In 1991 - We had this kid in Essex who was squinty-eyed. Proper boss-eyed kid, poor fellow. Anyway it became the "in" thing to call him "Cyclops" while putting your hand to your forehead and wiggling the fingers (like a pseudo third-eye) and moaning "cyyyyyclopppps" like a retard. He hung himself. That is dark. Oh yeah. And another kid inhaled a fire extinguisher to look hard and he died too. All in one week. No joke. I’m serious. Also we put three teachers into mental homes by abusing them. This was a Roman Catholic School.

Hey Kids! Sometimes here at PGL we get sent submissions so disturbing it makes our flesh creep. We'd like to share that sensation with you now. Here's our most recent submission for the "bullying" thread. Note the lack of remorse. *Shudder*

Although I never got anyone to actually kill themselves, I still consider myself to have been the best bully I have known.

I was suspended once for telling the diabetic kid in our school that he was "a bit a of a freak". This was the official reason given to my parents on the letter of suspension. But the truth was that, through two and a half years of relentless bullying, the stress had actually caused him to DEVELOP diabetes, and move to a new school. It wasn't very clever stuff ('You're gay', 'You look like a cat, Catman', 'your mother is a hermaphrodite who tried to seduce me', 'your (8-year-old) sister is actually your father's 34-year-old gay lover' etc. etc.) but it was never-ending. I remember the head of middle school telling me as he sent me home that the poor boy would "have to inject himself with insulin every day for the rest of his life."

Well, I met him not six months later and it turned out that the diabetes had completely disappeared after the bullying stopped, so he didn't have to inject himself anymore. Someone owes me an apology.

I think I'm owed an apology.

Oh, how the head of our lower school must have congratulated himself when he struck upon the cure for bullying, so beautiful in its simplicity. We had to wear blazers, and had to carry our school calendar in our breast pocket (A5 card folded into three, nice blue colour which poked out of the pocket, and looked a bit like one of David Niven's hankies - very dapper). Everyone in the school was instructed to clearly write their name on the top of the calendar, so we were all effectively wearing nametags. Now here comes the genius of it: as the most likely bullying targets, we lower school boys were told that, upon finding ourselves in a sticky situation, we were to look our aggressors in the eye, point at their name tag, and inform them,
"I know your name."
Then, for fear of repercussions, or because of the humanising element, bullying would cease.
Sadly, and almost unbelievably, this was not to be the case. Many of our school?s ingenious thugs simply wrote something on the back of the card, then in times of violence or escape, they could simply reverse the card. These "dummy plates" ranged from the names of members of the bee-keeping club and librarians, through to "Michael Ryan" and various gung-ho statements such as "Eat Lead" and "Feel the Fist".

At secondary school, I am thankful to have been privy and not subject to the "Count of Monte Cristo" ritual. Two pliable youngsters were manhandled into adjacent lockers, and the unit was lowered face first to the ground.
In a way, it was kind, because it gave the prisoners someone to talk to. Like Richard Chamberlain and him from ZZTop, in the classic aforementioned film.