Bully THIS.

Yeah. It’s really funny until her parents find her swinging from a belt in her walk-in, and then you bitches are going to juvie.

Okay. I was a bully once. In elementary school, there was a poison-ivy-covered girl named Trudy, who was a year younger than I. For as long as I knew her, she always came to school pink because her mother slathered on the calamine lotion every morning. Her parents had burned yard clippings, which unfortunately included some poison, and Trudy inhaled the smoke, causing a severe reaction that took ages to heal. So, yeah, she looked like a little leper, and I can’t imagine why I felt the need to smack someone who was already down. But she followed me around the playground at every recess, and I kind of wanted her to go the hell away. So, budding bitch that I was, I took total advantage. The only redeeming comment I can make is that I didn’t bully or embarrass Trudy in front of others. I just made her my errand-slave. Go get me a wet paper towel. Go get me a basketball. Go get me a snack. I loved giving orders, and I’m sure all of my husbands past and present who may be reading this are currently shaking their heads in unison, and they can kiss my ass and bring me a goddamned Coke Zero for Christ’s sake.

Anyway.

Trudy was so obsequious, we were a natural fit. I can’t remember how the relationship ended, but she probably just got wise on the last errand and never returned with that bag of BBQ Fritos.

I’m not surprised at myself, of course, for falling into the role of task master. When I was in first grade, I shit you not, my entire class would gather around the large oak on the playground at the beginning of recess so that I could assign jobs. I selected who played on the slide or the swings or the merry-go-round or the monkey bars every freaking day. And my peers actually did what I said. No arguments or complaints or disobeying. And then my parents moved into their newly finished house, and I had to go to a different school where everybody, including my clearly embalmed and soulless teacher, hated my fucking guts, and I was forced to touch this kid’s penis every day before reading. But that’s another story.

What does surprise me is that I bullied Trudy even after I, myself, was pushed around by others, especially Teresa M., who in fifth grade strong-armed me out of my M&M’s after we went over to the high school to see their version of Alice in Wonderland, and the teenaged stars gave us free bags of candy. Bitch. I hope those fuckers melted in your hand.

Bullying now, though, has gotten completely out of hand. Neither Trudy nor I went postal and gunned down our tormentors, I’m happy to report. But the bullied of the 21^st century don’t take it quite like we did a few decades ago. Kids snap and kill themselves, sometimes taking innocent bystanders with them. Of course, harassment is far more insidious than it used to be too, considering the viral capabilities available with a few keystrokes and mouse clicks. Scay-reeee. I guess I can’t really grasp the mechanism that fuels not only a desire to hurt someone who’s already defeated, but the capacity to act on the desire. I blame parents. And Disney. And Charlie Sheen.

So. To all you parents of bullies out there: Your ugly little minions are just like you. Your example sets the bar. To all you bullies out there: You are going to spend a good portion of your life being Tyrone’s bitch and having painful hemorrhoids. To Trudy: Please forgive me! I hope your skin healed. To Charlie Sheen: Go away. And to Robert B.: Your penis is probably the same size it was in first grade. I hope I never find your sorry ass.