People Share Their Most Amusing “Tough Guy” Revenge Stories

If you know anything about me, it’s that I absolutely despise bullying. As someone who has been a bully victim herself and has personally known people who have dealt with bullying, I know all too well what type of emotional and mental pain it encounters. Worst of all, many victims are not strong enough to handle being thrown punches, threats, taunts, and other forms of abuse inflicted upon them. Some don’t know how to react. Others may not be naturally equipped with what they need, whether that be a sharp tongue or physical strength, to fight off the bully. Sometimes, one may even try multiple methods to deter the bully with no luck.

While the victim may not always teach the bully a lesson for picking on them, what will occur for sure is this: karma. Even if karma just comes in the form of the bully suffering from deep-rooted guilt, it might be enough to make them wish they were never a bully and promise to never be such a person again.

Karma stories are lovely and all, but let’s take things up a little notch. Enjoy some awesome revenge stories that victims took on their bully or group of bullies below!

20. Keep Harassing Me At The Bus Stop? Let’s See How Tough You Really Hard When I Start Recording You

“The wrong target he picked on was me.

About a year and a half ago, my car broke down, and I had no choice but to take the bus. I hated it and prayed I would soon save up enough money to get my car fixed.

There is a bus stop in front of the hospital where I work, and I had to sprint out there to catch the bus on time every night. I would wait on the curb, so I could look down the street and see if the bus was coming. When I saw a car jump the curb a few yards away and run up on the sidewalk, I started standing on the sidewalk closer to the bench where it was safer.

As I was waiting, another employee of the hospital rode his bike on the sidewalk behind me and screamed at me to get out of his way as he rode past.

The first time it happened, I nearly jumped out of my skin. ***?! I looked at his back as he pedaled away and then looked at where I was standing. There wasn’t a d*mn thing wrong with where I was! I wasn’t blocking a designated bike path; I was on a walkway assigned to pedestrians. I blew it off and put it out of my mind.

The next night, it happened again. This time, I couldn’t hear what he said because I was wearing my earphones. Waiting for a bus is boring, and I had discovered that listening to music on my phone through earphones was a wonderful deterrent for unwanted conversation from drunks, so I used mine religiously.

The harassment at the bus stop continued to happen night after night.

I tried changing my position, but it didn’t help.

One night, when the bus had pulled up and opened its doors, he deliberately rode very slowly in front of me, blocking my way, so that I couldn’t board the bus before the doors closed. I shouted to the driver to wait, but he left, and the guy on the bike took off down the street. I had to wait another forty minutes for the next bus home, and I still had to get up early for work the next day. I was really p*ssed and determined to do something about it. The hateful, little b*stard had made it personal, and the reason no longer mattered. I have a slow fuse, and I tend to pick my battles, but enough was enough.

The next day at work, I discussed the problem with a friend of mine and thought over a few suggestions we had tossed back and forth. Rather than report it to security, I wanted to handle it myself because I was alone, and I knew that no one would stand up for me unless I did.

So that night, without making any effort to conceal myself, I planted myself squarely in the middle of the sidewalk with my phone. When I saw him pedaling towards me on the sidewalk, I turned on the video recorder. The light came on, and I got a beautiful, crisp recording of the surprised look on the jerk’s face. He swerved to the right and accelerated as he rode behind the bus stop.

I continued to film him until he disappeared into the darkness.

I watched the video of his face a couple of times until I had memorized it, and the next time I was at work, I looked for him. I knew from the kind of uniform he wore which department he worked in. I also showed the video to a friend of mine who worked in his department, and she knew who and where he was. After waiting a little while, I spotted him coming down the hall towards me. I stepped away from the wall and just stared at him. I couldn’t believe what a scrawny, little jerk he was! And this little punk had made me nervous?

He recognized me and quickly averted his eyes as he walked past me.

I continued to stand tall and stare at him as he walked past me. After that, when I stood waiting at the bus stop, he didn’t bother me again.” Kathy Summerlin

19. Stuck Up Student Gets Payback With His Own ***** Trap

“In my little hometown, my class (the class of ’81) was the largest our town ever had. None of the other classes even came close in terms of population. As a result, while in high school, we had to share lockers with a classmate. It was the only way to have enough storage for your books to go around.

I had to share my locker with Hugh…a pretentious pr*ck who thought his poop didn’t stink because his dad was a doctor. He was condescending and snarky.

One day, I headed to my locker at a time I normally didn’t. I came around the corner, and there was Hugh at our locker. He had several ketchup packets in his hand. He tore them open slightly and rigged it so that the books were leaning on the locker door when closed. Open the locker quickly, the books drop on the ketchup packs and BOOM! Ketchup all over the books and person. He and his friend were laughing and saying, “Just wait till Manning opens the locker. It’ll be funny as ****! Maybe he’ll scream, ‘Oh my God! I’ve been shot!'” They then went off to their next class.

I carefully opened the locker and propped up the books with my hand.

I took out all the books I needed and placed his on the bottom. I restacked the books to lean on the door and closed it. I went on to class.

A couple of hours later, I was headed back to my locker again. Hugh was there first and was going to get his books out. He must have forgotten about the ***** trap because the books fell, hit the packets, and went all over the bottom book (which was his) and on his nice polo shirt.

When he realized it was HIS book on the bottom, he realized he’d been had, and I had turned the tables on him. He cussed me out and threw a punch at my chest.

One of the things my dad taught me is that the punch doesn’t hurt when it doesn’t connect.

I dodged, and Hugh hit the locker door. It was a solid hit; the door dented inward. Hugh wailed in pain. He staggered off cussing.

I decided to err on the side of caution. I pulled all of my books out and put them in my backpack…just to be safe.

Hugh ended up going to the nurse, nursing a couple of broken fingers covered in ketchup. He claimed I had jimmy-rigged the locker, and he was the victim of my prank.

When confronted by the vice-principal, I said, “Why would I be at my locker? I have all my books in my backpack!” and opened it up to show him. Between my clean record, my good grades, my plausible story, and Hugh’s reputation, his story started to unravel.

No one got punished.

But Hugh’s broken fingers meant that for the rest of the school year, he never tried to prank me again.” Dennis Manning

18. Over A Decade Later, Bully Gets Embarrassing Content Displayed

“Back in my high school days, I was the typical budding introverted male computer geek. I was quiet, kept to myself, pretty much the stereotypical chess nerd who loved to read books and play video games. I had my share of bully stories and random kids who picked on me, but one particular uppity ***** had it in for me. Let’s call her Valerie Battitude for the sake of this story.

I was in her scopes nearly every day for the 4 years I attended high school. Val and her TeenGirlSquad group of friends would torment me ruthlessly to the point I attempted ******* at a particularly low point in my life.

The constant name-calling, the snide remarks, questioning of my *********, the bullying never stopped even with administration intervention. High school wasn’t particularly bad for me, but it was Val who made my life a literal living ****. I was powerless because she was the queen ****,* and I had at least one class with her every semester.

High school ends, and I get my college degree. My career takes off, and I advance several times. Sadly, my company hits hard times, and I’m laid off along with most of my staff. Months turn into nearly a year as I’m waiting for my next job, but my emergency nest egg is getting low. In order to support myself, I take up an old part-time tech job working for my former employer.

He was glad to have me back, and I got to pick up some extra cash doing in-home tech work on the side while I continued the job search.

My boss gets a call from a long time client and sends me out to handle it. It’s pretty cut-n-dry on paper but after checking the name, it dawns on me that this client is the father of Valarie BAttitude. I instantly have horrible flashbacks of all the torture I went through in high school. Realizing I’m not the same wimpy geek in high school, I swallow my hateful pride to knock on the door. Father BAttitude greets me warmly, and we briefly converse with idle chit-chat. I don’t let him on that I knew his a** of a daughter nor that she was the bane of my existence in my high school days.

I do find out that his daughter is temporarily staying back at Papa’s home as she is out traveling the country for work. He had divorced from Mama BAttitude who took half his savings account over an unnamed incident that led me to believe she cheated on him. Clue #1: Figured out where Val got her Bad Attitude from.

We get down to business, and he explains his computer problem(s), the main issue being that the dinosaur of a PC is practically a relic of state-of-the-art fossil fuel by modern-day comparisons. I quickly demise no amount of software repair and malware removal is going to fix the speed problem he’s facing. It takes a whopping 20 minutes to boot into the log-in screen, and I ball my fist into a tight ball when I see “Val BAttitude’s name as the secondary accounts on the Windows Login screen.

Shrugging it off, I recommend to Papa that getting a new computer rather than spending the hours it will take trying to get it back up to merely poor standards. He agrees and wants ME to go with him to the store and pick one up… that day! I’m conflicted as this is the father of Rosemary’s Baby, but it’s obviously not entirely his fault his daughter is the ***** from ****… so I say, “What the ****” and agree. I call my boss, and he’s ok with me doing some consulting work over the PC repair he originally sent me on. I’m off the clock on by my boss’s standards, and it’s off to XYZ Computer Store.

We are shooting the breeze at what he does for a living, but mostly it’s about how he is proud that his daughter is an entrepreneur for some startup company on the web and how she is constantly traveling the state and country.

I’m controlling my gag reflex from the puffy clouds and sparkly rainbows his daughter excretes. How can he talk about the very same person that would knock my lunch into the ground and then “accidentally” step on it while looking at me in the eye and mock, “I’m sooooo sorry!”

We get to the store, and I find out through conversing with him and the sales associate that his computer we are replacing is actually Val’s old college computer that he recently commandeered while she was away. Food for thought…

Enough technical jargon to sink a battleship and 3 hours later: Father BAttitude is the proud owner of a new top-of-the-line computer and wireless network system. I install the new PC and get it up and running along with the new printer, Wifi, multiple accounts setup along with windows remote access in case he needs my boss to log in for basic help (standard procedure).

I move onto installing the old hard drive for the data transfer and Father BAttitude has long since vacated the room to go watch TV elsewhere. My loath and disgust resurfaces as my eyes wandered across the documents of Valerie’s personal files. The data transfer starts reading off an odd file name that catches my eye. It doesn’t occur to me, given the source, just what I’m seeing skim across the screen, so I manually follow the path to said directory of her old, pathetically-encrypted hard drive. The discovery of several thousand megabytes of personal p*rn pictures and hardcore webcam videos halts me in my tracks.

This wasn’t the vastly gifted entrepreneur daughter Papa BAttitude had led on about. This was an aging webcam p*rnstar who was out touring the country doing p*rn or hooking up with her latest fling.

My curiosity turned into disgust and contempt as I skimmed through several dozen more photos of freakish and occasional kinky stuff where she is degrading men or causing pain. I have no problem in general with what someone does for a living. My thoughts were at that instant that this ***** is using men and continuing to cause more pain even after high school. I had more reason to despise and hate her over anyone else… and I had her in the palm of my hands.

Wheels started turning. Daddy was obviously none the wiser to what his daughter did for a living, and my conscience started a personal war with my ego. At one end was my willingness to exact revenge, and the other was my morale’s saying to forgive and let it go.

I settled on a happy medium that both sides gleefully agreed with. My fear of being sued or that I could get my boss into some serious trouble prevented me from going too far, so an evil little revenge scheme would have to suffice.

I uploaded all the files in question to my remote file server and got to work figuring out the best way to humiliate a domineering ****.* Papa Snotty***** was enthusiastically watching a game that would occupy him for a few hours, so I took the time to organized all her photos and videos onto her newly created desktop. Each folder got a unique fetish name as I filled each one with her personal pictures of shame and degradation.

I started to get more and more creative as I began to have fun with it. “Valerie of XXHS class of XXXX takes on 2 guys at her Daddy’s home,” or “Watch Valerie BAttitude get DPed on her parents’ bed.” I was cackling with glee as I rigged the coup de gras. None of the files could be deleted/changed/removed without administration approval. Guess who had that! MWAHAHAHAHAAH!

Two weeks later, I get THE phone call I was waiting for from my boss. Father BAttitude requested that I take a look at his daughter’s login account as there was something wrong with it. The look on her face when I showed up at her father’s doorstep was priceless. Anger and rage quickly sunk into horror and regret as it dawned on her just who was behind all this.

The next half hour was mostly sobs and her saying “sorry” a thousand times over. I’m a softy at heart, but like Captain Malcolm Reynolds of Firefly says, “I’m a good guy… [stabs the guy in the gut]. Well, I’ll settle for just alright.”” Draidr

17. No Dream High School For You

“So, this all started in my 8th-grade year. My school was a good one with many of its students going to extremely good high schools. These girls were in my friend group with about 3 other boys. I will call the girls: Angela, Ella, and Emma. Angela’s mom was a very high rank on the school board. I will call the boys Todd, Adam, and Jackson. Just to make the story clearer, our school was a private school.

Angela, Ella, and Emma weren’t that smart, so they cheated from me and my friends during the test. When they got caught, they blamed it on my friends and me. Guess what? My friends and I got in trouble and got over 20 detentions. The girls used Angela’s mom’s rank against me and my friends to let them cheat off of us on the test. Me and my friends knew that girl one’s mom couldn’t do ***;* however, we let them cheat off us because their parents were ******, *************and we knew that patience would get us the best revenge.

At this point, we had kicked Angela, Ella, and Emma out of our friend group, but they still cheated off of us.

They then proceeded to bully us and spread rumors about us. They basically ruined our last year of middle school (our school chain has elementary schools that filter into the middle school), so it was probably my last year with a lot of my friends that I had known for many years.

Here’s the revenge…

We took screenshots of what they said about us on social media. We also recorded what they said about us and to us. Most of it was racist and derogatory. We bided our time, collecting every mean thing that they had said to us until the end of the year.

Since all of the girl’s parents and siblings had gone to a really good school, all the girls really had to do was pass with low Bs or a high C, and they would get into a good school, (let’s call it School A), and they all got into School A.

My friends got together on the last day of school and put together all of the evidence that we had gathered and emailed the administration people at School A. In the email, we had explained the situation and also had proof of the girls cheating on test and all of their school work. We sent the email and waited. About 2 days later, I get an email back from School A saying that they have reviewed the email and reviewed all of the evidence, and they have decided to rescind Angela, Ella, and Emma’s acceptance into school A.

The cherry on top, well, actually, there’s two… School A forwarded the email to all other schools in our area, so the girls couldn’t get into any of the schools in our area.

The second cherry on top is that we used my real email address to send it, so the girls knew that it was me and my friends who had sent the email.

Angela’s parents called my parents over the phone furious, and my mom let me answer the phone and act like I had no idea about what she was talking about. I love my mom. Last I heard, they were all attending an online school.” epic1563

16. Abuse Me At Work? Lose Your Job And Precious Health Insurance

This revenge story is totally brutal!

“I work in the UK for a large technology company doing software support. I’m part of a team that has members all over the world. I’ve been in this job for around 10 years, and other than the major issues I’ve had with this guy, I truly enjoy my job.

When I started with the company, I wouldn’t say that I was “green” – I had about 7 years of industry experience under my belt. I was definitely inexperienced with the company, but the job that I had been hired to do used technologies that I was more than comfortable with. The point I’m trying to convey here is that I wasn’t completely oblivious to all of the applications supported by our company. Everyone in my team (around 30 of us) was very nice and was very keen to help – except for Shane.

Shane is probably what you’d term as the “team guru” – about 5 years from retirement, part of the office furniture (metaphorically, as we are all home workers) – he’d been with the company for nearly 40 years.

Everyone labeled Shane as “the only guy to go to when you were truly in a bind.”

When I was initially starting out, I did indeed find that Shane was highly knowledgeable and more often than not had the answers to whatever obscure questions you might have. Things were great, and our team ticked over nicely. I got to know the rest of the team well (over phone) over time too – and my best friend was a woman named Mel. She was of a similar age and experience level to Shane, and in my opinion, was just as knowledgeable as him.

One day, Mel and I were on a brief call chatting about a work issue when we got to shooting the breeze for a while.

We talked about ourselves and also the team. I’d said that I hadn’t met anyone face to face yet, and that was when she told me she’d once met Shane in person a couple of years ago. They are both based in the US (I’m in the UK), and both got invited to a tech conference in New York. She told me that he has serious health issues due to his weight (around 450lbs), and when he was home, he was often on oxygen and medication. His plan was to ride things out until he was able to take early retirement so that he didn’t need to worry about paying for his medical insurance any more.. That sounded like a reasonable enough plan to me, and we were soon talking about something else.

The issues started about 2 years into my tenure with the company. We started moving in a new direction with what applications we were going to be offering to customers, and towards that end, we were trained in a bunch of new stuff. I saw this as a great opportunity and equalizer – if no one on our team had any experience with this new software, then I would be on equal footing with everyone. This went really well for me, and I put a lot of time and effort into learning as much as possible.

Shane didn’t show much interest in the new stuff – he still continued to spend most of his time with the legacy tools. In team meetings, you could clearly tell he was getting p*ssed off that his status as a guru was gradually becoming more and more meaningless.

This wasn’t anything personal – we work in software, you have to adapt in order to remain competitive.

As time went on, it was becoming clear to the team how much work I was putting in, and I was well on the way to becoming the “go-to guy” for the new software. During this time, Shane would start sniping at me for anything he could plausibly manage. For example, if I was late to a team meeting because a customer call overran, he’d make sure to interrupt whatever was being said to comment something like, “Oh look, OrdosDeluxe has bothered to grace us with his presence,” even though he’d been guilty of the same in the past. Things like email chains too – almost anything I sent out that included him, and our boss on an email, he would reply with some unrelated complaint or observation – completely irrelevant to what was actually being discussed.

One day, Mel called me and asked me what my beef with Shane was. I (truthfully) told her that I had no beef at all with him, and he just seemed to have it in for me. She said that if she managed to find anything out, she’d let me know. Things continued like this for a couple of years. I continued to be the go-to guy, and he continued to try and discredit me and generally paint me in as bad a light as possible.

One day, we had a major incident – one that literally could have cost the company millions in SLA fines if it was not solved quickly. Our manager split us into teams to troubleshoot specific areas, and she paired me up with Shane.

I wasn’t happy about it, but whatever; I was a professional. We got on a call and started working through the issue. As our call progressed, it was becoming abundantly clear why he didn’t like me – he knew NOTHING about the new application. He hadn’t done any work on it at all. Everything I asked him to check, he needed handholding – even for the most basic of tasks. Eventually, I just shared my screen and said for him to watch me.

I went into the guts of the system through so many logs (explaining to him what I was doing the whole time) and eventually found the problem was with a recent patch we had installed. At this point, he dropped from the call – I didn’t think anything of this at the time (we use Skype for business, and it can be flaky), so I just continued what I was doing.

Our process was not to rollback any changes until it had been approved by the senior manager. As I was the one responsible for deploying/rolling back patches, made some notes about what we needed to do, and then rejoined the main call. I wasn’t worried at all because bad patches happened every so often; they just didn’t usually have this level of impact.

As soon as I did, I got absolutely DESTROYED by the incident manager. Apparently Shane had returned to the group call and informed everyone present that the outage was caused by an error that I had made in the deployment process and that Shane had told me what the correct fix was, and I had refused to implement it then and there.

I was FURIOUS. He had accurately told them the cause of the problem because it was ME who literally demonstrated to him how to find it. I had even foolishly mentioned to him what I thought would fix the problem.

Because of how long he’d been with the company compared to me, only our immediate team knew the truth about who was really the better-skilled person in this situation. His historical reputation still carried a lot of weight with people who didn’t work day to day with him. Because this incident was so major, over 100 people were on this call, several of them 2 or 3 levels of management above our team. He made me out to be a reckless, incompetent idiot, and he was believed.

Despite my manager’s protestations, I was disciplined and given a verbal warning. He meanwhile was congratulated for steering the company away from a potential disaster and given a commendation.

I was so angry, and a while later, Mel gave me a call. Apparently Shane had been bragging to her about “putting that smart a** punk in his place.” She was shocked and asked him what he was talking about. His real beef was that he thought I had disrespected him by trying to take over his role as “go-to guy” for the new software. That wasn’t my intention at all – I didn’t see it as my fault that he was too d*mn lazy to do the work again. I lamented with Mel that she should have recorded the call.

She laughed and said that Skype shows when you’re recording a call, and he’d never have spilled his guts while being recorded.

I immediately had a brain wave.

I decided that I would confront Shane one on one. I pinged him on Skype and said that I wanted to talk. He responded with a smiley and just said, “Sure.” I called him and let him know that I was recording this call (and the Skype notification popped up to let all participants know that this call was being recorded). I went right for it and accused him of lying about the major incident and said that it seemed like he had major beef with me. As expected, he lied and said that he was sorry that I felt like I had to react this way.

He said that he would need to talk to our boss about it. I said wait one second and turned off the Skype recorder. I then said that Skype isn’t recording and that he knew exactly what he had done.

His mask slipped at this point, and he said that he was perfectly in his rights to put me in my place. He said that you need to respect the longer serving people in jobs like this and that he would do it again in a heartbeat. I didn’t hold back – I called him a dinosaur, who refused to move with the times, and wanted to coast out his days here without doing any work. He said that he was a couple of years away from retirement, and he’d be ****** if he was going to bust his a** for some shiny, new software.

I said to him, speaking of new software, has he heard of OBS? Of course, he hadn’t, and I suggested he Google it. I then hung up on him.

Not long after, the messages started. He was begging me not to use the secret recording that I had taken. He said that if he gets fired, he will lose his retirement package and his medical benefits. I told him to go *** himself and that he should have considered that before trying to get ME fired. I passed all of this on to the relevant channels before really giving it any thought. Things set in motion, and sure enough, a few weeks later after a company investigation, he was fired. I heard from Mel that he had asked to take early retirement so as to keep his benefits, but this was apparently rejected.

It all came out later that apparently he had significant debts and that he was counting on his retirement package to keep him financially afloat. With no job and no package, he had no money to pay for the medical treatment which he badly needed. He was in no state to get himself a new job, and his skills had stagnated so badly that he couldn’t even get a new job online. Mel told me that he died about 6 months after this whole incident due to his ongoing health issues.

I felt conflicted about this for a while. Sharing that recording obviously contributed to his death – but I don’t know how bad I feel about it. I am a young guy trying to build my career – and he actively tried to destroy me.

I should maybe have held off when he pleaded for me not to reveal the truth, but he was old enough and wise enough to not engage in the childish games he played. If I’d known he’d be dead as a result of this, I’d maybe have done things differently. It’s one that stays with me, that’s for sure. I’m still at the company, and I can tell you all that I will NEVER treat a new employee the way he treated me. So, maybe the breaking of that cycle is the positive to come out of all this.” OrdosDeluxe

15. Make Fun Of A Kid With A Disability? Lose Your Job

“So, here’s the cast:

Me- OP (only relevant in parts of this)

Molly- my friend (fake name)

Slough- my math teacher (his nickname) (only relevant at the end)

Karen- awful Spanish teacher (her real name)

So, a bit of background info for it to show that the witch deserved this.

Everyone in grade 7 and 8 has to take Spanish at my school. I was unfortunate to have Karen for both years. I can’t speak Spanish to save my life, so I came out failing Spanish, and Karen refused to help anyone outside of the shouting Spanish to English translations at us. Me having APD (auditory processing disorder) only heard the Spanish, so I sat there clueless. Side note, I use microphones now that the teacher wears and put headphones in, so I can hear and process everything that’s being said. She refused to repeat herself, and I just said screw it; I’m not taking Spanish in 9th grade.

My friend Molly witnessed all this and was my rock throughout. Molly was a straight-A student in Spanish and tried to teach me some of what Karen has been teaching.

I still struggled despite Molly’s best effort to keep me up to speed. Karen gives out code 3s (detention) and code 4s (ISS) like candy on Halloween. She refused to let Molly repeat what she had said to me, so I could learn. She gave Molly a code 3 for disrupting the lesson and me a code 4 for being too stupid for this school (not what she put on the form; she put disrupting class several times). I hadn’t spoken apart from signing to Molly to repeat. (I know basic sign for when my anxiety takes over, and I go into selective mutism mode.) Molly and I have hated her since. (There were several incidents regarding my dyslexia; however, this post would be too long with them as well.)

Anyway, onto the revenge.

In grade 8, Molly started recording Karen’s rants at me and her calling me names as well as the code 3s and 4s she gave out. Molly was nice, so she didn’t show these to the principal straight away. She gave Karen 2 more years. She meticulously tracks all code 3s and code 4s possible, even going as far as to asking Karen for help at dinner and recording the response. She does this every lesson she has with Karen. I knew this and started taking Molly with me to places like the bathroom and dinner hall (when I knew she was monitoring them) and signing start and stop to Molly (Karen still doesn’t know sign language), then walking past Karen who would have a complete fit at me going to the toilet during lunch or going to get some food.

All of it was recorded on Molly’s phone.

3 weeks ago, Molly showed the principal. Karen had marked her down due to using sign in her exam along with speaking (she does it automatically sometimes); everything else was perfect. She got an F just for using sign language. (It was conversation, and she’d practiced with me.)

The principal said he’d review it, and Molly just waited. The principal walked past right as Karen had started her rant on how stupid people shouldn’t have taken Spanish and that the whole class was getting Fs for the semester. The principal swiftly took action and fired Karen.

I was speaking to my math teacher today, and he was talking about how he had to cover Spanish and told me that Karen was fired because of a complaint by a student and how he knew I was a part of it as it’d been mentioned that just because someone was signing didn’t mean they were stupid and that discrimination would not be tolerated.

(We were talking alone in a quiet room, so I was speaking to him and able to have a conversation without the mic or signing.) I only found out off of Molly at lunch what happened when she spoke to the principal.” alix-madi-lucy

14. Break My Phone? Pay For The Damages

“I was always the boy people picked on at school. The girls would spread rumors about me, and the boys would harass me non stop. See, I’d always known that I wanted to be a nanny. I loved babysitting and looking after kids, so it seemed like a natural career choice for me. I made the mistake of telling this to a girl who I thought was my friend, and she proceeded to tell everyone at school.

As this was perceived as “feminine,” I instantly became the target for bullies.

There was one boy who loved to terrorize me. I’ll call him Jack for the sake of this story. Jack was awful. He would follow me home whilst throwing things at me, vandalize my schoolwork, call me disgusting names, steal my stuff, cut my hair in class, etc. I was terrified of him. It got to the point where I couldn’t sleep from the fear of having to deal with him at school the next day. I blame him and his friends for the anxiety I had (and still somewhat have to this day).

I reached a breaking point not long after Christmas when I was 15. My family never had a lot of money, but we got by.

My mom had saved for ages in order to buy me my first phone. No, it wasn’t the newest model, but I didn’t care. I was so grateful to have my first phone (and a little guilty that my mom had gone without her new Christmas outfit and had put off fixing her own phone to buy it for me). Once the schools went back after Christmas break, Jack found out about my phone. He took it from me and proceeded to read through my messages (making fun of me for the lack of contacts and telling my mom I loved her), then threw it to the floor and stomped on it in front of his friends. I was furious, upset, and devastated this d*ckhead had destroyed something that my mom had worked so hard to buy for me.

I started planning my revenge.

I knew through the ********* that Jack’s mom was a stay at home mom. His dad had a well-paid job, and his mother was quite happy to stay at home with the kids (4-year-old twin girls). I also knew, however, that she didn’t get to go out much as Jack would flat out refuse to babysit, and she was pretty picky when it came to who was allowed to look after her kids.

I used to babysit her friend’s little boy and was pretty good at it (if I do say so myself). However, for my plan to work, I had to babysit Jack’s siblings. I made a few comments here and there to the little boy’s mom about wanting to get a few more babysitting jobs, so I could save up some money for my mom’s upcoming birthday.

As luck would have it, the lady recommended me to Jack’s mom since it’d been so long since she’d been able to go out with the girls.

For the next few weeks, I’d go to Jack’s house (with the other little boy I was babysitting) and look after his little sisters. Despite Jack’s awful attitude, his family was all pretty nice,  and his little sisters were an absolute joy to look after. Jack wasn’t usually in the house, but when he was, I could see that it killed him to have to be civil to me. His mom would’ve flipped out if he’d been horrible to me in front of her or his little sister’s. (They’d have quickly ratted him out.)

Once I decided enough time had passed, I put my plan into action.

See, Jack was one of those creepy kids that liked to brag about his … adult magazine stash in his bedroom. This made him cool to his friends – never understood why, to be honest. Anyways, every time I’d babysit and put the little ones to bed, I’d sneak into his bedroom and search around. I know this is a massive invasion of privacy, but I was a stupid 15-year-old kid, and I couldn’t take his bullying anymore. I eventually found his stash and made a mental note that they were in a bag in his closet.

I’d been observant those few weeks, so I knew that Jack’s mom and dad had an unopened bottle of vodka in the fridge. They didn’t drink a lot, and it was only for when they were going to parties.

One night, once the little ones were asleep and Jack was out with his friends, I went to the fridge, opened the bottle of alcohol, and tipped about a quarter of it down the sink (his parents could afford to buy a new one, by the way, and if they couldn’t, I’d never have done it), and snuck up to Jack’s bedroom and put his the bottle in the same bag as his stash.

His parents found out about it not too long later, and (after Jack accused me of taking it) they showed up at my door. They weren’t angry because they still didn’t know who had taken it, so they asked me some questions. I denied everything but was polite and even offered to help them look for it in case it’d been misplaced.

They thanked me but told me that it was fine; they’d find it. And oh boy did they find it.

I was called over the next day to look take the little ones to the park for an hour or so in order for them to have a “talk” with Jack. (They didn’t like arguing in front of the twins; it’d frighten them.) When I got back, Jack was in his bedroom, and if the noises were anything to go by, he was crying. It turns out that he’d ratted himself out. His parents found the bottle of alcohol in his room along with his adult magazines. (His mother hated anything like that as she found it to be degrading to women.

She humiliated him by gossiping to the neighbors about his “unhealthy obsession with s*x.”) He’d denied everything and accused me of planting the alcohol there. When asked why I’d do that, he ratted himself out by saying that it was payback for him breaking my phone.

His. Parents. Flipped. Out.

They’d had no idea their son was such a bully. They took away his phone, grounded him, and made him sell his games console to pay to get my phone fixed. (I had been saving up the money myself for a few weeks.) His face when they made him hand me the money will stay with me forever. His parents questioned me about the bullying, eventually informing my mom as well. (I’d hidden it from her and told her I dropped my phone.) He got into a lot of crap at school after a few other kids came forward about the bullying they’d endured at the hands of Jack and his friends.

A few of them, including Jack, got suspended. Jack’s parents even made him got to the door to apologize to the people he’d tormented.

I was reluctant to take the money at first as it was way over the amount it would cost to get my phone fixed, so his parents compromised and told me to take enough to at least cover the repair cost. Needless to say, with the phone repair covered, I managed to get my mom an awesome birthday gift.” TheMaleMaryPoppins

13. Wearing All White? Better Hope I Don’t Push You In A Puddle Of Mud

“I decided to share how I got revenge on my bully back when I was in middle school. I used to be this very quiet girl that didn’t have many friends because I was basically an outsider in the town my family moved to.

I did make 2 friends who are still my friends to this day. If it weren’t for those two girls, I never would have survived middle or high school. Now let me explain to you how I got my revenge.

Like I said, I have been bullied by this one girl who was pretty popular. She was constantly calling me names, spitting on me, pushing me, threatening me, stealing my stuff, and so much more. I never fought back; I just endured it. Teachers never got involved, which made the situation worse for me. It’s not like they didn’t know what was happening because this girl was bold and would even do it in front of the teachers. I was a quiet girl; I was only interested in my artwork more than trying to defend myself.

This was a constant everyday thing with this girl bullying me.

One day as we were getting off the school bus to go inside the school, I was feeling particularly bad after all the bullying and harassment I was dealing with on the bus. This girl kept kicking me and pulling my hair and calling me names. The bus driver did stop the bus a few times to tell her to get back to her seat and to leave me alone, but she’d only stop for a short while then get right back to it again. Once we were at the school, everyone started getting off the bus… I noticed a mud puddle not far from the sidewalk where we all were walking after getting off the bus.

Something in me snapped.

My bully was wearing all white this day. She had got off the bus before me, and that’s when I saw my chance. I got off the bus, walked right up to her, and as she was starting to say something snide to me, I pushed her right in the mud puddle. I then walked away without saying one word to her or her friends. I went into the school and headed to my first-period class. I had just sat down when I hear my name being called on the loudspeaker to head to the principal’s office, so I apologized to my teacher and headed to the principal’s office.

When I got to the office, Miss Muddy Bully girl was there wiping her crocodile tears away complaining about her outfit being new and all.

I found it ironic since there have been a few times she destroyed my own clothing and laughed about it. The principal told me to have a seat, and I smiled at the girl then sat down.

“Did you push Liz in a puddle?” He asked me. “I sure did,” I said proudly. He seemed shocked that I admitted to it. “See, I told you that scum pushed me!” Liz yelled. “QUIET!” the principal yelled at her. “I”ll handle this.” Then looking back at me, he asked “Why did you push her?” I simply smiled and said, “Because I could.” He didn’t like that and told me he would be calling my parents. I looked at him and said, “Go ahead. My dad told me I have the right to stand up for myself, and that’s what I did.” I stood up to leave, and he stopped me saying, “Where do you think you’re going?” I looked at him and said, “To class” and walked out of his office and headed back to my class.

It wasn’t long before I got called back to the principal’s office, but this time, my dad was there. I heard my dad yelling at the principal telling him that if he suspends me, he’ll make sure he loses his job. I stayed outside the office watching my dad yell at the principal. The principal said, “Sir, your daughter pushed another student.” My dad said, “And where were you when that student has pushed my daughter? Where were you when that student has called my daughter cruel names? Where were you when that student has destroyed my daughter’s property? Now you want to be the all-powerful man to suspend a student who was bullied who finally stood up for herself? I think not!”

I then decided to walk into the office.

The principal looked at me then back at my dad. I looked at my dad and said, “Hi Dad, sorry they bothered you.” He just looked at me and said, “Don’t be sorry; I’m proud of you,” and I had the biggest smile on my face. The principal then said, “Sir, I’m gonna have to suspend her,” and my dad said, “You suspend her, then you had better expel the ones that have bullied her!” The principal then said, “I can’t do that,” and my dad said, “I guess then my daughter isn’t suspended now, is she?” I looked at the principal expecting him to say something, but instead, he sat down on his chair then looked at me and told me I could head back to class.

Rumors spread at school that my dad beat up the principal even though it wasn’t true at all. The girl that bullied me, she never bothered me after that day because she feared my father and what he might do. Others came to me asking me what happened, and I told them but they wanted the details about my dad beating up the principal, and when I told them that didn’t happen, they didn’t believe me.

I made more friends later on in school, but I was still the quiet girl that loved to draw and paint. After that day, my principal kept trying to find excuses to get me kicked out of school, but this time, I had my teachers backing me up and threatening to call the school board if he did.

I was a B average student and always did my school work which the teachers liked. I never missed an assignment. I think that’s why my teachers finally backed me up. Some have even apologized for not helping me sooner when I was getting bullied.

That girl that bullied me in middle school… She works at a gas station now, and I ran into her one day while putting gas in my car. She saw me, asked me if I was my full name, and I looked at her confused and said “Um, yes. Why?” and she said, “You probably don’t remember me, but I am Liz. I used to bully you. I’m sorry about the *** I put you through back then.

My niece is going through the same exact thing I put you through, and I didn’t realize how bad I was hurting you. I hope you can forgive me,” and I told her it was the past and all was forgiven. She and I actually became friends as adults. I have talked to her niece about what happened to me as a kid in hopes I can inspire her to stand up for herself or get help.” Staceyroseisme

12. Try To Use My Artwork To Use For A Project? I’ll Steal It Back

I see nothing wrong with stealing back what was yours from the start.

“So, about 3 years ago, I had enough of my bully. She was in class with me for 7 years, and she was that type that is a fake friend.

I was a kid at the time we met in school, and the first thing she noticed about me was that I sit alone. (I have no friends mostly because of me being antisocial and having problems with social interactions thanks to ADHD plus 99% of that class bullied me… The rest just pretended I didn’t exist.) She sat next to me and acted like my friend while she was a manipulative liar, and I was a pushover.

First, she asked to copy my tests, then she wanted me to do her some drawings in pencil. She’d then color the drawings and pretend that it was her original work. She gossiped about me and told lies about me, so they hated me even more.

She told them I gossip about them and other *******.

When it got to the 5th year, I made a friend, my first friend that I had at my school. So, 6 years into school, I was 13 and finally had a friend that wasn’t buying her *******. He actually once came to me and asked me why I let her do this to me. About that time, she just started to casually take my sketchbook and rip out of the drawings she liked and keeping them. That made me furious when I found out.

But one time, I had enough. I was drawing a kissing couple, just a random picture of an anime boy and girl, and she wanted it. The exchange went something like this.

Let’s call her… Brittany.

Brittany: ‘Would you please give me that drawing? I like it.’

Me obviously making this to put into portfolio: ‘No? I spent hours getting the lines right, and the coloring will take some time too.’

Brittany: ‘I would buy it for a dollar.’

Me: ‘No! It’s not for sale!’

Brittany: ‘Then draw me one too!’

Me: ‘No I’m not spending time drawing it again when I don’t want to!’

Brittany: ‘Why won’t you draw me one? Aren’t we friends?’

Me: I’ told you for like the last 4 years that I’m not drawing for others. I’m not doing requests!’

Brittany: ‘You’re such a fake friend. Why won’t you draw one for me and my boyfriend?’

Me: ‘BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO!’

Brittany: ‘Then let me just trace it!’

At this point, I got offended.

I did draw it looking at original on the internet, but the fact that this spawn of entitled Satan wanted to trace it and recolor it, so it would look like her and her boyfriend… I just wanted to slap her, but then my friend came up to us telling her to leave me alone. Of course, this exchange happened again, but after it ended, I took my drawing, and I put it into my backpack right into my favorite textbook because I was going to toilet, and I knew that if I left it on or in desk, she would steal it.

So, I get back from the toilet. I take out the textbook. And what do you know? THAT DRAWING ISN’T THERE! So, I yell at her to give me back my drawing being incredibly p*ssed and wanting to murder this existential mistake.

Brittany: ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t take it! Why would you blame me? It must be in your backpack!’

The next day, she gave me back my drawing and boosting her ego with a really badly traced copy that looked as if a three-year-old colored it. She actually said that “SHE FOUND IT” in the locker area. But at that moment, I decided to get my revenge. I decided to steal her copy. Me with my anxiety decided to steal from liar and manipulator that was devastating my life ever since I was 8.

So, that excuse of a human being thought I wouldn’t have the guts to do it, so to get in my face, she left the copy on the table when she went to talk to the teacher about her bad grades because she wanted better ones, because by her words, “If I’m different race, then I deserve better grades.”

The moment she turned around, I grabbed the copy and put it into a heavy atlas in my desk.

My heart was racing; I was almost hyperventilating, but I did it. When she came back and saw that “her beloved drawing” was gone, she started to yell at me that I stole HER drawing and that she KNOWS I did it and that she’s going to tell the teacher.

Me: ‘Then do it. Who is going to believe you? I have the original with my signature. You have no proof that you even had a copy.’

I didn’t even know where that came from. My friend actually heard the whole argument, and afterward, he told me that it was pretty cool. I actually let him keep the original for the day, so she wouldn’t steal it, and she was too dumb to look in the atlas.

My friend even told me that she looked into my bag when I left for the toilet and that he told her that he will tell the teacher if she continues.

At the end of the day, I quickly put the copy in my backpack next to the original. I came home and ripped that copy apart into tiny pieces and throwing it away. I felt angry but satisfied.

I also have to say that once, she opened one of her notebooks, and I saw my drawings, and I raised my voice telling her to give them back and that I remember drawing them and that if she won’t give them back, I’ll tell the teacher… She was annoyed. But I got my property back.

She also said: “If you won’t color it, then you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to have talent if you don’t draw for others.” …plus other *******.

The last year of school she wasn’t there was the best year in school. Even though there were other bullies, I’d just flipped them off and told everyone that I hated them, I won’t miss them, that I’m glad that I won’t ever see them again. And I laughed the last day of school while others were crying.” IamMatt39

11. Bus Driver Thinks He Can Bully My Little Brother… Then He Goes To Court

“This is a time I got a bully bus driver who always picked on my baby brother in trouble and fired from his job.

This bus driver was a mean, cranky, old man who always seemed to have it out for my brother, and I’m not sure why. During the time of this story, my brother was only 8-years-old, and I was 14. Even though me and my two siblings didn’t always get along, I was very protective of them since they were younger than me, and I hated whenever someone would pick on them.

During the time of this story, it was almost time for summer break, and all the students were getting excited and chattering on about what they’ll do for the summer. We had no assigned seating on the bus except my brother for some reason. The bus driver always made him sit right behind him, and no matter how many times my sister or I complained about it, nothing was done.

Now, this driver was always yelling at my brother for stupid things or blaming him for things that were done by other students. It was getting out of hand. What the bus driver did to my brother was the last straw for me, and he crossed the line.

We were all on the bus, early in the morning, heading towards school. (We lived exactly 4 miles away from school.) Another student threw a wad of paper towards the front of the bus, and the bus driver slammed on the brakes, pulled over to the side of the road, and started yelling at my brother calling him every name in the book. I stood up and walked towards the front of the bus yelling at the bus driver, telling him to leave my brother alone and that he was NOT the one that threw the wad of paper.

The kid that threw the paper stood up and told the bus driver he was the one that threw the paper, but the bus driver yelled at him and me and told us to sit down. I refused. I was angry, and seeing my baby brother being berated and yelled at and called names ticked me off. My brother was crying his eyes out during all of this. My sister was yelling at the bus driver too, but she didn’t get out of her seat like I did.

This cruel man, he grabbed my Brother, yanked him out of his seat, and pushed him off the bus. He shut the door and got in the driver’s seat and started the bus up and continued driving towards school.

I was beyond p*ssed. I was screaming at the bus driver to stop the bus and let me off, so I can be with my Brother. I was so angry, I was calling him a senile, old b*stard and other names just to get him to kick me off the bus too, but he just kept driving with a smile on his face and told me I was gonna get in trouble for standing on the bus when we got to the school.

My brother being only 8-years-old, thrown off the Bus, miles away from school and home must of been scared out of his mind, and that fueled my anger more. My sister was crying at this time, and I told her to not worry about it and that I would get this “senile, old b*stard” fired, and I would find our brother.

She knew I would do anything in my power to protect him and her.

We had arrived at school, and the bus driver refused to let me off the bus. My sister got off the bus and told me she’s getting the principal, so I waited for her and the principal to come back to the bus. In the meantime, I continued to yell at the bus driver and called him names vowing to get him fired. He just laughed and radioed the bus garage telling them he had an unruly student who wasn’t listening to his commands. While he was on the radio, I made sure to scream things to alert the garage that he kicked off a little 8-year-old miles away from home and school.

When my sister got back to the bus with the principal and a bunch of other students who were on the bus as witnesses, he demanded to know what was going on. The bus driver told him I was being unruly and calling him names and refused to sit down. I looked at the principal, still angry, and said, “That senile, old b*stard kicked my baby brother off the bus away from home and away from school for something he didn’t do! That old ****** shouldn’t be driving buses! I want my parents called right now, and if anything bad has happened to my brother, my dad is gonna kill this old jerk! You better call my parents now, and you better call the police too!” I was fuming.

I was so angry that even I was crying.

The principal looked at the bus driver and said, “Did you really kick off a little child?” The bus driver smugly said, “Yes, I did. He was throwing papers. He’s been an unruly child since the first day of school, and I had enough of that little pr*ck’s actions.” I started screaming at the bus driver again, and while screaming I managed to get it out that this bus driver has been constantly harassing my baby brother for things he never did all because of his disabilities, and I had had enough! I was demanding my parents to be called and the police, and I was demanding this bus driver to get fired and arrested.

I refused to back down.

The principal told my sister to go to the office and tell office lady to call our parents and to inform her that she’s gonna need to get the manager of the bus garage and the police here. My sister nodded and took off running inside the school. The principal tried to calm me down, but I was so angry; there was no controlling me.

The rest of the students were told to head to their classes. The bus driver was arguing with the principal and me during this whole time. The manager of the bus garage showed up and was told what happened and ordered the bus driver off of the Bus. He looked shocked that nobody was taking his side.

He got out of his seat and exited the bus still arguing that he didn’t do anything wrong.

My parents had shown up by the time he got off the Bus. I exited the bus too and ran up to my parents telling them that Baby Brother was out on the street somewhere, and we needed to go get him. My father instantly got angry, threw the keys at my mom, and told her to “go get our son while I take care of this piece of ***!” My sister got in the car with my mother while I stayed with my father. He stormed up to the bus driver, grabbed him by his collar, and started yelling at him. Soon afterward, the police arrived, and them seeing my father holding the bus driver up made them think it was my father who was at fault, and they started arresting my dad.

I screamed at them that the bus driver threw my baby brother off the bus, and my father was only protecting his children. I was so angry that I even kicked one of the officers. The principal and the manager of the bus garage even backed me up which surprised me. The police let my dad go and went up to the driver asking him for his side of the story. Of course, he lied and said I was the one causing problems on the bus and that he did kick off a child but kicked him off at his house which was a complete lie. He kept trying to paint himself as the victim. But when my mother showed up with my scared, little brother crying his eyes out, they decided to ask him and my sister what happened.

Between sobs, they were able to get out that the bus driver not only kicked off a little child away from home and away from school but that he was also calling that child all kinds of horrible names and got upset because that child’s big sister started defending that child and refused to back down. The police ended up arresting the bus driver. While he was being arrested, the bus garage manager said loudly, “Bob, you’re fired!” He then looked at my family and apologized to us for what happened. The principal apologized too and said that if he knew all this was happening, he would of put a stop to it a long time ago.

My parents took us kids home.

We didn’t have to go to school that day. We were told by the police that there would be a court hearing we’ll have to attend, and my father said, “Oh, we’ll be there” and herded us in the car.

The next day when the bus showed up, there was a nice lady driving the bus. She heard about what had happened and told my brother he can sit where he wants and told me I was brave and a good big sister. Rumors were going around school that my father had beat up the bus driver even though he didn’t. Students kept stopping us asking us all what happened, and a lot of bigger kids would walk with my baby brother and tell him to not worry and that they’ll protect him whenever his big sister wasn’t around to do it.

My baby brother had a huge smile on his face knowing bigger kids wanted to protect him. They told my sister the same thing. These kids were about a year or two older than me and told me I was “bad a**” in their words. They would pat me on the back and commend me for protecting my siblings the way I did. My siblings and I had gained some new friends during all this that even my own bullies stopped bullying me after they saw the back-up I and my siblings had.

My family ended up going to court a month later during summer break. The Judge was shocked and angry after she heard everything that happened and lectured the bus driver about how he’s responsible for children on his bus until they get home or to school.

She told him that what he did endangered my brother’s life and that he should have never been allowed to work around children. She then ordered him to spend 30 days in jail, 2 years of community service, and he had to take anger management classes AND parenting classes. The bus driver tried to argue with her, so she told him that since he wants to argue, he’ll spend 3 months in jail and pay some kind of fine too on top of everything else.

She then apologized to my parents about what happened and told me that I was very brave for standing up to someone older than me and that I was a good big sister. She called me a hero.

She told me that I should be proud of my actions, and I said, “Ma’am, I was only doing what was right for my siblings. I love them,” and she smiled at me and said, “I can tell.” Court ended, and my Parents took us kids out for ice cream as a celebration. It was a good day. My baby brother hugged me and told me he loved me My sister hugged both of us and said she loved us too even when we argue.” Staceyroseisme

10. Once I Learn Judo, It’s All Over For You Bullies

“As a child, I was bullied at school. Being a slightly plump Star Wars nerd with glasses made me a target. I also refused to back down from fights, so this made me a prime target for older, bigger bullies.

One day, I got home after being beaten up. My face was bruised, my glasses half broken. But as I walked around my parents’ garden, it was the shame of it that burned me. It’s never the physical damage in violent attacks that hurts the most; it’s the shame, that soul-searing feeling of defeat. I’ll never forget how I felt that day.

I was around 12-years-old, and I’d started crying as this older teenager had beaten my face. After so many years of it, and with it getting worse, ******* entered my mind.

My mother took me to judo classes that year. My late father gave me some tips also. He would get me to punch a pillow on his hip while he smacked me ’round the head.

Daily, I would hold a pillow up against a wall and punch it as hard as I could 50 times. Shame turned to anger. Raw anger.

In the summer of my 13th year, adolescence caused me to shoot up in height, and my body to get stronger. I’d started standing up to the minor league bullies. Two of them had been permanently shut down. I’d been fighting other boys in my year, as boys do at that age, and I’d been winning them consistently.

Then it happened. One of the main, older bullies confronted me, and I confronted him back. He hit me in the face, and my glasses came off. I grabbed him by the hair and started punching his face repeatedly.

The rage and strength that went into those punches, I’ll never forget.

This kid that had made my life **** was no longer my tormentor. He was my target. He was unable to retaliate, just standing there as his face was beaten in.

I was pulled off of him. He was shaking like a leaf in a state of shock. I saw him later in the day, talking with his fellow bullies. He was still shaking, his face bruised and eyes wide. He informed them, ‘He just went mad.’

All in all, the bullying stopped after that. There were a few comments and smaller incidents, but no one dared push me too far.

The only other main incident was during cadets training (army reserves for school kids).

At age 16, we were informed by the 18-year-olds that we were going to get it in our dorm during the night. I was to be the main target, a big 18-year-old covered in muscle had barged me that day, and I stood my ground.

So, myself and a couple of others built makeshift flame throwers with aerosol cans and pipes and were seen to practice with them, forming a line and advancing. We sent word that we were ready. They didn’t touch us that night.

By age 17, that core of bullies had grown up a bit and actually became friends with me. I now had the early strength of a man and was a Muay Thai practitioner. The nerdy kid with glasses had also grown up to be popular with the girls and was regarded as one of the leading cadets in the cadet force (ended up growing my hair long and being in a band – story for another time).

I’d regularly get respect from them.

The bully that had beaten me to tears when I was 12, he’d gone to a different school by then. He came in to see his old friends once and saw them all greet me as I walked by. He looked at me, and I returned his gaze. He obviously didn’t want to take things further.” Phil Edwards

9. A Makeshift Ditch Helped These Victims Take Down Two Bullies

I’d kill to see video footage of this one.

“When I was growing up in Spring Valley, California, my younger brother and I (as well as other kids in the neighborhood) were tormented by two bullies. Their last name was Spratley. Both were stocky redheads about 12- and 13-years-old.

My brother was 10, and I was 12.

These bullies would pound the living *** out of people for no reason. One time, my brother stood up to both of them alone and was beaten rather soundly.

One day, we were shooting our BB guns in a field where a lot of people (us included) rode their mini-bikes and dirt bikes. As I saw the Spratley’s fly-by on the trail on their mini-bike, I got an idea after stepping on wet, mushy ground.

My friend Bob fetched a couple of shovels from his garage at my request. Bob, my brother, and I then hid in the weeds and timed the two bullies to see how long it took for them to ride from where we were to the end of the trail and back.

We timed it at a little over 4.5 minutes.

When the gingers sped past us again, we ran from our cover and dug a shallow ditch of about 8 inches deep and two feet wide across the path in under four minutes, then hightailed it to the weeds anew.

As we caught our breath, here came the Spratleys, red hair flying in the wind! We readied for the consequences that awaited the punks as a result off our trap.

The mini-bike hit the ditch at about 25 mph and flipped, sending the hoodlums flying into the air and onto the ground. Bandanas over our faces, we emerged from the stealthy weeds and wailed on both of them with our fists and feet while they were down.

Both kids began crying. We then fled over the fence and into Bob’s back yard laughing and rejoicing our a**es off.

Within 30 minutes, Mr. Spratley, a stocky roofer, was knocking on our front door. He complained to my father about my brother and I beating up his sons. Now my dad was 6′5″ inches and 265 pounds and took no lip from anybody.

When Mr. Spratley threatened my father, dad gave him 10 seconds to split, else he’ll suffer a beat down like his sons had. The dude blazed.

Until I joined the Army five years later, the Spratley boys avoided my brother and I. And by the way, they stopped bullying once the word spread, and it spread quickly.” Scott Mollette

8. I Was The Quiet, Shy Kid Until I Went Into A Rage

“I witnessed myself doing something I never thought I was capable of.

It was like watching myself from another view.. since I didn’t even control what was happening.

There was this short, little kid in our class when I was in the 5th grade. He was terrorizing everyone because he had friends who were very dangerous, and everyone who would mess with him. He’d send his friends to kick the a** out of the one who messed with him, so everyone was scared of him.

He would go on and slap kids on their faces, and no one would react.

One day, he took my school bag from my chair and looked for money.

I told him to let it go and that I don’t have any money.

He looked at me, in an angry face, and slapped me on my face so hard that it dropped me off balance, and I almost fell on the floor.

The dude could SLAP.

An inner rage was building inside of me … Oh the rage, I will never forget that.

His name was Michael. I told him:

“Michael, stop it. I don’t want to mess with you because you have friends with higher power, so just STOP IT.”

He slapped me one more time. My face was turning so red from his slaps that I felt like someone had poured lava on them.

After he did that, I told him:

“If you do this one more time, I swear I will *** you up.”

Raging, he swung his hand backward in order to slap me again.

I saw it coming, another slap.

But holy ***, something inside of me just EXPLODED with rage.

N O — M O R E.

It felt like it was happening in slow motion. Everything slowed down, and I let my body and mind react to the situation without thinking about anything else.

Just before his hand hit my face, I grabbed his hand with mine and slapped the living *** out of him. I slapped him so hard that he literally lost consciousness and dropped to the floor. On his little journey to the floor, he hit his head on the table. He started bleeding on the floor as a result.

I was in shock from what I did. I was a quiet, shy guy who didn’t want to mess with anyone. He forced me to react in self-defense.

Everyone was shocked and stood in place. They called an ambulance, and I got suspended for three days.

After a few days, he came back to school.

The look on his face every time I looked at him ever since then … was priceless … pure terror.

As for his friends. Well, I never got any threat from any of them, and they didn’t do anything to me. It always felt to me that his friends respected me for what I did, standing on my own right to defend myself.

He stopped terrorizing other kids because of this incident.” Moshe Ben

Another User Comments:

“What you did was teach him the lesson that no matter how many friends he has that he can call on to beat down others. If they aren’t there, the fact that he has those friends is pointless.

Somebody can still *** him up all because HE started it by his own actions, and HE will take the beat down.

You gave him the ultimate, “Oh ***! *** did I get myself into!” moment.

You are the hero of the school.” John Robinson

7. Make Fun Of Me For Being “Transgender?” Well, This “Transgender” Can Punch

“My school roll number was 9. In India, this means a transgender (meaning that it is a six from one side and a 9 from the other). The guys in my class used to make fun of me calling me a transgender. But all of these guys were very close friends of mine, and I make fun of them back, and it seldom crosses the limit.

After 10th grade, I switched schools for 11th and 12th. Word got out quickly that my roll number at my previous school was 9.

My old friends stopped calling me transgender, but the new classmates started it. The most problematic was a group of 5 guys with one guy, Mohan, being the worst.

One day after school, I was traveling on the school bus when I removed my flip flops and was relaxing in the school bus when these guys took one of my shoes and hid it. I knew they took it and asked it back politely. I’m polite as long as you don’t provoke me, and I never bully anyone.

During this bullying incident, these 5 guys stood near the bus door like “heroes” and creating a ruckus just to win the attention of the girls. There was a teacher on the bus. However, it was difficult for her to control them too.

(I mean, 5 teenage boys vs one female teacher…)

They started calling me a transgender out loud and said that they have one of my “heels” (mocking my flip flop, referring that I’m a woman), and the girls started to look at them. This was more than sufficient for them as they were getting the attention, and it started increasing. It went on for 15 agonizing minutes, but for me, it felt like forever.

I was an avid sports guy playing football, cricket, and basketball. I was lean but strong. These guys had no idea about me. I walked up to them while they were shouting, “Look at the 9 walk.” The entire bus started to look at us, and the attention made all 5 increase their behavior.

One last time, I asked for the flip flop back.

Mohan: Look, 9 is asking for her slippers. Is that a size 9 too?

Me: -giving a mean stare-

Mohan: Oh! The transgender is staring at me. What is she gonna do?

Me: Punch you!

I held him by his shirt and landed two hard blows. (I was very angry). I pushed him aside. The other 4 guys went quiet. (I myself was surprised.) I bent down to take my flip flop and wanted to give another verbal warning, but just when I looked at him, I saw ***** oozing out from his mouth.

The entire bus looked at this incident, and word got out quick, and nevertheless, no one ever made fun of me that way my entire school.

I have a churchmate with whom I worked in later years and was a transgender. Myself along with a couple of other boys were a good support for him. These incidents made my eyes open at a very early age.

Anyways, that day, I owned him in front of the junior kids, the girls to whom he was showing off, and even the teacher who he thought couldn’t do anything against him.” Gabriel Oliver Washington

6. Make Me Your Little Victim? Two Can Play That Game

“Moving as frequently as we did, as well as being the shy nerdy type, tended to make me something of a target for the local school-associated bullies. Normally, so long as they focused their attention on just me, it wasn’t too much of a problem.

I faced much worse at home. However, whenever I saw them picking on some other kid, one perhaps who did not have the same psychological resilience as I had, well, that brought out a rather different response.

These accounts are not meant to be chronological nor do I intend to reveal specifics that could lead to the identification of the miscreants. If they read about themselves and recognize who I’m talking about, so be it. At least they’ll know who the source of their little adventure was. Most of the time, they probably went through their miserable, unfulfilled lives ignorant of the grief they caused and who had specific issues with them.

Let’s start with the young man who declared ownership of the boy’s restroom.

He, and his buddies, decided it was entertaining to hassle any of us younger kids who had to make use of the facilities. It wasn’t uncommon to have toilet paper, trash, water, and other forms of detritus showered upon a stall user nor for various verbal abuse heaped upon the unsuspecting.

The trigger event occurred when I came upon him and his cohorts picking on a kid smaller (yes, there were some) and younger than me. They had the poor fellow in tears (which they found amusing). Such behavior bothered me immensely.

As I had some time to myself throughout the day, I planned and prepared, visited a drug store, then waited for an empty hallway. It only took a few moments to pick the lock on his locker (they were the cheap master-type combination locks that can be opened with a bent bit from a soft drink can), and then I packed the contents of my paper bag into it.

A fiddling with the hinge pins ensured the door would fall off when it was opened.

I was a way down the hall when the spectacle opened for its one and only showing. He unlocked it, then swung open his locker. As planned, the door promptly fell off, spilling a dozen disposable diapers and a handful of enuresis pamphlets in front of all the other students.

His denials of ownership went unheeded by his peers. Much mirth was shared. He lost a great deal of credibility and respect, including what he had with his cronies. It was an effective end to his annoying presence in the restrooms.

Chemistry has its uses in so many areas, including retribution. A particularly troublesome individual earned his reprisal many times over for unwarranted behavior towards others.

It was not particularly difficult, as such things go.

A little carbon disulfide (CS2) provided the centerpiece of just desserts. CS2 is an odoriferous organic solvent that has an affinity towards polycarbonate plastics and a pungent and familiar odor.

The classroom was unlocked. I had no trouble at all standing outside the school building. I transferred about an ounce of CS2 from my glass container into a plastic medicine bottle, then stuck the lid of the bottle to the underside of his desk. A few brushstrokes of a particular color of dry tempera paint to the seat of his desk chair, and it was done.

Class began, as usual. Twenty minutes or so went by, then things began happening. The carbon disulfide began to eat its way through the hard, plastic of the pill bottle.

It was just a tiny amount at first, but the comments began to spread.

“Who farted?”
“Eew.”
“Gross.”
“Someone needs to go to the bathroom.”

Then the bottom dropped out.

“It’s Brian!”
“Brian cut a big one!”

Naturally “Brian” tried to deny his involvement.

He should know, of course. It couldn’t have been him, could it? His refutations couldn’t overcome the olfactory evidence. It didn’t help matters at all when he stood to show everyone that he could not possibly have been at fault, because there was the proof: a brown stain covering the seat of his pants. He had a mishap of the worst kind in clear view of twenty-odd other students. It certainly let the wind out of his sails. He was given permission from our teacher to go to the restroom and take care of himself.

For some strange reason, he didn’t return to class that day. In fact, he made himself quite scarce for the rest of the semester.

Sad to say, there were other, similar events. As I mentioned, we moved a LOT, and I attended quite a few schools during my pedagogical journey (something like 17 schools in 12 years).” Aaron Wilson

5. Constantly Ridicule Me In Class? Take This April Fool’s Joke

“YES! My English teacher, with the GREATEST of pleasure on April Fool’s Day!

It was 1970. Eisenhower High School, and Miss Campitelli (she was my age now, over-the-hill ‘old’), an English teacher, that used to get great joy from ridiculing just me almost every single class with at least ONE remark. Most often it was several.

Wild, long, curly hair; bony legs (dress code changed to allow cut-offs); clumsy; skinny; holes in faded jeans; very high IQ and only uses it for stupid jokes to disrupt my class; weird, hippie shoes; no socks; something on all my pants or shirts; honkin’ nose; Dumbo ears; four eyes; metal-mouth; shoulders; belly; butt; elbows; knees; ankles; toes; it was ENDLESS!

And all I could do was sit and take it or do something rash out of anger to her, face to face, or behind her back, get caught and get suspended, or kicked out of school entirely.

SO, it was time to use that high IQ to think out for a long time about the “perfect crime”!

First, a bit of background for your mind’s eye.

Miss Campitelli was a ‘spinster’ who lived alone and walked a considerable distance to and from work/school each day, and so, stayed in shape. Her daily outfits were sharp and many, BUT all were from the early forties, where we guessed her life had stopped moving forward.

I think, me, also being Italian and potentially very smart, but obviously a lazy idiot, was a particularly pointy thorn, jabbing in her side non-stop. I was in the idiot reading class, almost near a 1st-grade reading level with Mr. Wilson, while at the same time, in the advanced science classes and college-level advanced math classes like trig, etc.

Obvious Aspie traits now and obviously an intentional lazy idiot then.

Now Mr. Wilson was in charge of the teachers’ requisitions of materials and supplies, and if a competent trusted male ‘idiot’ can be found in one of his ‘special’ classes, that person gets the job of tending that large, locked supply room with all the special privileges of the title, “The Supply Boy,” the most valued one.

No school bullies could get through that locked, windowless door, my continuous private refuge outside the classroom.

A couple of others were to freely walk around the school halls during class hours without question as I probably am doing a ‘Supply Run’ AND a key to that sanctuary, which I quickly found out was the MASTER KEY for every door in the entire school building, including the front doors – TO GET IN!!!

Several days before “D Day” I made my “concoction,” so it would have plenty of time to release the air bubbles, thereby rendering it to an almost clear state, which should cause it to be virtually invisible when applied and also made one “milk run” to assure no hitch during, and the escaping from, the execution of this hopefully “PERFECT CRIME.”

“H Hour” arrived!

On the morning of April 1st with the master key, I got to the school an hour before the front doors were unlocked for students to enter.

I went directly to Miss C’s morning Homeroom, entered the locked room. The whole time moving ever so SLYLY >> like John Belushi in the movie “Animal House.” And by now, I am soaking wet from sweating and shaking like a leaf. With weak knees, I wobbled over to her highly polished desk chair and pulled it out.

Took out the “concoction” (a blended mixture of molasses, honey, and maple syrup) and poured all of it on the seat of the chair. Then used my fingers to spread it evenly edge to edge on the seat, so it was very THICK and puddled extra DEEP in the center of that wood chair. And it matched perfectly with the same gloss of the polished seat.

I returned the chair to its standard position, made a zig-zag bee-line slyly down the long hallway and still unseen, and made it safely to hide behind the security of the solid oak door of the supply room to regain my composure and wait for the first bell to ring – so I could come out and blend in, on the way to my first period class, which was ENGLISH!!!

STRANGELY, there is no English teacher, but after five minutes, a substitute shows up.

It is not till my 8th-period class that I waited for all day to talk with a person from Miss C’s morning homeroom to get the dirty low-down.

It has to be in casual conversation to get this info, as I do not want to draw attention to this, by asking weird questions, should a school-wide INQUEST be later held.

So, I asked after talking for a few minutes, “Did anything happen differently this morning in Homeroom when Miss C entered?” and the reply was, ‘Yeah, she came in and sat down, then immediately got up and left.” Then I asked, “Anything else before first period?” “Yeah, the janitor brought in a cart with a chair on it, swapped it with the one at the desk, and left.”

A few days later, I found out it wasn’t until 5th-period class that Miss C had made it back to work/school.

For that much time to pass, more than likely, she walked the entire way to change her clothes, smelling SUPER sweet and all the way home with each step going squish, squish, squish, squish, squish, squish, squish, squish, squish…

Every time she picked on me after that day, I just smiled, remembering that sweet aroma and picturing, in one of those very tight, mid-calf, two-piece outfits, the squish, squish, squish, squish, squish…” Frank O. Mandrack

4. Bully Her Daughter For 9 Years? She’ll Remind The Bully’s Mom How Terrible Of A Son She Raised

“One boy in specific tormented me throughout my entire childhood.

He had platinum blond hair, incredibly rich parents, and a constantly smug look on his face.

I met him when I was five. He would tell the other kids (especially boys) that they shouldn’t play with me.

Turns out, he was also a charmer. Incredibly popular with all the girls, he managed to single-handedly pick away each and every girl I had formed friendships with since starting school.

When he looked at me, the smug face would turn into disgust. It was the same look you’d pull if someone was coming at you while smeared in dog crap.

My family have never been rich. We didn’t live in the luxe part of town that he did. We had harder times, around the same age I began school (5 years).

I lost my baby sister Amber. She was born full-term, but the umbilical cord became wrapped around her neck days before my mother went into labor.

It shook us all to the core.

Especially my parents.

At that age, it’s extremely difficult to deal with your parents being incredibly happy and loving and then becoming helplessly submerged in depression.

School was my outlet.

Those friends that I made became one of the only things that put a smile on my face, and he took them away from me for absolutely no reason.

As time went by, school became equally as depressing as being at home.

My days only consisted of school and home – meaning that every single day was tedious and almost painful to go through.

These were the days where I was meant to be having fun and games with my friends, rolling round in the grass, going to other girls’ houses, and dancing to music.

Instead, I had kids throwing things at me. Name-calling. Shoving. Snide remarks. Even little acts of despise, like how the popular kids convinced everyone in the class to not lend me any of their stationary if I needed it or wanted to borrow a color pencil that I didn’t have.

Group work terrified me.

It was usually a case of one study book with guides and questions for two, three, or four children to complete.

What was in those books? I don’t know. Nobody would ever let me look in them, so I could do my work, meaning that I got told off for being slow and lazy by the teacher, as she pointed at how much work they did in the same amount of time.

At break time, I’d be sitting alone.

I remember one time where I was surprised that a group of girls invited me to play tag. Then one girl started drama. I didn’t ‘tag’ her once… But before I knew it, she went to the teacher, crying, saying that every time I went near her, I scratched her hands intentionally.

I didn’t understand.

I didn’t understand why everyone hated me so much.

I didn’t understand the logic.

From then on, I sat even further away from everyone than I did prior to this, sometimes literally in a bush, counting the leaves.

The teacher changed every year. One was particularly hateful towards me and brought my parents in to tell them that I was a “loner,” and I need to stop writing creative stories.

She also told that to my face multiple times.

As an adult, I still can’t understand how someone who chose to work with children could witness bullying and an extremely depressed child and still feel like putting them down more by calling them a “loner.”

Ironically, lots of my creative writing and stories were the direct cause of not being able to see the exercise books that had the work I needed to be doing on.

Occasionally, we did art classes, and the odd boy or girl would catch me in the room alone and say, “Wow, you are really good at art.”

Then once they rejoined their group, they might as well have spat at me. This kind of ‘two-faced’ behavior – experiences where I mildly got my hopes up, completely destroyed my trust in others.

Anyway, this continued for many years. It’s a small town, not that many kids.

I moved to another school at the start of high school (aged 11), but during the second year, I got very sick with my hyper-mobility (supposed Elhers Danlos), and the distance to my new school became too much.

I had made amazing friends there! I had them all on Facebook, text messages, Kik – you name it.

Unfortunately, for the 8 months I was off school seriously ill – I didn’t receive one message from any of them.

Not one single message.

So, I moved to the local high school and hoped my parents would be right in thinking that all my childhood classmates would be more mature now.

They were wrong.

What’s worse than 30 kids taunting and hating you?

100 kids taunting and hating you.

It was actually quite impressive how quickly they managed to convince all the kids I didn’t know, that I was worthless scum.

People actually threw things at me in the corridor, put old food and wrappers in my hood, hit me with rulers during lessons.

When I was 16, two boys were sat behind me throwing scissors and pencils. I kept eyeing the teacher for him to do something. Anything.

Nothing.

I stood up and said, “I’m NOT ****** PUTTING UP WITH THIS FOR ONE MORE MINUTE” and walked out.

The teacher did nothing.

I got punished for swearing as he had to explain why I wasn’t in the lesson to other teachers.

—– here’s the good part —–

Last year, my mother was in the local pub and having a great time with her friends.

The atmosphere, music, drinks, everything was great.

Locals were coming up to her to chat, as they often do, especially because my parents are well known in the community for managing the surrounding children centers and working with adults with learning disabilities.

Their jobs are so deeply intertwined with the community of my town, it is hard to not know them. When I was younger, they were only working towards having these jobs. Now they had achieved what they had spent so many years working towards and absolutely loved it.

At some point, a familiar face came and danced next to her.

This woman had platinum blonde hair and was very well dressed. Jewelry, shoes fresh out the box, you get the picture.

She took my mom to the side, gushing.

“You look great. I haven’t seen you in YEARS!”

Mom slightly nodded, trying to put her finger on ‘exactly’ who this was before speaking…

“Your daughter went to school with my son! Freddie! Don’t you remember?”

My mom suddenly smiled ear to ear and began to respond in a slightly raised voice to make sure she could hear over the loud music (her and everyone else…).

“OH, yes! YOUR SON was the one who made MY DAUGHTER’S LIFE a living **** for a good 9 years of her life.”

The woman’s face turned bright red and burst into tears, disappearing out the back door at speed.

Mom ran outside to call me at 1 am, telling me how she got revenge on my bully for me – by reminding his mother that her son is a complete *****, and no matter how much money she has or how much she pretends to be friends with the down to earth people in the community, the dirt is on her.

Maybe, just maybe she has realized now that instead of all those expensive pilates classes, social events, and shopping sprees, she could have been spending time with her son, shaping him into someone worth calling her son.

Still proud of my mom for doing that. It doesn’t amount to even a fraction of all the pain he put me through, but it’s good enough for me.” Jessi Robson

3. I Got Her So Drunk That She Could No Longer Fight Me

“Because I was bullied relentlessly in grade school, I decided when I got into high school to never allow that to happen again. My first day of high school, I was walking upright like a d*mned peacock, proud and sure nothing was going to happen to me again, waiting for the first ***** to cross my path.

While I wasn’t picked on again, an ***** still managed to cross my path.

At the end of the first school day, many of us freshmen stood on the outskirts of school property, gathering as teens do, trying to sneak cigarettes by the bus stop. I hear a girl yelling and turn. “What the *** are you looking at? You stupid ****!” I see a larger girl walk up to a very timid, significantly smaller girl, who appeared absolutely terrified. The larger girl, we will call Laura, grabs the frightened girl by her hair and starts dragging her around. No one steps in, including me, as it ended rather quickly. The small girl stumbled away, frightened, and humiliated. Looking back, it was like an alpha trying to establish her position in the prison yard.

I stared at Laura for a second. I remember thinking clearly, “I will remember you, ****.”

Fast forward down the year, and Laura has made a name for herself terrifying the locals. I was a bit of a rogue teen and would sometimes bring alcohol to school in a hair spray bottle. I would share with other classmates on occasion, so I suppose it may have gotten around I would do this. Laura, in typical bullying form, coming off as a local vagrant with a demanding tone, approaches me. “I heard your parents have a nice liquor cabinet.” I reply calmly, “That may be true.” She says, “Bring me some tomorrow. Meet me in the upstairs bathroom first period.” I smile as if honored to be demanded of this, and say, “Ok, I will see what I can do.”

I tell a few of my misfit friends about this.

We conspire about how to handle this. Missy says the unthinkable. I shake my head, “No way, I can’t do that,” She says, “Oh, yes you can. You gonna just obey, or are you going to set this **** straight.” I say “Fine, but I’m not the one to do it. I’ll just give it to her.”

I go home that night, grab my hair spray bottle, and fill it halfway with a few different liquors. I remember a few whiskey selections, a bit of vodka, and Creme de’ Menthe. The next morning, I meet Missy early in the downstairs bathroom where I hand her the bottle. She hands it back to me, and I swear I hear demonic laughter somehow overcoming the sound of industrial toilets cyclones so strong that they can suck down a limb.

I move to the upstairs, and Laura is waiting. We both go into a stall next to one another. I hand her the bottle.

“UGGGHHHH, it’s warm and nasty! What the *** is this?”

I tell her, “Well, I wanted to get you extra drunk, so I mixed a bunch of stuff. Of course it’s warm; it’s liquor, not beer.”

She drinks it down without even a thank you from her lips, reminding me of why I was there in the first place.

I felt a little guilty for a bit, but that deteriorated a few months later when she drove by a friend of mine while we were walking in the parking lot, flicking her off before getting out to threaten her.

“What the *** are you looking at, ****?” Laura says to my terrified friend, who is quivering.

I say back to her, “What the *** are you looking at?” She replies, “I wasn’t talking to you.” I reply, “Well, I’m talking to you.” She says, “I’ll kick your a**, ****.” I respond, “Well, then walk your fat a** over here, so you can break a sweat and handle it.” She looks at me, shocked, and says, “I’ll get you tomorrow.” I said, “But I’m standing here right now. Where the *** are you going?” She walks away, and I continue. “Where are you going, you dumb ***? You said you were going to kick my a**.” She ignores me, so I assume we are fighting tomorrow.

I show up to school wearing Doc Marten combat boots, a shirt that says “Italian attitude,” no earnings, and my hair in a bun.

Fighting two older brothers with straight ***** and bruises most of my life left me not fearing any female, large or not. I look around for her. No Laura at school. I wait after school for her by the bus stop. No Laura. Then I see her drive by, in the back of a car, window open, staring as she drove by, but not a word to be said. I never saw Laura again. She dropped out of school.

I later found out Laura was living in some pretty horrendous conditions. As an adult, it is this point that makes me sympathize for whatever pain was caused her to turn into such an *******. I had my own problems too, so I guess we were both ******.

She never knew what was in that bottle, and all these years later, I still can’t believe she drank Creme De Menthe without puking.” Dee Mackee

2. Make My Life Miserable? Get Arrested For Something Else

“My story begins 5 or 6 years ago. I was coming home for school. I was 14-15 years old. My commute included catching a bus from its last stop. The last stop of the bus was like a cul-de-sac where the bus turned around, waited for 10-15 minutes before it would go, while the driver had a rest, and the passengers got on.

I got on the bus and stood in the middle. (There were a lot of people already on it, and all of the seats were taken.) When I looked outside, I saw 3 boys (slightly older than me) sitting on a bench looking aggressively at me and talking.

One of them was looking straight into my eyes. I will call him Main Aggressor (MA). I could tell they were talking about me and straight away knew they had bad intentions. This goes on for about a few minutes when the bus engine starts. Just before the doors closed, and the bus set off, they got on. MA came right next to me and looked me right in the eyes about 2 inches away from me. I turned away and got to the front of the bus near the driver. Scared, I wanted to phone my father to wait for me at the bus stop, but my phone bill wasn’t paid, and my phone was useless.

Just one stop before mine, they suddenly get off the bus and run away looking back at me.

A few weeks later, while going to school, I catch a different bus, which set off from the same place. As the bus set off, I saw the same 3 guys outside. MA notices me right away and yells to the others “Hey, that’s that guy!” They started walking towards the bus, but it drove away.

The 3rd time I saw them was the scariest. It was like a year later. I was coming home on a Saturday evening on the 1st bus. The bus was almost empty, and I was sitting in the back. I saw the same 3 guys getting on the bus from the front door. My ***** ran cold. They hadn’t noticed me yet, and I immediately rang my mom and told her to wait for me at the bus stop.

I was looking out the window, pretending to not see them. They were messing around at the front of the bus when MA noticed me. He smiled to the other 2 guys and walked up to me. Standing next to my seat, he started saying things like, “Nowhere to run now?” and “I finally got you” while pushing me.

I didn’t say anything and pretended he wasn’t there. Luckily, my stop was coming. As the bus stopped, I suddenly got up and ran to the door. He tried to grab me but failed. I ran out of the bus and got in my mom’s car which was already at the bus stop. I looked back, and I saw all 3 of them getting off the bus and trying to chase the car.

My district is small, and I found MA on social media and knew who he was (a typical aggressive *************** gangster). Heard from a few friends that he was a well know bully in our district. I was a very shy and timid person, so the experience stuck with me for quite a long time. For 1 or 2 years after that, I was afraid to go near that bus stop or walk alone in the dark. I would always look around in fear on busses or when walking on the street.

The revenge part.

Fast forward to a year and a half ago, 20-year-old me started a job at a construction company. I became a friend to most of the workers including the foreman and the boss.

They all liked me, because I did my job well and was generally friendly. I was working hard because I needed money, which helped my progress in the company quickly. I started as a construction worker (cleaning the construction site, carrying around materials, assisting formworkers and rebar workers, etc.), but about 6 months later, the foreman started giving me more complex tasks as well.

About 2 months ago, we were removing formwork with 2 of my colleagues when the foreman came with another guy and said, “This is our new guy. He will be working with you. Show him around and take care of him. It’s his first job.” When I looked at him, I was shocked. It was MA. Surprisingly, he didn’t recognize me (probably because my appearance changed a lot since 5 years ago), but I hadn’t forgotten his ugly face.

I didn’t give him any info about me that would make him remember. He wasn’t into talking a lot anyways. I didn’t tell anybody about him because I felt that was nobody else’s business. At the moment, he didn’t do anything wrong, but I just couldn’t stand him and wanted to get rid of him ASAP.

We have a storage at our construction site which held expensive tools and machines (drills, angle grinders, etc.). One morning, we came to find it broken into, and there was missing equipment. There is 1 security guard, but his kiosk is on the other side of the construction site next to the entrance, which was about 50 meters away, and his view to the storage is obstructed, so he didn’t see anything.

There was security camera footage, but it was low quality and the 2 guys visible were wearing dark hoodies. Police were called, but there was nothing they could do.

The next day, I come home from work. One of my dad’s buddies had stopped by to show him the new hand-held circular saw he’d bought second hand for cheap. A bell immediately rang in my head. When I saw it, I instantly recognized it. I took a picture of it, saying that I was interested in buying a similar one. My dad’s friend told me who he got it from, and after another check on social media, I found out it was MA’s father. It all started coming together. I told my boss and foreman everything I knew and showed them the picture of the saw.

My dad’s friend also confirmed to my boss that MA is indeed the son of the guy he’d bought the saw from. Me and my boss went to the police and told them everything.

The next morning, there were 2 officers on the construction site. When MA showed up, they arrested him. The sweetest part was me telling handcuffed MA, “Nowhere to run now?” He thought about it for a second and looked at me with wide-open eyes. He suddenly remembered who I am. Anyway, under pressure, he told the police everything. Turns out, his father persuaded him and one of his friends to steal the equipment. His father would then sell it, and they would split the money.

I don’t know much about his father, but MA is held on multiple charges including theft and trespassing.

I also heard from a friend that he’s been arrested before for assault, but they let him go. This time, he’s not getting away. Sometimes I feel bad for him, but then I remember what an ***** he was and still looked to be.” Yavor36

1. Think You Can Take Me Down Because Of Your Bigger Size? You’ll Be Left With Broken Bones

“I was 12-years-old, and I wasn’t all that tall. I was wide and overweight. I also had one **** of a temper that I had learned to control in a way, so that, for the most part, I didn’t react violently, but I reacted to most things regardless. It meant bullies loved picking on me.

At this point, I had been bullied for years.

It started out with classmates during the lower years until my mom got involved, and all the parents were made aware of it, and my bullies stopped. Then my first year in the middle grades (4th to 6th grade), a guy two grades up saw me and immediately realized that I was a prime candidate for him getting to feel better about himself. (He was as short as me and a complete geek.)

This guy started out using an old-timey insult for fat people. I had no clue he was trying to bully me. We had similar interests, so I actually thought he was trying to befriend me. This p*ssed him off a lot, and he went out of his way to make it clear that he was bullying me.

Took me a fair bit of time to actually catch on.

Over the years, he escalated, he grew in size, and he got a following of friends, and they would use almost every recess every single day to follow me and bully me. I had gone to the teachers multiple times, and my mom and dad had contacted the principal multiple times, but nothing didn’t work. My bullies usually retaliated with getting extra intense and physical too for a while every time, so I stopped doing it. Snitches get stitches, amirite?

Now, my dad was very tired of this happening again and again, so he took me aside and gave me a lesson about defending myself. He basically gave me a rundown on self-defense, told me explicitly never to start a fight, but that it was alright to fight back and to end it.

He informed me that violence should always be my last choice, etc. I took this to heart. This had been going on for two years by now. My mom had contacted the principal again. They were getting physical again. They had cornered me, and I tried to get away, but they wouldn’t let me.

I was sick and tired of this, so I looked at him, and I said he better stop now, or he would regret it. Bully and his posse of course laugh; they don’t believe a Lil Fatty can do much. At this point, I am seething. I try to get out again; they push me back. And that’s when I explode. I jump on the main bully. He might be bigger than me, but he’s still a skinny geek.

I get him on the floor and start wailing on his face, then when he tries to fight back and push me off, I bite his hand so hard I hear crunching. Meanwhile, his friends are frozen just staring at me. I also jumped on his chest. In the end, it took three teachers to pull me off.

This kid had a broken nose, at least two broken ribs, a huge gash on his hand from my bite (which honestly could have killed him, you know, germs and all). I was suspended (duh) for a week but escaped expulsion because these ****** had tormented me for years, and the school had failed to stop them. According to what my dad told me, he had used that defense against the school and promised that if they expelled me, he would expose their failure to stop the bullying for years to the media and all the parents.

So, yeah, uh… That’s the story. And as said, I honestly don’t know how much of this is exaggerated, but I got a feeling that the severity of the injuries might be one of the exaggerations.” SoupmanBob

A lot of the time, bullies have something going on so wrong internally that they feel the need to expend that anger and negativity towards a weaker person. Although I’d wish nothing more than for these people to get the help they need, they do, in my opinion, deserve to learn from their mistakes, and that’s exactly what happened in these stories. One word: satisfying.

If you loved them like I did, make sure to read more bully revenge stories here!