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This is a question FIGHT!

Dr Preference wants to hear your stories about fighting. Ever started a fight? Ever seen a spectacular bar brawl? Or did you hide in a kebab shop when chased by West Ham football hoolies? The first rule of B3ta Fight Club is that you WILL talk about B3ta Fight Club.

(, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 11:04)
Pages: Popular, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 23:02, 4 replies)
Well this is all going terribly well.

(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 23:01, 1 reply)
Where's the chalk?
I'm being forced to post this, or someone is going to beat me up, so if you don't like it, tough, fuck off. That includes anyone who read about this in Private Eye in 1973 or such-like, just enjoy it for what it is, rather than as a forensic account of eyewitness statements from an actual documented incident.
That said, I'm sure it has happened to somebody, and I can see no reason why it wouldn't have been the dipshit I'm about to nominate.

So, this tale involves a hapless bloke I know, who has the misfortune to look just like Trigger from "Only Fools and Horses", and is pretty much on a par with the character intellectually. This chap is one of those people who wants to be "a face" so badly, but hasn't got the brawn, brains or luck to be known as a "tasty geezer" round town.

That doesn't stop him pushing his luck, almost always with the wrong people, who will subsequently beat seven bells out of him, almost out of pity. Time after time he will appear, sporting magnificent injuries, epic shiners, from what he claims were "deals gone bad", but everyone knows were when he picks on a weedy looking bloke with glasses in the chip shop who turns round and batters him. (Chip shop, batters, see what I did there?) He's hopeless, a gangster wannabe, but never-gonna-be.

Anyway, I was told once of the time he was haunting the local snooker halls, they were his turf, he was trying to be Ronnie Kray, but was more Ronnie Corbett.

There was apparently some sort of disagreement with a gentleman who was half man, half gorilla, and who threw our Trigger out of his snooker rooms, to gales of laughter. Our Trig was having none of that, so went back to teach Mongo a lesson.
This man must have been an intimidating sight, because Trig was under no illusions, he knew he'd not stand a chance against him face-to-face.
So, he came up with the brainwave of marching up behind the apeman and twatting him over the head with a sock containing a couple of snooker balls. Pretty good call, I imagine, it's going to be Lights Out for most people when they are biffed unawares like that.

Trig psyches himself up, marches into the hall and sees the creature enjoying his game at the far end. Trig is like an Exocet now, targetted, unstoppable (but not French), and he kicks off one of his fake Italian loafers from the market, whips off his sock, and launches. Swiping up a couple of snooker balls into the sock as he passes a table, he raises his cosh, and can't resist calling out "Here, have some of this, you cunt..." as he strikes...

Unfortunately, our Trig is not only brainless, he is generally penniless too, and has neglected to waste good lager money on new socks anytime in the past decade. This means that as he calls out his taunt, the snooker balls are popping through the threadbare toes of the sock and bouncing away behind him, leaving him to dish out a ferocious clubbing with a flaccid sock alone.

I'm told that Trigger pissed himself when the apeman turned, stood up straight, and lifted the smelly article from the throbbing vein on his forehead. You can imagine the rest...
(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 22:15, 4 replies)
Spanking Our Monkey
Back in the late 70s/early 1980s, life was pretty grim for many of us kids. Mrs Thatcher, Jim'll Fix It, the prospect of joining the dole queue, and worst of all...absolute shite television. Yes, you kiddiwinks here (ie. those under the age of about 35) have no idea of the crap we were "entertained" with, back before we were old enough to hang around the VG all evening, and when a "games console" gave you hours of fun, moving a line up and down your TV screen while a dot bounced back and forth.

There was one thing myself and my friends NEVER missed when it was screened, however, and it sent us into a frenzy, recreating the choicest scenes from the latest episodes. The program in question was "Monkey", and for those unenlightened souls (oh yes, nice tie-in there) who don't know it, it was about this monkey who hatched from a stone egg, who rode around on a pink cloud, and was on pilgrimage to India, guarding a priest who was a chick, with his mates who were a fish and a pig, but they were all blokes, not animals. Apart from the Priest, who was bald. Got that? No? Get the box set then, it's classic stuff!

Oh, I forgot the important bit - fighting. Lots of martial arts, leaping about and twirling colourful banners and dodgy plastic swords and magic staffs. It was fucking epic to us 10 yr olds, and encouraged us to tool up and set off on pilgrimage too, down to the local park.

Now, my friend's little brother was called Adey, and a grumpier little fat shit you have never met. Kind of like Eric Cartman, only more bad-tempered, he decided that HE was Monkey.
Ordinarily, one of us older kids would pull rank and over-rule him, but Adey had a trump card - he had a Monkey-style fighting staff, given to him by the Gods, on top of a mountain.

OK, so we soon found out it was actually out of his Dad's allotment, where it was used for growing runner beans, and had originally been a Surveyor's pole. About 7 feet long, painted black and white, with metal tips, it was Adey's prize possession. What's more, he really could spin it about a bit, he was practically a Ninja! (Looking back, 30 odd years later, I can see Adey, gracefully backflipping in slow motion, whilst twirling his stick and flattening two massive skinheads who dared invade our park. I suspect my memories are not wholly accurate.)

Adey was obsessed with Monkey, his Mum even made him a yellow neckerchief, and he had the power to disrupt even our football games, when we saw him stamping towards us, spinning his magic Staff. We'd scramble to grab weapons of our own, sticks from fences, whatever, then surround him in the traditional Martial Artist way, brandishing our weapons, ready to fight. At this point, we would invariably break with the traditional, sacred way of the (celluloid) warrior, and would rush Adey together instead of getting twatted one at a time.

For a little fat bastard, Adey would put up quite a fight, and that stick was a liability, you really didn't want to get clouted by it. Being so long, it would keep us at bay for some time, whilst we traded insults in OTT-cod-Chinese accents, just like on the TV series. (Eeeh, you couldn't get away with that these days, they'd send you on a course, etc etc)

Inevitably though, little Ade would succumb to superior numbers, and would end up getting clattered over the head a few times and thrown in the brook ("Ha, cool off Fish-face!"). Time and again, our scraps would be interrupted by some well-meaning adult who spied us from their car, would jam on the brakes and "save" the poor little kid being bullied...who would promptly return for another round, another beating, after they'd gone.

Looking back, those care-free days seemed to last for years. Days of honorable battles against demons (ie. other kids who were stupid enough to come to our park without any sticks), pilgrimage (to the aforementioned VG, for Wham Bars) and adventures a-plenty, too many to recall properly.

I do remember quite clearly the day it all ended though, and Monkey was despatched for the final time. One of our number managed to purloin some sort of massive rake from his Dad's shed, and this was a dead-ringer for the weapon used by Pigsy from the TV show. Finally, we had an equaliser, there would probably be bolts of lightning when the two weapons clashed.
Soon enough, Adey appeared on the horizon, Staff in hand, yellow neckerchief on, berating us as usual:
"Ah so, you lazy good-for-nothings want to lie about all day thinking about sexy ladies? Hiiii-yaaaah!!! Take that..."
We encircled him, as per usual, then he noticed the massive rake.
"Erm, hey, where did you get that. That's not fai..."


No bolts of lightning, no magic cloud, just little Adey, on the floor, his magic Staff broken in two, and us lot, I'm sorry to say, joyfully beating the crap out of him, and enjoying every second of it. We launched him into the brook, and retired to the swings, bored of Monkey and being Chinese warriors.

It was then that the evil black four-legged demon that lived in a nearby cave appeared on the scene, looking for vengeance for having his evil plans foiled.
Otherwise known as Prince to his owner, this was a particularly large and boistrous black labrador which was obsessed with humping everything that moved (as did we, in later years, strangely enough), and we'd all flee to the safety of somewhere high when he escaped his garden.

Poor little Adey was clambering out of the brook in tears when Prince spotted him and set off in pursuit. Adey knew the beast was bearing down on him, but he was beaten, his Staff was broken, his wellies were full of water, doom was inevitable.
We cheered as Prince launched onto his back at full tilt, and tragic Adey bawled, unable to fight him off. It was probably just a few seconds before Prince's owner dragged him off and helped poor Adey to his feet, but it was long enough for all of us.
One of the Big Kids, who knew about such things, shouted :
"It's Spunky Monkey!", we all howled, despite not having a clue what he was on about. From that day on, Adey was known as Spunky, even though his obsession with playing Monkey was well and truly over.

Yes, we were utter bastards, just like all kids. Years and years later, I saw Adey in a pub and he's now tall, and built like a brick shit-house. I neglected to remind him of our martial arts sessions, but the suicidal idiot inside me was screaming for me to pluck a hair from my sideburns and blow it really fast, to summon my magic cloud to take me home. Luckily, I suspect, I chose to get a taxi...

tl;dr - Nasty kids bully a little brother after watching a telly program, and now wonder how they didn't accidentally kill the poor wretch.
(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 21:20, 10 replies)
Of course I did all my fighting at the beaches.

Some sights have never left me. Grown men trying to escape by crawling on their bellies, or giving up and just curling into a ball crying for their mummy. That was the last time I took my wife to a Barbra Streisand film.
(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 19:54, 2 replies)
This one time, this bloke come up to me and he said 'you cunt'

(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 19:33, 58 replies)
I got punched once.
My crime? My companion at the time had, in passing, said 'hello' to this chaps girlfriend.

After having this chav yell in my face for a reasonable amount of time, I got bored and told him to fuck off. I may even have called him a cunt as well. After which is lamped me and then legged it.

I was rather drunk at the time, which is probably why I didn't run away at the start. After recovering from the initial surprise I looked around, realised I couldn't see him any more so I carried on to the pub and forgot all about it until the following morning when I wondered why my jaw was a bit sore.

This is the only time I've been in anything even resembling a fight and to make it even better, it happened in the quaint, idyllic surroundings of Yarmouth on the Isle of Wight.
(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 19:00, 1 reply)
I was in the local when two arseholes started having a 'go at each other. The harmless banter got rather more and more heated. This of course developed to the 'outside...NOW' threat. Outside they went and a few of us went to watch the 'scrap'. After a few minutes of blows being exchanged, it was quite obvious that one of them was gaining the 'upper hand. As the chap's nose got bloodier, the one who was winning asked 'Have you fuckin' 'ad enough yet?' 'Don't know' came the rply, 'I've never been in a fight before?'
(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 16:01, 6 replies)
I'm sure I've told this one before...
Late 80s in a Midlands city, an evening of beer and bands beckoned.
During the support band, for reasons unknown to this day, I find myself trading blows with another gig goer. It was all over in seconds and neither of us seemed that hurt so I return to the bar with my mates.

A short time later we are accosted by my erstwhile opponent and his 8 or so entourage, demanding retribution and a proper punch up ‘outside’ where we would not be interrupted by bouncers or other spoil sports.

We numbered a mere 5 so it was likely we would come off second best even with the skills of Mad Pete, our resident Geordie nutter. It was he who announced “Right then, let’s go. After you poofs” and so we traipsed after the gang of them to the front door where the bouncers held it open, seeming to know what we were up to and not caring, so long as it happened on the pavement and not in the hall.

Just as the last of them stepped outside the venue, Pete swung round and marched us back to the bar, leaving them on the wrong side of the door and subject to the ‘No re-entry after 11’ rule. We stayed to watch the headliners (I think it was The Fall) and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Come chucking out time there was no reception party waiting for us as being in Nottingham, it had pissed down all night and no one is worth waiting for that much.
(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 15:54, 7 replies)
fashion fight
not exactly your typical punch-up, but i'm in too good a mood to discuss violence towards my fellow beings :)

several years ago, i was invited to the christening of my friend's nephew. as i hadn't met most of his family, i wanted to make a good impression, so a new dress was in order. off i toddled to dorothy perkins, intent on buying something nice to wear.
after over an hour of searching, i managed to find a nice dress in my size and price range, so i took it to the changing rooms to try it on.
the dress, a strapless green number, fitted well but just wasn't me. i tried to unzip the back of it to take it off, which was when i discovered i'd managed to catch quite a sizable amount of my hair in the zip, causing it to jam in place. i decided to try to pull the dress off over my head, then untangle my hair.
this plan backfired quite badly.
5 minutes later, an assistant was sent to check on the customer in the changing rooms, which is how she came to find me with half a dress pulled over my head, trapping my arms in place like giant floppy ears, with just enough dress left on me to not quite cover my underwear, whilst i swore, cursed and attempted to fight my way out of that damned dress.
eventually, the assistant managed to unzip the dress, freeing me and most of my hair. i quickly put my own clothes back on and got the fuck out of there before i died of shame.
so, there you go. had a fight with a dorothy perkins' dress and lost.
(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 15:14, 8 replies)
I was a bit of a daft bugger in my younger days,
I used to get all sorts of drunk and start fights with people over the stupidest things. To put it straight, I was a complete bell end. My reasons for trying to drag people out on to the street for a punch up included; looking at my girlfriend, looking at my mates girlfriend, looking like a bit of a wanker, swearing, and my favourite, apparently once tried to punch a guy because he looked too much like John Lennon (as i say, bit of an arse)
But the crowning glory was one night, after a heady day of drinking and playing at being silly buggers, about midnight, on our way to the next drinking establishment, in my drunken state, go crashing in to the back of a large fellow. I instantly start shouting at him, calling him all sorts of horrid names, and that he should watch where he was going, and what a prick he was (despite it being entirely my fault). This fella just sort of stared at me, as Danny tries to pull me away and calm me down, nothing I'm saying seems to even get this guys goat even a little elevated. And then he swings. Now, I was kind of expecting this, and moved slightly, unfortunately, Danny had chosen this moment to move in to the way to stop me making it worse. Fist comes hurtling towards us, and catches Danny square in the side of the head. And he goes down. Hard.
Shock sets in, this guy just knocked Danny out, but for some reason my worry about Danny took over from my fighting instinct. The big fella even helped with Danny, and felt bad for punching him instead of me. After Danny came round, and I had apologised to the big fella for being a prick (it's amazing how quite a lot of blood pouring out of your mates head can sober you up) we got chatting to he big guy and it turned out he was part of the boxing squad for Cambridge, in Oxford for a Varsity punch-off, and we had interrupted his evening of pre-fight drinking. He invited us to come watch the boxing the next day, as he still felt bad about Danny, and we ended up having a great day out the next day, watched loads of great boxing, and made a new friend in the Heavyweight Varsity champion. Sometimes, being a prick pays off. Unless you're friends with the dick, and then you just get a nasty scar.
(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 12:24, 7 replies)
a 12th Dan master of Dimac.
(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 10:54, 12 replies)
Well, the thing is,
I'm not really meant to talk about it.
(, Mon 18 Mar 2013, 7:58, 4 replies)
Not the Cornetto.
It was 1984 and I lived with my grandparents in Urmston just outside Manchester. The only activity there was the local swimming pool with its soup of plasters, bits of old floats and toe scrapings. My brother, our mate Gerrard and I had been for our weekly splashabout and departed homewards. We were being followed.
As a treat we all bought Cornettos, the god of ice creams in the day. We were young, spirited and about to partake in creamy, nutty, cone goodness. A boy and his 'gang' of two 7 year olds had different plans. First he tried to trip me up, I laughed and we all walked faster. Then he grabbed my coat and tried to pull me over, I remained on my feet with my heart racing. Then he knocked my Cornetto out of my hands.... That was it, I grabbed his hand and bent his finger round. He tried to push me off but I had a firm grip of his middle finger. My brother, Gerrard and his crew stood and watched as I grappled with my assailant's finger. Then he tried to get me in a headlock but I was too quick and pushed his arm away and grabbed his head. Holding it under one arm I gave his forehead an almighty slap....
He started crying so I released him and apologised. Our crews departed, each to our own homes with the fight fresh in our minds we wondered how society could have gotten so bad as to allow today's events to have taken place.
(, Sun 17 Mar 2013, 16:43, 2 replies)
An unexpected helping hand.
Just took our 6 year old daughter down to our local Argos (and bore witness to the Book of Laminated Dreams) for her to purchase out of her birthday money some cheap and nasty pink ring (cue various paedo jokes ahoy). Unfortunately they didn't have the right size in stock so she threw a wobbly and ended up kicking her mum in the leg (while I pretended not to laugh and looked the other way). She's at that age where she needs to control her anger; she's getting there but there are times when you feel a baseball bat with a nail in it wouldn't go amiss. Regardless we get back to the car, mum's pissed, the daughter's pissed and I'm sitting there stuck in the rhetorical middle. As we were about to visit other family members they kick off again shouting at each other about random things so we decide to drop me and the midget off at my house and the spouse to continue on her crusades separately today.

As we pull up daughter does her last man standing impression and would not leave the car with me. We manage to get her out of the car by her own accord (not a Honda unfortunately) and we are standing on the pavement when mum drives off. Daughter stands by the front hedge and starts screaming at me in some right ol' tantrum and I stand there smiling and not really helping. FIGHT ON. She freaks, hops forward and smacks me right in the face with her money purse, which I was completely not expecting at all and actually stung like a bastard. She goes to do it again but I was ready this time (a bruise on your forehead will give you amazing awareness) and block the shot, spin her around and try to stop her running off.

This all happens in a matter of seconds which was exactly the same time as a Police car was passing by. This copper spins the car around, winds down the passenger window and shouts out to me "My god sir, I've just witnessed you being assaulted, do you wish us to press charges on this child?" She went white and started shaking while crying uncontrollably and hugging me. "Oh no officer, I do believe she didn't mean to do that to me, did you?" "OH GOD NO I'M SORRY I'M SORRY!!!!" she screams, terrified that she was about to be sent to the clink and do hard time. The policeman gives me a thumbs up, I give him a smile and a nod and he carries on driving back down the road, leaving the daughter terrified and wanting to sit down in the house. I had a quiet chat to her about her behaviour and she's currently calmed down watching Road Runner, as am I.

So thank you Mr Officer whoever you are for taking the time to spin your car around and calmly intervening over a tantrum a little girl was having. It may not seem like he did much but you taught her a few valuable lessons in life (one of which is "DON'T FUCK ABOUT IN PUBLIC").
(, Sun 17 Mar 2013, 15:43, 24 replies)
My dad used to work on the Ballachulish ferry.
One of the guys he worked with was called Charon, because he once got in a fight with someone and hit them over the head with a shovel, killing them.
(, Sun 17 Mar 2013, 15:38, 3 replies)
Hablo no Espanol!
To this day I still have no idea what really went on...

I'd been on a drunken night out in Barcelona with a bunch of work colleges and I somehow ended up walking back to the hotel by myself, through a very dodgy part of town. Drug dealers, prostitutes, graffiti, that sort of vibe.

As a couple of young men walked passed me, I had just enough time to think "Were they talking about me?" and the next thing I knew there was a knee up in my back and an arm round my throat forcing me to the ground.

Well more fool them! Not only did I have a couple of years of boxing training and Wing Chun under my belt, I was also drunk enough to think I knew how to use it! So I dropped my body down faster than I was being pushed and twisted, getting a clear view of the guys face. My plan was to spring back up and clock him square on the nose, when suddenly some more sensible part of my brain yelled "Stop! What the FUCK are you doing?! You are weak like a kitten! Try something else first!"

So I panicked and yelled "Hablo no Espanol!"

And they stopped. Just like that. One of them helped me back to my fight. "English?" he inquired. "Si, si". "Ah.. lo siento" (sorry). I noticed that my mobile phone had fallen out of my pocket and was lying just in front of them. I looked at it. They looked it. Then one of them picked it up, dusted it off and handed it back to me. We said both say "Adios" and I fucked off back to the hotel as fast my legs would carry me.
(, Sun 17 Mar 2013, 12:31, 4 replies)
The Irish are all cunts.

(, Sun 17 Mar 2013, 8:58, 19 replies)
I'm a lover, not a fighter

(, Sun 17 Mar 2013, 6:23, 1 reply)
192 bus down Stockport Road
nuff said.
(, Sun 17 Mar 2013, 2:34, 4 replies)
Seen a few people taking the piss out of martial arts, thought I'd weigh in.

For the most part, a lot of so called "martial artists" are full of shit. The ones who can actually fight (that I've met at least) don't brag about it.


That doesn't mean Martial Arts don't work.

I have been studying Wing Chun for about 7 years or so. I used to take it very seriously, training 3 times a week, going on 10 day long training camps abroad, etc, etc.

A few years ago, I was walking home with a friend, drunk to the point of staggering. It was about 3am and there was no-one around. We turned a corner onto the road we both lived on, and came across about 6 lads, hanging around at the bottom of the street.

Thinking nothing of it we went to walk past them. One of them said something along the lines of "did you just call me gay?" My mate turned around and said "Eh?" the next thing we knew, 6 of them were beating the living shit out of him. For literally no reason.

He hit the ground, and they started kicking him in the face. I tried to stop them, and got punched in the face repeatedly. Two of them peeled off from the group and set on me. Instinctively, I started blocking punches, completely unable to see where they were coming from through a combination of being drunk, and having just been punched several times in the face. I was literally just shooting my arms out in the way I have drilled for 7 years. Occasionally I felt a connection as I managed to deflect their punches.

Now, I would love it if this story ended with me turning into Jackie Chan and taking them all on at once and kicking the shit out of them. But unfortunately life doesn't work like that, and they absolutely beat the fuck out of me, without me landing a single punch back in retaliation.

However, having realised they weren't getting through with many of their punches, they eventually stopped trying and fucked off.

I walked back round the corner to see my mate lying on his back, completely unconscious, in the middle of the pavement. I phoned an ambulance. i explained what had happened to the operator and she had me put the phone next to his mouth so she could hear if he was breathing or not. He wasn't.

Next, she talked me through how to do mouth to mouth resuscitation whilst we waited for the ambulance. The ambulance arrived and the paramedics went straight to him to revive him. One of them came over to me to see if I was alright.

"yeah, I'm fine, sort him out" I say.

"Have you seen yourself, mate?" he said.

I had a look in the wing mirror of the ambulance. I was absolutely plastered in blood - my mouth was split open, my nose was broken and bleeding and my eye was already swelling up. I couldn't feel any of it through adrenaline.

We went to hospital, and they X-rayed him to check he was alright. he was fine, thank fuck, but he was in shock, alternating between laughing hysterically and and crying because he couldn't process what had happened. This went on for about an hour before he calmed down.

Anyway - the point of all this: Martial Arts don't make you into some sort of unstoppable fighting machine that can take on all comers. But in my case, they saved my life, and my friend's life. The doctor told me afterwards that had I been knocked out, it would have been much, much worse as I wouldn't have been on hand to phone the ambulance and administer mouth to mouth, and my friend would likely have died.

Had I not been training for a few years by that point, my immediate reaction wouldn't have been to start trying to block everything. It would have probably been to flail wildly in their general direction trying to hit them, and then get knocked the fuck out. And then fuck knows what might have happened.

The epilogue to this story is that I went back to work for a week without realising I had a concussion. I eventually realised there was a problem when I kept being sent to do a job somewhere in the building, only to get to the location and completely fail to recall what it was I'd been asked to do no more than 60 seconds earlier. the police visited and took a statement and a description ("my height, shaved head, about my age" that was the best I could do). There were no witnesses, and the case was closed shortly after.

Occasionally, I see stories in the local paper about groups of lads beating the shit out of people for no reason whatsoever right near to where it happened, and I'm fucking positive it's the same people.
(, Sun 17 Mar 2013, 2:10, 16 replies)
Never eat Ginger Nuts.
This kinda ties in with last weeks question, but fits in nicely here.

I went to school with a young man who goes by the name of Tony. As we were racing headlong into our puberty at school Tony metamorphosed from a short, pudgy, blonde into a tallish, lanky, skinny, ginger with glasses.
The hormones must have really got to Tony because he also decided to become a serious risk-taker.

One afternoon a few of us were sipping our milkshakes and eyeing off some of the young ladies from the ladies college next door, down at the local cafe. Tony was sitting quietly pondering something when in walked Barry 'da Bully.
Now to put it very simply - Barry was everyone's nemesis. He was truly a very large, thick, intolerant prick who picked on anyone and everyone. Even the kids that tried to suck up to "Bazza" would often find themselves on the receiving end of his pummeling fists and threatening growls.
Unfortunately Barry had a few "favourites" that he relished picking on. Sadly (for him) Tony was one of those kids that gave Baz an almighty Bully chubby.

Barry heads straight over to our table, hoists Tony up by his lapels and growls at him to go and buy him a smoothie. With extra icecream.
Tony lowers his head and dejectedly wanders over to the counter to order.
In the mean time Baz has swaggered over to the girl's table and is suggesting to them that fine bitches like them should be sucking his dick. Now.... every fugly branch on every fugly tree in the largest fugly forest on the planet doesn't even show up on GoogleEarth as far as Barry is concerned.
The girls "Ewwww!" at him and Barry and snarls at them not to talk to him like that.

At which point he is tapped on the shoulder by Tony, holding a strawberry smoothie. Barry quickly rounds on Tony, glowering. Tony in very quick succession - throws the smoothie in Barry's face, plants his size 9 Chuck Taylor Allstars fair into Bazza's Pickled Love Onions and as Barry doubles over in pain, stands up straight throwing his head back hard, right into Bazza's face. In the space of a few seconds Barry has gone from rough, tough, hardman bully to a mewling, bloody-faced, sore-balled, fetal-positioned crybaby.

Tony is just turning around with a grin on his moosh, about to bask in his rightfully earned glory when a whistling haymaker from Bernadette, Barry's younger (and only slightly smaller than him) sister connected with Tony's jaw and launched him completely horizontally out onto the footpath outside. Out cold.

Barry eventually changed his bullying ways - I think it may have had something to do with Tony years later telling him how sweet it had been to woo, get numerous blowjobs from and then eventually fuck Bernadette. Seems she actually really had a thing for skinny, gingers in glasses.

tl;dr - don't beat up a bully if his younger sister is bigger than you. At least not unless you want to root her later.

EDIT: Having done quite a few years of aikido and judo in my yoof I'll never forget some of the first words my sensei told us - "The quickest way to end a fight with another man is to kick him squarely in the goolies." As evidenced by most of last weeks question.
(, Sun 17 Mar 2013, 0:56, 4 replies)
Ahh, IRC - last bastion of the internet hardman.

(, Sat 16 Mar 2013, 23:22, 5 replies)
Martial arts vs real life
I have always assumed that in a real fight - one with determined and unexpected opponent who actually wants to hurt rather than score a few points and then settle down to a nice discussion of manga - martial arts fans would to a man fold like a wet paper bag. This qotw is doing nothing to change that impression.

There are an awful lot of people telling us what they would do if their amazing kung-jujikarate skills were needed in a fight, but damn few who tell us what they actually did do in such circumstances. Which I suspect would be "Wet myself, then ran away to throw up and cry".

Fight story? Sorry, I'm with Rincewind. Running away's my strategy, every time.
(, Sat 16 Mar 2013, 18:11, 11 replies)
Beating myself up............
During the festive period about 10 years ago I out in Buxton's only night club and festering puke den, Level 2. Neeldess to say I was rat arsed and for reasons I can't remember found myself in a ruckus with some chavvy types. We were all thrown out by the bouncers at which point I decided to run for it to avoid getting the shit kicked out of me. As I ran across Buxton's wintery market place, I slipped on the ice, smashed my head on the pavement and knocked myself unconcious.
Luckly for me some rozzers saw me brain myself and got to me before the pursuing chavs could get to me.
(, Sat 16 Mar 2013, 16:50, 1 reply)
Dr Preference wants to hear your stories about fighting.
Typical bogtrotter.
(, Sat 16 Mar 2013, 12:16, 4 replies)

(, Sat 16 Mar 2013, 11:52, 5 replies)

Back in the day I was a member of & used to frequent a nightclub where many of the local middle-class goths mixed with the living-on-the-street-punks and together developed their shared, burgeoning substance abuse problems whilst dancing in a straight line back and forth or like an epileptic spider to anything on vinyl that the kids thought was cool. Or Front242.

Now, as then I live in the capital city of our state in Oz. But because of our isolation (sea to the west and a VERY large expanse of land to the east before you hit civilization) our community of "sub-culture" was relatively small and almost everyone knew everyone else.

Anyhoo. One night I'm standing there sipping my cold beer watching the dance floor, listening to some droney Bauhaus/Sisters of Mercy/Jesus & Mary Chain when all of a sudden a couple of the girls start up with raised voices.

2 young gothy girls in short dresses, tights and boots seem to have decided that they have an issue with each other (as it turned out it was over some lanky, spotty, teen-aged fellow) and their disagreement rapidly escalated from loud words to launching blows.
Much to the delight of most of the blokes within sight/earshot.
They go at it for a few moments (with most of the blokes in the club now watching leeringly) when one of the ladies detaches from the scuffle, pulls a lighter out of her bag and proceeds to light up the other girl's hair. Bear in mind that this is the late 80's and a large amount of hairspray has gone into the the construction of most of the hairstyles in the place.

At this point the object of their shared affections (some lanky goth bloke) arrives on the scene to try and settle things.
Cue some serious accusations and then the 2 ladies changing the direction of their aggression from each other towards the young fella.

At which point they then proceed to belt and kick the shit out of the young gentleman in question. The clubs bouncers, having watched passively until now decide to weigh in and eject all 3 of them into the cold, dark midweek night.

If you're a woman - be careful around open flames if you use a lot of hairspray.
If you are a bloke - probably not a wise idea to fuck 2 ladies from the same sub-culture who frequent the same nightclub.
(, Sat 16 Mar 2013, 5:47, 5 replies)
So I got all drunk and started posting crap last night. And now I'm editing it away.
Sorry, but at least I'm not deleting it.
(, Sat 16 Mar 2013, 0:46, 8 replies)

This question is now closed.

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