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Bullies like Stan and “Stoner Yoshi”


I dreamed about Stan the Man last night. He was an older bully that I grew up around in the late 1970s; a guy I knocked around with in the early 1980s after I left the Navy. Stan, real name Danny, was just a characterless cunt. Not a fighter; just a bully. A common everyday turd.

Stan wasn’t an overly brave man either. He was like a slightly likeable Daffy Duck… a little proud of being sneaky, defiantly greedy about not sharing loot and committed to the creed of the cravenly coward. Yeah, he’d grab a much younger teen, back in the day, and steal (my) hot chips. But Stan lost the only fist fight he’d ever been in (caned by his brother Marco) and I’d never consider Stan to be a man of violence. Stan’s real claim to fame was intimidation.

So I grew up around a lot of bullies and spent decades of my life pulling their wings off like a little boy with a bug catcher and no conscience. Each of them will tell you a story about how they slipped over, they were gazumped, they tripped or were surprised. Luckily, for me, I’ve never looked like a fighter.

I’d point out that the last fight I lost was in 1983 to a sober pentathlete (I was too drunk and stoned to tie my laces) and the last fight I lost before that was against a boy named Tony Nettlefold in B Block at our high school. The teachers let it continue. It went for 20 minutes and the punch-on could have gone either way. In high school I was training several days a week with the George Town Boxing Club.

In 1982, after I left the Navy, Tony and I were leaving a pub and he asked me with some concern “You don’t want a rematch?!” I said, “No.” Neither of us wanted to go down that road again. We were even. His technical knock-out in the corridors of George Town High School stood as a one-nil victory – an impressive combination of hooks that collected a smaller, tiring me, across both temples leaving lumps where the knuckles connected. His wounds were less than trivial.

As an adult, my version of the School of Hard Knocks was a gruesome liturgy of dragging bloodied knuckles across the swathe of my twenties-and-early-thirties in maximum security prison. It takes a little more than you’d expect to intimidate me. Certainly not name-calling.

At the moment I’m confronted by another bully. He refers to me as a gnome. I’m around five-foot-seven. I think “What are you six? Do you compare dicks, too? Haven’t you emotionally matured since you were in Primary School?”

I mean seriously, it’s like his being six-foot-three should elicit the unintelligent banal retort from me of “What’s the weather like up there?” Like nobody has heard that joke before. “Hey, Sticks, can you get a bed that fits?” No, I mean… that shit is for the playground. I could well say, “Let’s just discuss what’s in your spare room.”

It’s like I have this new Mario World enemy named “Stoner Yoshi” issued by Nintendo as a limited release of one. An enemy that calls me names and plays video games and flies toy planes. I mean, there are guys doing 20+ years in prison right now who planned to put me in a hole deep in Tasmania’s State forests. Old friends; old enemies. There are people out there today who, given the opportunity, would try their chances. So forgive me if I find the name-calling suburban quaint.

The old me would have said “Put up or shut up, Daffy Duck. Show me your magic.”

The old me thought six-foot-three was an ordinary man… not exactly what we’d call a Big Man, matey.

Let’s cut to the chase, you’re upset because I’m your estranged wife’s lover. And, I might add this with a slight tinge of humility, I’m a bloody good and attentive lover. And have a few tricks up my sleeve. I plan to keep her in my life for the long-term.

She’s not a possession that I’ve stolen; she’s a person who chose to leave.

Which brings us back to the bullying. It’s a bad example to your children and a fundamental sign of underlying bad character. Wake up to yourself.

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About the Author

Steven Clark Steven Clark - the stand up guy on this site

My name is Steven Clark and I live in the Derwent Valley in Southern Tasmania. I have an MBA (Specialisation) and a Bachelor of Computing from the University of Tasmania. I'm a mazer & a yeast farmer (making beer, fruit wine and mead as by-products of continuous improvement in my farming practices). I'm a photographer, although my film cameras are currently silent. I do not tolerate idiots. I do not tolerate bigotry. I do not tolerate excuses. Let's be clear, if you sit with my enemies you my are my enemy for life.

Blogger. Thinker. Brewer. Drinker. Life partner to the amazing and incredible Megan.

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