blast at people, threaten to cut them and fight with anybody and he never ever won. Never. But that didn't stop him trying. After a bit of shoving and insults Taz decided to end it early and threw a heavy wooden chair at my mate. Jam a big, friendly, peaceful sort who almost never gets angry and certainly never showed promise of athletic ability then proceeded to kick the chair out of midair at head height! The chair then sailed neatly across the room and smacked full on into Taz's face dropping him like a bag of spuds. "Oh" said Jam, "that'll teach the cunt!"
Marvellous stuff.
(mrbastard, Sun 12 Mar 2006, 20:29, Reply)