Every. Single. Day.
Ever since I was twelve years old and in seventh grade. My bully, who I will call Brad, tormented me, and the rest of my seventh grade class. Brad was an intimidating, 6'2", bulky, black dude who had been held back three grades. Even though he was unpopular, no amount of wedgies and swirlies would fill any of us with enough vengeance to cross him. Even the teachers made an exception to their "maintain a 70% average to play sports" rule so that he could play on the football team. And we absolutely demolished other schools when it came to football.
We had to put up with Brad's beatings and snarky remarks for years. No one dared to stand up to him. No one except me, the week when my eleventh grade home economics class went on a field trip to the local butcher, to learn how to properly prepare meat.
After learning the basics... how to skin cows and gut chickens, we moved onto the climax of the trip. The large, rusty, electric meat grinder which sat in solitude along the back wall of the faculty. Wasting no time, the butcher explained to us how the grinder functioned, and gave a quick demonstration, making ground pork. He then gave each of us a turn. Unafraid, I went first and seamlessly fed a cut of pork into the grinder. It proceeded to spiral out the other end, without any complications.
"Good job, u/squidwardspinkdildo." The butcher told me, "But remember, be careful." He instructed, grabbing a lone sneaker which lay under the table that the grinder was situated on. He fed the sneaker into the grinder, and, despite its size, it was immediately shred into pieces. "I don't want to have any accidents today. Not again."
We all stared at him, but he offered no clarification.
The rest of us took turns grinding our meat. One by one. I made eye contact with the pretty blonde girl in my precalculus class who I used to speak to, before Brad swooped in and took her from me. She smiled at me, and I wanted to smile back, but Brad was standing just a few feet away from me.
I was sick. Tired. Infuriated. Everything good in my life, Brad had taken from me. My pencils, my homework, the love of my life, my new sneakers. All ruined. And as I felt all of my bottled anger boil up, I knew I wasn't having it this time.
The pretty girl finished her piece of meat, and Brad was next. As he leaned in to place his meat onto the entrance of the grinder, I gave him a firm shove. He was quickly pushed off balance and fed face-first into the meat grinder. I took a step back as his blood squished out around the grinder, and watched all of his innards swirl out of the exit. He didn't have time to scream. Didn't have time to process what was happening. Dumb Brad was now nothing more than a pile of ground meat. And it felt good.
Immediately, my class applauded me. Everyone clapped. The mutilated hands of Brad even looked to be clapping. No one was disgusted by the mess, we were all just too happy to see him go. I felt no remorse. For the first time in my life, I was genuinely proud of myself. My class left the butcher that day, clapping as we entered the bus. When we got back to our school and were let out, my whole town was clapping for me.
The next day, I was made President of the United States. Despite being Canadian, it turns out, standing up to the people who demean and intimidate others is just the kind of courageous act that gets recognised internationally.
I know people have been complaining about the influx of revenge fantasies on this sub. I assure you all that every detail in this story is 100% not fabricated.
