Life isn’t always fair but sometimes the world dispenses karma to the right person. These folks share the time they experienced a bully getting their just desserts.
The Legend of Quiggs
“It’s a beautiful thing when some macho, meat-headed prick picks on the wrong bad hombre and gets his butt handed to him on a silver platter. That is ballet, that is a symphony. If you haven’t seen it yourself, you are truly missing something magical.
So we have this buddy. We call him Quigs, after Quigley Down Under. I don’t know why, he’s not from Australia and he looks nothing like Tom Selleck.
Quigs is an enigma in many ways. He studied the classics at a very specific kind of university. They read original texts. So, for instance, instead of taking geometry you read the collected works of Pythagoras in the original Greek. Rather than take a sociology course, you read Malthus’s An Essay on the Principle of Human Population.
I’m not bagging on it, brother. I think it’s the bee’s knees, and his ankles to boot. But you don’t always expect someone well-versed in hermeneutics and can deconstruct Virgil in the original Latin to also be a genuine butt-kicker.
But here we had a Quigs, one of the most unassuming characters on Earth. He was tall and gangly, with a beard down to his balls. He was lanky as an old scarecrow and came across as someone who was more into roasting his own gourmet coffee beans than getting in the ring as an MMA fighter.
But he had been in two UFC fights and went undefeated in lower circuits before that. He lost his UFC bouts, but he’d left a lot of busted-up beef in his wake on his way to getting there.
We were at karaoke night at a local bowling alley and sat down at a communal table. We were laughing, being silly, and having fun, so the young women who were sitting with a bunch of machismo stoics completely uninterested in having fun started to take notice of us.
The ladies began to engage us in conversation and general tom-foolery. It was just a good time. Nobody was interested in stealing these jack wagon’s women from them. Quigs in particular was deeply in love and going to marry his fiance within the year.
Quigs was sitting closest to this group, so he took the brunt of the guy’s trash-talking and macho posturing. They were ticked at us for drawing off the flattery and attention of their ladies.
Suddenly, Quigs and the biggest, meanest, toughest looking of the guys get up and storm out of the bar. We looked at each other, not knowing what was going on and shrugging our shoulders. We thought they were going to grab a drink at the main bar and become best buds forever.
But eventually, when they don’t return, we think maybe we should follow along and get the lowdown.
By the time we found them, it had already gone down.
They had ‘stepped outside,’ as is the common parlance. The guy had pulled his belt off and started swinging it wildly at Quigs, telling him he was going to ‘make him his b****.’
Quigs got the belt from the guy’s hand, turned it around so he was swinging with the buckle, and chased the guy screaming around the parking lot. They took it to the ground, where Quigs quickly got the better of him and choked him out. The guy passed out, and Quigs took a few sucker punches to the dude’s face while he was deep in the Land of Nod, which he still feels bad about.
He left the guy on the curb and Uber’d home. The ambulance was already called and the guy’s face was already looking puffy and purple.
We had to get the story from the security guard, who recounted the duel in admiring detail.
The moral of the story is, watch out when you look at a group of guys and start deciding you’re going to pick on who is apparently the weakest link and biggest peacenik.
He might just be the meanest hombre in the bunch.”
His Daughter Had The Last Laugh
“My daughter is 5′ and about 97 pounds if she ate a big meal. Because of her small size and her having a sweet and friendly attitude she was targeted by bullies a lot; so we put her in martial arts to build confidence, greater self-esteem, and to protect herself. She eventually got her second-degree black belt but only close friends and family were aware of this fact.
Flash forward to high school and there were a group of football players who felt they has carte blanche to inappropriately touch female classmates. Even when brought up to the school they were never punished so it empowered them to continue and escalate.
One day a ‘star’ player who was likely to be getting a scholarship started to bother her in the cafeteria. She warned him to back off. As she walked away he grabbed her from behind putting both hands on her chest. She stomped down on his foot, grabbed his thumb while twisting out and palm struck him in his solar plexus. He gasped for air, went to his knees and it was over. She walked away; I thought she should have kneed him in the face, but she’s nicer than me.
We get a call from the school about her assaulting another student. We go and there’s the principal, vice-principal, and a deputy sheriff. The threat is now expulsion because there’s a zero violence policy and a threat to be arrested for assault and battery.
After our daughter explained her side, along with witnesses, the deputy advised she was in her right to protect herself but said he’d refer to the DA for the boy that grabbed her to see if there should be charges and then left. The school attempted to continue with expulsion because football players are gold to them I guess until we had an attorney threaten to sue.
The football player experienced public humiliation, a sprained thumb, and was charged for battery by the DA. He lost his scholarship.
I’m still proud of her.”
He Showed Those Goons What For
“So, I’m Asian. As is my dad. He’s been an entrepreneur all his life, kind of forced to since he had immigrated to Canada…as there was no recognition of his certificates and licenses.
When he and mom were in their 60s, they purchased a bar in a small northern Ontario town.
Most of the story below was relayed to me except for the last five minutes of what happened.
As with any place, there’s always some yahoos who think they are king sh**. In this case, they were: two power linesmen (roughly 35-years-old, 6 ft+ 200 lb+) who came in while my mom (4′ 11″ 90 lbs soaking wet ) was helping close (2:00 a.m.).
They went into the men’s room. I assume they used the facilities but then proceeded to destroy the newly installed toilet stalls and rip the brand new doors from the stalls that had literally been installed the weekend before. (I helped install them.)
According to one of the waitresses, Mom went in to investigate. Shouting ensued and she stumbled backward out of the doorway of the men’s bathroom, landing on her butt. I assume my mom had been pushed out.
The waitress told me that one of the guys had grabbed her by the face and shoved her out of the way, and told to ‘shut the f*ck up.’
The doorman was nowhere to be seen and the bartender called my dad, who happened to be working in the back office. He came running out and saw my mom holding her face and crying. He was quickly told what happened. In the meantime, the two guys had exited via another door.
I saw my dad come running out of the bar as I was driving over to see if I could help close the place. (I was working shift work at the time and 2:00 a.m. is roughly my ‘lunchtime.’)
I heard him yelling at the two guys who towered over him (5′ 5″ and 150 lbs). They stopped and turned around. I slammed on the brakes and parked, almost in the middle of the road. The exchange went something like this in a matter of less than a minute…
Dad: ‘You guys just come out of my bar?’
Two guys: ‘Yeah, what’s it’s it to you, you f’ing [insert Asian slur]?’
Dad: ‘You push my wife?’
Two guys: ‘Yeah, f*ck you.’
Dad: (Physical action: three to five rapid slaps to their faces, so fast that I couldn’t see other than he slapped them, but I did hear them…. I was about five feet away at this point.)
My dad then grabbed them both by the ears and started pulling them back to the bar, saying: ‘My wife is old enough to be your mother, you do this to your mom?’
He marched them back into the bar, and he made them apologize to my mom. I suggested calling the police and laying charges but he said no. However, he told them to come back in the evening for the next five days and fix the doors.
Anime Nerd vs. Wasted Guy
“Y’all talk about martial artists and whatnot, twisting bad guys into pretzels. How about a drama queen (well, king)?
An old friend of mine, back in about 2008, and me were really into anime. Trashy anime, sure, but anime. Our taste had evolved beyond basic Naruto with its forced explanation fights (the talk about the Hidden Lotus, for example. Alright, we get it, it’s a suicide move!), but my friend took some note of those. We thought it’d be fun to creep the heck out of some guy, and so, on one faithful night, the possibility brought itself: an angry stupid inebriated guy. His punches and kicks were hindered by the fact he drank enough to buzz an elephant out, and then the time to shine came: he tried robbing my friend up after giving him a few scratches.
Some blood drips and my friend catches it with his hand.
‘Blood? Blood. Heh… I see my blood… I haven’t seen my blood in… hehe… so long… my blood… my own… hehe… blood… you’ve shown me my blood… thank you… heh… hehe… my blood… HAHAHAHAHH MY BLOOD!!!’
My friend proceeds to shuffle like a bloody zombie towards the guy, chanting ‘my blood’ and cackling like a witch, the bar is quiet because ‘What the HECK is this sh**?!’ is a legitimate concern at this point, the bartender is just… staring… and I’m sipping on my glass with a mischievous grin.
The plastered guy did not expect a dramatic zombie, so he kinda stands there, but keeps his distance because my friend might have a disease and is going to infect him. Somehow.
But no, my friend just goes ‘let… let me show you… your blood… to thank you…’, lets out another witch-cackle, at which point the guy decides this just isn’t worth it anymore and hightails out of there.
My friend makes a dramatic turn towards the bartender who’s already dialing the police, snaps back into normal, and asks for some paper towels.
I won’t say ‘and everybody clapped’. Once the few people actually watching this evolve realized he’s just being an anime-fueled drama king, they all went back to their drinks muttering about weeaboos, but those kinda-fifteen seconds.
It was fun to watch, though. Not much violence from our side, kind of a threat to infect the other guy with aids-blood from some schizophrenic or something.
Psychological warfare can be as effective as punches and kicks.”
Jared Sounds Like An Idiot
“I was 22-years-old, at a bar in Philly. Our little ‘crew’ consisted of a few guys from college whom I had played lacrosse with. Some were def. your stereotypical lacrosse players – you know the type.
We call them Lax Bros.
Anyway, we were in this bar, enjoying ourselves. It was a crazy-packed bar in Olde City on a Saturday night around 11:30 pm. At this point, none of us were driving home and way past the point of sobering up anytime soon.
Hanging out near a set of stairs, some guy pushed past my friend Jared and into the stairwell, HARD. Basically slammed him into the handrail, causing him to drop his drink onto likely some unwitting person who didn’t want to end up with Red Bull and Svedka on their head.
Jared was ticked and chased after him. Jared on a good day is about 5′11″ 215. He’s solid but I’d never seen him get into a fight. But I won’t lie he has what I call ‘Budweiser muscles.’
He ran up to the guy, pushed him from behind, the guy turned around. He was about 6′2″ 275, big dude. Not a squishy 275 either, this was a muscle on muscles kind of guy.
He had clothes on though. SO I’ll never really know! Anyway, coincidentally that was the smirk this guy had on him when he turned around.
We ran over to grab Jared. He wasn’t just going to get his butt kicked, he was going to get killed. But no, Jared’s not having any of it. He went full D-bag. FU’s and I’m going to freaking sue you, and blah blah blah. Worst yet he kept on pushing Mr. Bouncer in the chest like that really annoying tap that is basically the same thing as saying ‘sir please break my nose’.
Well, after about 30 seconds of this guy not saying anything and just staring at him, showing incredible restraint, and us screaming for Jared to walk away, Jared pulled the unforgivable move of spitting in the guy’s face.
It literally took one punch. The whole joke of it’s gonna be two hits: my fist hits your face and you hit the floor, came true. He knocked Jared the heck out. Then threw us out unceremoniously, which I guess we deserved.
Jared lost a tooth, broke his nose, and by his account felt like trash for a week.
That, my friends, is why you never pick a fight with a bouncer. EVER.”
Crazy Ex-Boyfriend Gets His Just Desserts
“It was my stalker ex-boyfriend in Texas, 1988. He picked a doozy.
We were high school students in a Dallas-Fort Worth suburb. He was a grade older and had started really pressuring me to do intimate things I didn’t want to, so I broke it off with him. Only it wasn’t that simple; he slid off the rails before anyone called that a ‘mental health crisis.’
The ex started following me around at school, called my house incessantly, and showed up at my bedroom window at all hours, howling. (My dad usually drank himself to sleep, hence he missed this late-night drama.)
This freaking out went on for months. I told teachers and his parents and my dad that he was really worrying me. Their unanimous question to me was: what had I done to him? (I’ll remind you this was Texas, in the 80s. Boys were perfectly formed Adams until vexed by wicked little Eves, the scripture said so.)
What I’d done, in truth, was show any inconsistency via concern for his mental well-being. He’d self-injured, threatened suicide, cried until sick. I didn’t want to be his girlfriend; I also didn’t want him to die. It was a horrible bind for a 15-year-old.
Finally, one day, the miracle I’d prayed for happened: he said he ‘got it.’ He said he’d stop bugging me for reconciliation. He knew I wasn’t breaking up with him for some other dude and that it was okay I didn’t want ‘that kind’ of relationship. He apologized for how he’d behaved and was bowing out.
I spent the next few days cautiously luxuriating in my newfound harassment-free walks from class to class, my new uninterrupted lunches with gal friends, and whole nights of uninterrupted sleep. I even allowed myself to begin simply speaking to other male classmates, something I didn’t dare in the months prior for his jealousy.
One morning, I arrived early to school with my cousin and a couple of our friends, all girls. We occupied an empty library table; my back was to the door. I can’t remember what we were whispering about, but I do remember my cousin’s eyes growing wider and screaming ‘lookout!’
I was knocked out cold. I came around a few minutes later with the school librarian, my cousin, and our friends hovering over me. My cousin was crying inconsolably. (You see, I’d had a head injury the year prior, a serious one with a depressed skull fracture. My cousin certainly knew this; the ex also knew.)
I was told the ex walked in with a stack of textbooks, came up behind me, and brought those heavy books down on my head, right where the fracture was.
I was also told that four intimidating lettered jocks at an adjacent library table witnessed this assault and gave him a lesson I wished I’d been awake to see. I understand it was a most gallant defense, and I don’t even know who they were.
The epilogue is mostly good: I wound up with only a mild concussion, and not a major re-injury. The ex was transferred to another school that same day. And the cops who showed up to the school encouraged me not to file a report, since Texas.
So, to those unknown athletic Blue Raider heroes, 1988–89 era graduates of L.D. Bell in Hurst, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You were Knights, All.”
Don’t Mess With This Dad
“My step-dad growing up was a hockey enforcer.
He could be as cold as the ice he skated on.
If you didn’t know, the hockey enforcer is the guy they deploy onto the ice to keep people in check. They’re also known to serve up the occasional beat-down when required.
These guys don’t mess around.
There are a lot of stories I could tell you about my step-dad, but one in particular, I feel is most fitting.
When I was about 12–13 yrs old, the neighbor across the street got a new boyfriend.
He was a semi-obnoxious man who loved his drinks. Would talk to us kids when we saw him. Usually in passing. He utilized public transportation frequently, and we ran the streets all the time back then, so we would run into him occasionally.
He was often sarcastic and a little creepy, but nothing we weren’t used to.
Then, on several occasions, he tried to talk us into buying some weed. He was wasted every time, being his usual obnoxious self. At first, I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. But when he kept doing it, I realized he was presenting himself in a foolish manner in order to veil his actual intentions.
I wasn’t entirely sure WHAT those intentions were, but being the oldest in the group, I decided it probably wasn’t good.
I knew if I told my mom’s fiancé (my step-dad) it likely wouldn’t go over well. But unfortunately, I didn’t feel as though I had much of a choice.
My step-dad was street, and I knew if he found out, ah man…
I told him anyway.
He said, ‘Alright…’, took a deep breath, and put on his combat boots. Laced them up real tight, too.
I knew what that meant.
I asked him, ‘What are you going to do!?’
‘Go talk to him.’
I was like, ‘Ohh sh*t.’
I ran upstairs and climbed up on the roof to watch. I knew what was about to happen..
He walked up, knocked on the door, and the guy’s girlfriend answered. My step-dad smiled and greeted her, and whatever was said, she let him in.
I could see my step-dad’s silhouette. I could see some shadows and movement. And then, all of a sudden, I could see a lot of FAST back and forth movement. The door was thrown open violently, and this guy comes flying out with my step-dad on his heels.
The guy hits the ground. My step-dad grabs him by the shirt and punches him with one of the hardest shots I’ve ever personally witnessed.
‘These are MY KIDS mother f***er!’
The guy wasn’t getting up.
I couldn’t believe what just happened! It happened so fast!
Two things subsequently occurred as a result.
The first, was a few days later when the girl’s son from across the street came over. I answered the door.
I told my step-dad, he took a deep breath, and laced up again.
I said, ‘Ohh sh*t!’
I decided to go outside ahead of my step-dad and get behind this guy. If not for anything, at least make him second guess whatever was about to happen. And, hey, what can I say, I lived with a hockey enforcer!
Step-dad stomps outside ready for anything. The guy actually shook his hand and thanked him. He apparently didn’t like his mother’s new boyfriend!
It was all good!
The second thing that happened after the beat-down, was the legal papers served up to my step-dad.
The guy was suing. He had a skull fracture, a ruptured orbital socket, and a couple of other things I don’t remember.
I asked my step-dad, ‘What are you going to do?’
He crumpled up the court summons or whatever it was and tossed it in the street, and said, ‘I’m gonna call Meat-Head.’
I was like, ‘Ohh sh*t!’”
He Just Insulted A Knighted Celeb!
“I used to work at Paddington Station. There used to be an old-fashioned First class lounge where passengers with more money than sense could sit and wait for their train.
My boss, in his GREATEST wisdom, put a man we will call Andy to work there. The reason was he had pulled his back, but he went on an instant power trip.
He instantly became Andrew, despite having insisted he was Andy for two years and refused to answer to anything else. He tried to get a new starter to call him Mr. Jones, as it was ‘more appropriate for his position. ‘
When our Station Master found out, he was swiftly reminded that everyone called said Station Master Alf.
HIS customers needed him. HE couldn’t be delayed HIS first-class passengers expected perfection!
We all sat watching him blow smoke out of his own arse.
There is a rumor that you have to fit certain criteria, or dress in a certain way to go, first class. It’s trash.
If you can afford a first-class ticket, you can turn up in a potato sack and travel.
Staff may NOT question if you are first-class material.
This one, boring afternoon I was approached by a very polite and quietly spoken Irishman who asked me if I knew which platform his train was going to be on. He was charming and produced his ticket to make sure he had the right Station (Bristol had two).
I noticed he had a first-class ticket, so directed him to the first-class lounge so he could wait in comfort.
My coworker’s boyfriend came over, noticed the concourse was quiet and suggested we went and got a burger King together.
One of our friends took over for me, and we wandered the maybe 100 yards to the burger King and ordered.
That’s when we heard it. The raging voices and shouts of outrage. We grabbed our food, stashed it in the customer service booth, and ran towards the noise.
My gentle Irish passenger was standing, bristling by the door, which Andy was blocking with his own body and radioing for police assistance
‘What the bloody heck?’ My ex (let’s call him Phil) demanded
‘Sir?’ I asked ‘whatever’s happened?’
‘I’ll tell you!’ Screeched Andy ‘he’s got a STOLEN ticket! He’s no way a FIRST CLASS passenger! Look at him.’
There he was, battered by comfy trainers, a pair of scruffy jeans, a baggy sweater which was obviously lovely and warm and very comfy, an old jacket to protect against the cold, a blue stripey scarf and an old black Bakers boy hat.
Today it would be classed as shabby chic.
OK, I’d seen smarter passengers but I’d seen a lot worse than this gentleman.
My gentleman protested again that the ticket was valid, and that he had indeed purchased it. Andy informed us snootily that he had radioed for our Station Master.
Phil shook his head in disbelief, the ticket was in date and was for first-class
Hoping to calm the situation down, Phil suggested ‘there’s an easy solution. I hate to ask, but do you have a receipt, sir?’
The man nodded and brought out not only the receipt but the platinum card he used to pay for it… followed by his driver’s license.
Phil looked, recognition shone in his eyes and he nodded ‘that’s Good enough for me, sorry to make you do that…..MR GELDOF.’
To his infinite credit, the wonderful Sir Bob Geldof smiled and assured us ‘no harm done… by you two. I would like to speak to the station master though. Make sure this doesn’t happen again to someone more firey!’
When Alf arrived, we left and headed back to our now very cold burgers. We saw Sir Bob getting on his train and got a nice wave before he left.
As for Andy?
He proved to be a better telephone inquiry clerk than a first-class assistant.
Phil was much better at it, or am I just biased?
And the moral that story children is: never judge a book by its cover. Manners maketh the man, not the way he’s dressed!”
She Burned The Bully Alright
“The high school bully who pounded me and anyone smaller than him every day picked on the wrong girl. We were in PE and had to run laps. The bully cruised around looking for a victim.
I don’t remember her name but she was big and round wearing yellow shorts and a t-shirt, chugging along doing her best. The bully pulls up behind her and began razzing her to no effect. She just ran on. He sprinted past her and yanked down his shorts to sun her.
‘Ever seen one of these?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said, never breaking stride. ‘It looks like a shlong, only smaller.’
Everyone on the field laughed themselves hoarsely.
The beatings were worse for a while, and after each one the bloodied boy said ‘only smaller!’
That girl was our hero!”