Your Fight Stories: Literally, The Shit

Reader Stephen had collected his fight stories onto his “webbe logue” long before our fighting theme was just a weeping, blistering nodule under our blackened eye. As a son whose mother occasionally air-dropped into my local middle school to substitute teach, I found this one especially compelling:

When I was in the eleventh grade I went to the high school of which my father was assistant principal. He had suspended some guy for something. I never even knew who he was. He and three other guys jumped me in the hall as payback. One of them hit me on the side of the head as I walked by and I fell to the ground. They then proceeded to kick, literally, the shit out of me. This situation is a little different in that there really was nothing I could do but lay there and cover my head. When they stopped I jumped up and they were gone. Believe it or not, that was the only truly negative repercussions of going to the school with my Dad as a principal who took no shit.

Literally? The shit out of you? Because that’s pretty hardcore, if so.

What’s the worst damage you’ve ever taken from being jumped? I was once set upon by a kid in the neighborhood who had launched himself out of a tree onto my back while I was trying desperately to punch another kid in the balls. That was a two-lesson day: 1) Never fight under a tree, and 2) limit attempted nutpunches to a balanced two, because at three the crowd will start calling you a fag.

Fight Club [CottonAndSand]