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- a member for 15 years, 6 months and 8 days
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- has posted 23 stories and 39 replies on question of the week
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» Bullies
probably one of my more memorable ones.
/unlurks
I was 'bullied' by this guy, named Paul. Looking back, I'm surprised he was successful as a bully. He was tall, skinny, ginger, and really quite thick. I was in Year two. I can't remember how old that made me, but I was just a yoof. Anyway, like I said, this guy Paul kept annoying me. Generally calling me names, and slapping me when I walked past him. See, it probably wasn't bullying, in the traditional sense of the word, but he always seemed to do it to me, nobody else. I told the teachers about it, but they never bothered saying anything. I wanted justice, damn it! So, one day, I walked past him, and naturally, he slapped the side of my head. I turned to him, and grabbed the collars of his shirt. "That's... It." I whispered to his face.
I picked him up, and started throwing him into the wall, repeatedly. He started to laugh, nervously, in a "Hah. Is that all you've got?" kind of manner. But, the more I kept slapping his bony back against the wall, the laughs started to gradate into crying. A Teacher must have heard this, and ran over to separate us. Obviously, I turned out to be the bad guy. I was caught in the act, and since they didn't give a toss about him picking on me, I was the one who had to talk to her "after class". Obviously, I was a little nervous, although slightly proud of myself. The teacher sat me on the chair opposite her desk, and after we had a little chat, she phoned my parents. When they came in, my mother was furious. She told me how I should never hit another person, no matter what they've done to me, and other related things. I'm sure you've heard it all before. Suddenly, though, she looked at her watch, and said "Okay, I have to go to work, but once you get back from school, you're grounded!" She slammed the school doors, and my attention turned to my dad. He looked to me and said, "No, you're not, Son. Good Job", and slipped me a tenner.
I love my dad.
(Tue 19th May 2009, 19:06, More)
probably one of my more memorable ones.
/unlurks
I was 'bullied' by this guy, named Paul. Looking back, I'm surprised he was successful as a bully. He was tall, skinny, ginger, and really quite thick. I was in Year two. I can't remember how old that made me, but I was just a yoof. Anyway, like I said, this guy Paul kept annoying me. Generally calling me names, and slapping me when I walked past him. See, it probably wasn't bullying, in the traditional sense of the word, but he always seemed to do it to me, nobody else. I told the teachers about it, but they never bothered saying anything. I wanted justice, damn it! So, one day, I walked past him, and naturally, he slapped the side of my head. I turned to him, and grabbed the collars of his shirt. "That's... It." I whispered to his face.
I picked him up, and started throwing him into the wall, repeatedly. He started to laugh, nervously, in a "Hah. Is that all you've got?" kind of manner. But, the more I kept slapping his bony back against the wall, the laughs started to gradate into crying. A Teacher must have heard this, and ran over to separate us. Obviously, I turned out to be the bad guy. I was caught in the act, and since they didn't give a toss about him picking on me, I was the one who had to talk to her "after class". Obviously, I was a little nervous, although slightly proud of myself. The teacher sat me on the chair opposite her desk, and after we had a little chat, she phoned my parents. When they came in, my mother was furious. She told me how I should never hit another person, no matter what they've done to me, and other related things. I'm sure you've heard it all before. Suddenly, though, she looked at her watch, and said "Okay, I have to go to work, but once you get back from school, you're grounded!" She slammed the school doors, and my attention turned to my dad. He looked to me and said, "No, you're not, Son. Good Job", and slipped me a tenner.
I love my dad.
(Tue 19th May 2009, 19:06, More)
» Vomit Pt2
The lump.
I think this takes place in about year 4. I think that would have made me about 8 or 9 years old. Anyway, I was in class, learning about history. I was sitting next to a girl who I'm now very good friends with, which makes this story something I constantly remind her of. Anyway, it was about January, when we're all a little miserable, and flu-ey. But her, she looked positively death-like. Pale complexion, ruffled hair, sunken eyes, and an interesting tinge of green in her cheeks. As soon as she walked in that day, we all pretty much guaranteed what the first thing she said would be. "Miiiiss...I don't feel very weeeeell...", In the usual sing-song voice that teachers encouraged us to address them in, although it was nothing more than a parody of its usual alleged sweetness this time. "It's okay, Samantha. It'll just be the flu. Sit down next to almightyjoey, and let me know if you feel any worse". So she did.
It's worth mentioning that when I was a kid, I was a little emetophobic. I've since gotten over it completely, but as a kid, just the mention of vomit would freak me out. It started when my dad said he had a bad stomach, and taken some alka-seltzers one day when I was young. Next thing I remember was hearing the man I looked up to vomiting for about an hour, making noises that I would imagine a dying buffalo squeezing its stomach through its throat would make. Ergo, when Samantha sat next to me, I was a little uneasy. It didn't help when she was occasionally retching and "ulp"ing during the lesson.
After a while, perhaps as close as 10 minutes to lunch break, I had completely forgotten about Sam's illness. She stopped making horrid chundering noises, and I was getting quite engrossed in the lesson. Then, I had a cruel reminder. She started to wave her arms frantically under her seat, and made a guttural "Blurgh" noise in her throat. I looked at her (with a freaked out expression, I imagine) and she looked back. "I'm going to be sick" was all she said. Then everything went in slow motion.
Her arm raised. I edged my seat slowly away from her. The teacher turned to us. "What is i--" was all the teacher could say before this flowing, cascading torrent of beige erupted out of Sam's mouth. Right from the "Blurgh", I'd knew this was coming, so I was completely on edge. As soon as her face exploded with tan-hued goo, I dove out of my chair. I don't mean stood up, or walked away from the chair, I mean, I literally leapt out of my seat with enough force that I actually hurt my hip when I hit the floor. When I was leaping, I could hear Sam's gurgling and spewing, as well as the entire class's gasps, "Urgh!"'s and retches.
The next thing I remember was me standing back up, and examining the damage. The desk, and carpet in front of it was completely soaked and stinking. Seriously, this chunder must have shot out of her a good 3 feet. Surprisingly, the class was looking at me. Some were smiling, and some were quite shocked. The latter's expressions worried me, so I looked at my legs, hands, sides and back, thinking I might have been covered in puke. Thank God, I was not. I looked over to my teacher, who pointed at my ass. Confused, I looked at it, and you know what was there? A lone lump of sick, barely even a carrot chunk, stuck to the back of my school pants. How the fuck that got there, I have no idea. The homing missile of school vomits.
(Wed 13th Jan 2010, 13:10, More)
The lump.
I think this takes place in about year 4. I think that would have made me about 8 or 9 years old. Anyway, I was in class, learning about history. I was sitting next to a girl who I'm now very good friends with, which makes this story something I constantly remind her of. Anyway, it was about January, when we're all a little miserable, and flu-ey. But her, she looked positively death-like. Pale complexion, ruffled hair, sunken eyes, and an interesting tinge of green in her cheeks. As soon as she walked in that day, we all pretty much guaranteed what the first thing she said would be. "Miiiiss...I don't feel very weeeeell...", In the usual sing-song voice that teachers encouraged us to address them in, although it was nothing more than a parody of its usual alleged sweetness this time. "It's okay, Samantha. It'll just be the flu. Sit down next to almightyjoey, and let me know if you feel any worse". So she did.
It's worth mentioning that when I was a kid, I was a little emetophobic. I've since gotten over it completely, but as a kid, just the mention of vomit would freak me out. It started when my dad said he had a bad stomach, and taken some alka-seltzers one day when I was young. Next thing I remember was hearing the man I looked up to vomiting for about an hour, making noises that I would imagine a dying buffalo squeezing its stomach through its throat would make. Ergo, when Samantha sat next to me, I was a little uneasy. It didn't help when she was occasionally retching and "ulp"ing during the lesson.
After a while, perhaps as close as 10 minutes to lunch break, I had completely forgotten about Sam's illness. She stopped making horrid chundering noises, and I was getting quite engrossed in the lesson. Then, I had a cruel reminder. She started to wave her arms frantically under her seat, and made a guttural "Blurgh" noise in her throat. I looked at her (with a freaked out expression, I imagine) and she looked back. "I'm going to be sick" was all she said. Then everything went in slow motion.
Her arm raised. I edged my seat slowly away from her. The teacher turned to us. "What is i--" was all the teacher could say before this flowing, cascading torrent of beige erupted out of Sam's mouth. Right from the "Blurgh", I'd knew this was coming, so I was completely on edge. As soon as her face exploded with tan-hued goo, I dove out of my chair. I don't mean stood up, or walked away from the chair, I mean, I literally leapt out of my seat with enough force that I actually hurt my hip when I hit the floor. When I was leaping, I could hear Sam's gurgling and spewing, as well as the entire class's gasps, "Urgh!"'s and retches.
The next thing I remember was me standing back up, and examining the damage. The desk, and carpet in front of it was completely soaked and stinking. Seriously, this chunder must have shot out of her a good 3 feet. Surprisingly, the class was looking at me. Some were smiling, and some were quite shocked. The latter's expressions worried me, so I looked at my legs, hands, sides and back, thinking I might have been covered in puke. Thank God, I was not. I looked over to my teacher, who pointed at my ass. Confused, I looked at it, and you know what was there? A lone lump of sick, barely even a carrot chunk, stuck to the back of my school pants. How the fuck that got there, I have no idea. The homing missile of school vomits.
(Wed 13th Jan 2010, 13:10, More)
» Mobile phone disasters
hoo, boy...
This one takes me back. It was about the time when I received my second mobile phone. Prior to this one, I'd only had a Nokia 3310. My father told me I could have a better phone, once I'd shown I was mature and sensible enough to have a phone. Eventually, I'd proven to him that I was not only mature and sensible enough to have a better one, I was mature and sensible enough to have the BEST one.
I forget what it was, since it was a while ago, and I'm not the best guy to speak to when it comes to phones. Anyway, at the time, it was an absolutely amazing thing to behold. Small, sleek, silver and slidy, it was possibly the best piece of technology that my pubescent eyes had seen.
Now, as any phone does, it had a lot of phonecalls to look forward to. And by "a lot", I mean "not very many". For one afternoon, I got a phonecall from my friend, who asked me to meet up. It was Summer, so I was dying to meet up with some chums, and have some banter. However, the invitation was pretty short notice, and I had to meet within ten minutes of getting the call. So I ran over to his house.
On the way, though, I had to cross the busiest highway in my area. When I ran across, my beautiful little phone slipped out of my pocket, and clattered dully onto the road. As I turned my head and gasped, melodramatically, I saw (not a car, not a van, not a lorry but) an eighteen wheeler truck plowing into my phone. As soon as it drove by, I stared at the road. There it was. My lovely little phone's crippled carcass scattered all across the road.
R.I.P. Patrick the phone, 2003-2003. ;'(
(Thu 30th Jul 2009, 23:22, More)
hoo, boy...
This one takes me back. It was about the time when I received my second mobile phone. Prior to this one, I'd only had a Nokia 3310. My father told me I could have a better phone, once I'd shown I was mature and sensible enough to have a phone. Eventually, I'd proven to him that I was not only mature and sensible enough to have a better one, I was mature and sensible enough to have the BEST one.
I forget what it was, since it was a while ago, and I'm not the best guy to speak to when it comes to phones. Anyway, at the time, it was an absolutely amazing thing to behold. Small, sleek, silver and slidy, it was possibly the best piece of technology that my pubescent eyes had seen.
Now, as any phone does, it had a lot of phonecalls to look forward to. And by "a lot", I mean "not very many". For one afternoon, I got a phonecall from my friend, who asked me to meet up. It was Summer, so I was dying to meet up with some chums, and have some banter. However, the invitation was pretty short notice, and I had to meet within ten minutes of getting the call. So I ran over to his house.
On the way, though, I had to cross the busiest highway in my area. When I ran across, my beautiful little phone slipped out of my pocket, and clattered dully onto the road. As I turned my head and gasped, melodramatically, I saw (not a car, not a van, not a lorry but) an eighteen wheeler truck plowing into my phone. As soon as it drove by, I stared at the road. There it was. My lovely little phone's crippled carcass scattered all across the road.
R.I.P. Patrick the phone, 2003-2003. ;'(
(Thu 30th Jul 2009, 23:22, More)
» Buses
The Crazy Lady.
I can't believe I didn't think of this one first. I was sitting on those bile-yellow bus-stop seats, waiting for my bus after a hard day's work. After a little bit of waiting, this young woman sat next to me, and smiled at me, sweetly. She was very attractive, so I returned the gesture. She glanced at me, and opened her mouth slightly, as if to say something, but then stopped. She did this about four times, so needless to say, I was quite perplexed as to what she was doing. Eventually, she turned around, and said "Look, excuse me, but... I hate to ask this, but... do you have any change...? I need to get home, but I haven't got any money".
"Yeah, sure. I've only got 20p, mind. Sorry, it's all I've got". She smiled, and I gave it to her. I actually had about three quid, but I've never been comfortable giving strangers money. Call me mean, but you hear horror stories on the news that start the same way. I felt I did a good thing. It wasn't a massive amount of money, but I felt like it went for a good cause. Anyway, after a short time period, my bus pulled up to the stand, so I stood up, and started to walk over to it. Bad move. As soon as I stood up, the change in my pocket clinked together. "Shit", I thought.
She'd heard it. I just knew she did. Don't ask me how, but I could feel it. There was a silence as I walked up to the bus driver, and I thought I might've been wrong about her hearing me, but no. She runs up to the side of the bus, and shrieks "What, am I not good enough for your money? Huh? Fuck you! Peopl-". I was a little startled by that, but felt kinda comfortable that the bus doors started closing, and her outburst was silenced in the middle. The bus pulled away, and I sat on my seat. I started to relax, and then, horror-upon-horrors, I saw her in the window's reflection...running after the bus.
I feel so thankful to say that she stopped after a few steps, but I was still absolutely petrified. I think I was checking my back for about a week after that one.
(Thu 25th Jun 2009, 15:05, More)
The Crazy Lady.
I can't believe I didn't think of this one first. I was sitting on those bile-yellow bus-stop seats, waiting for my bus after a hard day's work. After a little bit of waiting, this young woman sat next to me, and smiled at me, sweetly. She was very attractive, so I returned the gesture. She glanced at me, and opened her mouth slightly, as if to say something, but then stopped. She did this about four times, so needless to say, I was quite perplexed as to what she was doing. Eventually, she turned around, and said "Look, excuse me, but... I hate to ask this, but... do you have any change...? I need to get home, but I haven't got any money".
"Yeah, sure. I've only got 20p, mind. Sorry, it's all I've got". She smiled, and I gave it to her. I actually had about three quid, but I've never been comfortable giving strangers money. Call me mean, but you hear horror stories on the news that start the same way. I felt I did a good thing. It wasn't a massive amount of money, but I felt like it went for a good cause. Anyway, after a short time period, my bus pulled up to the stand, so I stood up, and started to walk over to it. Bad move. As soon as I stood up, the change in my pocket clinked together. "Shit", I thought.
She'd heard it. I just knew she did. Don't ask me how, but I could feel it. There was a silence as I walked up to the bus driver, and I thought I might've been wrong about her hearing me, but no. She runs up to the side of the bus, and shrieks "What, am I not good enough for your money? Huh? Fuck you! Peopl-". I was a little startled by that, but felt kinda comfortable that the bus doors started closing, and her outburst was silenced in the middle. The bus pulled away, and I sat on my seat. I started to relax, and then, horror-upon-horrors, I saw her in the window's reflection...running after the bus.
I feel so thankful to say that she stopped after a few steps, but I was still absolutely petrified. I think I was checking my back for about a week after that one.
(Thu 25th Jun 2009, 15:05, More)
» I don't understand the attraction
The DeviantArt Culture.
*Deep breath*
Okay. 'Fore I start, I know there's a lot of controvesy in this QOTW about how if you don't "get it" or like it, avoid it and move on. It's in that that this will sound hypocritical. I hate DeviantArt Culture, yet I do own a DeviantArt page. I own a page to display my artwork, writing, comic strips and general creative shit I come up with. The purpose of the website. But if you spend more than two minutes on the site, you'll find out that it's an absolutely hideous place to lurk.
I am, of course, referring to the complete lack of original content. Who cares that some overweight Japan-obsessed kid had a dream about his favourite erotic novel character and 'Generic-Anime-Character-#9-That-Is-Almost-Identical-to-the-Last-One' making the beast with two backs in the most depraved way possible? Does anyone care what happens when a Twilight character forms an alliance with an Invader Zim character to destroy the world?
It not only makes it impossible for decent writing and photography to find, it also makes others think that this kind of thing is a good idea, which will inevitably make more fans of this shit, fuel the sources that they ripped off, and make more films/episodes/books to make further godawful fanfiction and disproportionate scribblings. There's some great artists on there, who can't find work/ get any recognition because it's all being hidden away under the same ripped off ideas that say nothing new.
Also, THRZ WAYY TO MANY PPL THAT TLK LIEK DIS CUZ THY R OBSESED WIF LOLCATZ BECUZ THYR SO RANDUM RYT GUIZE? Fuck. Okay, that's enough ranting.
(Fri 16th Oct 2009, 20:48, More)
The DeviantArt Culture.
*Deep breath*
Okay. 'Fore I start, I know there's a lot of controvesy in this QOTW about how if you don't "get it" or like it, avoid it and move on. It's in that that this will sound hypocritical. I hate DeviantArt Culture, yet I do own a DeviantArt page. I own a page to display my artwork, writing, comic strips and general creative shit I come up with. The purpose of the website. But if you spend more than two minutes on the site, you'll find out that it's an absolutely hideous place to lurk.
I am, of course, referring to the complete lack of original content. Who cares that some overweight Japan-obsessed kid had a dream about his favourite erotic novel character and 'Generic-Anime-Character-#9-That-Is-Almost-Identical-to-the-Last-One' making the beast with two backs in the most depraved way possible? Does anyone care what happens when a Twilight character forms an alliance with an Invader Zim character to destroy the world?
It not only makes it impossible for decent writing and photography to find, it also makes others think that this kind of thing is a good idea, which will inevitably make more fans of this shit, fuel the sources that they ripped off, and make more films/episodes/books to make further godawful fanfiction and disproportionate scribblings. There's some great artists on there, who can't find work/ get any recognition because it's all being hidden away under the same ripped off ideas that say nothing new.
Also, THRZ WAYY TO MANY PPL THAT TLK LIEK DIS CUZ THY R OBSESED WIF LOLCATZ BECUZ THYR SO RANDUM RYT GUIZE? Fuck. Okay, that's enough ranting.
(Fri 16th Oct 2009, 20:48, More)