The whole town was out to get me (well not really)

As I've detailed this week in a previous post I was a bit of a hippie at school. I was fairly popular but my mode of dress, habit of speaking in overtly convoluted language and general interest in furthering my knowledge meant I attracted a decent amount of detractors.

Combine this with my pig headed inability to avoid confrontation and you had a recipe for the odd bit of bullying.

Normally these scuffles were passing affairs, for a few days at a time some cunt or other would call me a girls name or throw shit at me in class. I'd take the bait and heaps piles of verbal abuse upon them and more often than not that'd be the end of it.

However there was a guy 3 years older than me (let's call him Discarded Spunk Sack or DSS) who I obviously disgusted so much he couldn't bear to pass me in a corridor without a sly dig or bit name calling. I'm tough skinned so this didn't bother me and I'd generally chuck a half hearted put down back his way.

This low level of bullying was escalated one day when I made the unfortunate decision of spending my lunch break in a younger friend's form class. As I was chatting away, showing off my knowledge of bands and making all the nubile young ladies froth at the crotch with my flowing locks and fledgling beard / boards combo, a young lad I had never seen before in my life looks me up and down and proclaims "You've got girls hair. You must be a right fag"

Unfazed I glanced round, locked eyes with him and told him to "cunt off, you chubby little fuckface" before returning to letching over Joanne Stoker and her horde of jailbait lovelies.

Unbeknownst to me this fellow (who appropriately was known as Chubby) had taken umbrage to my casual reply and had reported such to his biggest hardest friend, and you can guess who that was can't you.

So I'm sitting in the Design and Technology department later that day, cackhandedly failing to produce some item of woodwork, when I hear a knock on the window behind me. I turn to find DSS gurning wildly at me and yelling words of aggression.

Apparently I was to be “seen to” outside the gates come the end of school. He lurched away from the window and went on his way whooping and howling threats over his shoulder while his minions roiled around him cackling.

After school I ambled out to meet my certain doom, refusing to take the easy option of running out the back gate as my friends suggested. As I passed the DSS and his group of little Spunk Sacks they eagerly followed forming a loose circle around me.

After a moment or two of verbal sparring, it became clear that he was a fucktard and I could talk circles around him so he launched a blow causing a hefty bit of lip splittage. Naturally I was a little surprised and annoyed by this fist interface but I am a fairly non-violent fella so I responded in the only manner that seemed fit and spat a nice phlegmy glut of blood onto his pristine white trainers and walked off.

Behind me, and over the barely restrained chortlings of his cronies, I heard him vow that all of the town would be out to get me. It would appear his loss of face in front of his friends due to the besmirchment of his trainers was to be repaid in full.

Strangely enough he ceased to bother me in any physical sense but he did keep his promise to some degree. Over the next few months I had to be on my toes as occasional groups of thugs would wander up to my usual haunts and enquire to my whereabouts. I was a nimble little fucker though so I tended to be well out of the way but this couldn’t last for ever and indeed one day I turned around to find I’d been caught.

Let us call him Matty (for I believe that was his name), I’ve no idea how he’d become involved in this bullshit as he went to a different school and although I’d heard tales of his exploits (the usual knuckle dragging list of achievements; stealing cars, punching people younger than him and taking loads of drugs) as far as I know he didn’t associate with anyone that I had so far offended.

He took a moment to identify me and then started lumbering toward me offering me on for a fight for “what I’d done to that Chubby kid”.

I backed away for a while assuring the gentleman I had done nothing unwarranted to the porker in question and had no desire to enter into fisticuffs but this did little to placate him and he brought out his right hook for me to admire.

Admire it I did, admittedly only briefly but as closely as I could as once again I found my delicate face receiving a battering. Now to save further ruination I realised I would have to take some positive action and when he swung again I ducked underneath his parabola of destruction, locked my arms around his ample frame and lifted.

I now found myself with around 15 stone of enraged bully gathered in my arms like a father scooping up his child for a hug. I quickly toyed with my options and unceremoniously chucked him over the 4 foot fence which ringed the park in which the assault had taken place.

As Matty tumbled helplessly over the fence and, I hope, landed in a large pile of dogshit and nettles I briskly walked home which was handily just around the corner.

My mother, upon spying my blackened eye and bloody nose, forced a condensed version of the story out of me (don’t you wish she’d been here to make me condense this version) and before I could protest that I didn’t want her to get involved she screamed “That’s Matty Goatfelcher, I used to be good mates with his mother at school, I’ll get on the phone to her” and in her mind that was the end of it.

I had a feeling there would be further repercussions for grassing on one of the supposed hard lads of the area to his Ma so you can imagine my dismay when the same group of lads came sauntering up to me the next day.

Bracing myself for more facial punishment I was surprised when he held a hand out to me that wasn’t clenched in a fist.

“I just wanted to apologise for hitting you yesterday” he said, “I’ll not bother you any more and by the way I didn’t expect you to be strong”

Stunned I shook his hand and muttered that it was no problem and I’ll catch him around.

Turns out not only did my ma’s phone call to his gain him a tongue lashing from his mother when he got home but he’d actually perpetrated the crime in front of his granddad’s house who’d seen him and grassed him up to his father too. Apparently his father gave him a sound thrashing and threw him out the house saying he wasn’t welcome home until he’d found me and apologised.

Good times.

Jesus, apologies for length: no, really, I am sorry
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Mon 18 May 2009, 16:05, 3 replies)

It feels a lot shorter if you remove all the line breaks

( WormuIus, Mon 18 May 2009, 17:19, closed)

Salient advice my friend…
…however I tend to find that blank space doesn't contain much information and therefore doesn't particularly protract the reading time.

On the other hand reading dense blocks of text can make my eyes feel like they are bleeding.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Mon 18 May 2009, 17:39, closed)

ooooooo!
*click* for fist interface :D
(it's not hash mixed drops, Mon 18 May 2009, 17:54, closed)