Die Painfully, Bullies, Die.

And one day the redheaded kid grew up to be a billionaire who paid the illegal immigrants who usually did the yard a wad of cash to track down the bully and make him this spring's fertilizer.

So today, a FaceBook friend of mine posted one of those repost-this-if-you-are-truly-my-friend thingies. Here. I’ll share:

Dear bullies,
The boy you punched in the hall today committed suicide a few minutes ago. That girl you called a slut in class today? She's a virgin. The boy you called lame? He has to work every night to support his family. That girl you pushed down the other day is already being abused at home. You think you know them. Guess what? You don't! Re-post if you are against bullying.

Now, first let me say that, like the good grammar tyrant I am, I always have to correct the spelling and mechanics in those repost-it fuckers; and today’s was no exception. I will never, ever, ever repost shit that has grammatical errors lest someone think I actually wrote it incorrectly. GAWD. That would be a fatal error.

But, second, once I cleaned up the little gem above, it sparkled like one of those gigantic rings in the jewelry case at Wal Mart. You know, the ones with the adjustable bands? Completely real stones too. Ah. I digress. The point is that the repost didn’t just hit a raw nerve of mine. No. It grabbed that nerve with some super-pinchy, locking pliers and then zapped it with a million volts of pure electricity. And then dipped it in salt.

Of course, I wanted to scream. I am so fucking sick and tired of the lame excuses for bullying and the even lamer excuses for humans that bullies are. But because I was on FaceBook, I couldn’t really say what I felt. So I just reposted like the good buddy that I am unless I hate you. (And you know who you are, you less-than-a-handful-of-fuckers who have betrayed me.)

However. Blu-hoo offers me the perfect venue to vent my proper rage against those slime-filled individuals who patronize, victimize, antagonize, tyrannize, badgerize, tormentorize, harasserize and any-other-ize anyone they view with their little snake-slits for eyes as somehow less.

This is what bullies truly deserve to hear:

Dear anal-plug-licking bullies,

The boy you punched in the hall today committed suicide a few minutes ago. And you suck your granddad’s wrinkled, nasty nuts and like it. That girl you called a slut in class today? She's a virgin. And you will never, ever lose your virginity to anything other than your hand or something with batteries. The boy you called lame? He has to work every night to support his family. Of course, the only job for which you are fit is laundry duty in the prison where you will inevitably reside someday soon. That girl you pushed down the other day is already being abused at home. Probably like you are, but that’s no excuse, you sick bag of discarded and rotten maggots. You don’t see every abused person out there hating on other people just to feel better. You go get some help if you are being abused by your daddy who comes around three times a year and smells like Boone’s Farm, you mother-fucking defective dildo. You. Don’t. Take. It. Out. On. Others.

And if you bully just for the sake of bullying, we all know it is because your pee-pee (boys) or your brain (boys and/or girls) is so teensy-eensy-microscopic that Guinness has been tracking you for years. You need a heaping helping of crow-bar-to-the-shins and small-sharp-implements-to-the-nail-beds. You think you know the people you bully. Guess what? You don't. You don’t know anything. You care only about yourself. Everyone sees the truth that you try to cover up by attracting attention in your twisted, diseased way. And when you are being fucked up the ass by some equally hideous thug in the cell you will ultimately call home, just remember that it could be worse. I could have gotten ahold of you first.

Love,

Bloggurl  

Yeah. Okay. I’m all “*Fuck you, you fucking fuck” and no action. I know. But I mean it when I say that I have a wicked-sick imagination concerning the things I really want to do to the bullies I’ve encountered so far. I've dreamed up way more heinous things than that wuss Jigsaw ever did.

The obscenely rich and physically beautiful pustules in the digestive track of the universe who populated the schools my older daughter attended made my soul bleed with their flippant cruelty towards her because she is different. What difference did it make to them that she has more creativity and wit and smarts than all of them lumped together? What difference did it make that she was clearly already injured enough?

I wanted to track down all of the asswipes’ parents and let them in on the personality secrets of their offspring. But I figured the bullies had to have learned it somewhere and that the parents were probably just as shit-from-Satan’s-ass-smelling as their mini-morons.

There is a fantabulous anti-bullying campaign going on called “It Gets Better.” I sure hope so. But I’m doubtful. Bullying has been perpetrated since forever, and while training a spotlight on the practice WILL force more scrutiny, the scumbags with enough bile in their veins to act out their bullying fantasies will always find a way to launch their sneak attacks. And that damned Glee does not help either. It showcases bullies so that we can feel a collective distaste, but it doesn’t advocate punishment and STOPPAGE. But that’s another post altogether.

What can we do besides round up all the offenders and ship them off to Nebraska where they will flat-out die from boredom? (See “Good Ol’ Nebraska,” July 25 for proof.) I don’t know. I don’t know. But sometimes I wish this were all a movie or at the very least an episode of ABC’s Afterschool Specials. Then some cool ass could rid the world of bullies in a painful yet socially conscious way. And all in less than 2 hours.

*Thank you, Lisbeth Salander's t-shirt from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.