Hello, my name is Liam and I am a bully. I acknowledge that I am a bully, but I don't think it's a problem.
You wouldn't think it to look at me since I'm smaller than most kids my age, but my classmates at preschool fear me. When I saunter in the room, some of the boys instantly cower. A couple of the boys are complete wimps; they cry for their mamas every single day. What in the world is there to cry about? We get snack and juice, time to play on the playground, all the books we can read, new toys to play with and cool cots to sleep on. Best of all, there are no moms around! Dudes, you gotta get yourselves together. Enjoy the time away from your moms.
As for the ladies, I've discovered that they love a bad boy. The two girls in my class, twins no less, are totally crushing on me. They call my name when I enter the room and wave bye to me after nap time. All I need is a leather jacket and a motorcycle and I'll even have the teachers swooning over me. I suppose my fleece jacket and tricycle will have to suffice for now.
I don't just bully my classmates, either. You ought to see me wail on my little brother. The kid is a total pushover. Literally. I just pushed him over yesterday for no reason at all and he didn't fight back. Mom put me in timeout, but I just did it again because it's fun. She warned me that someday Evan is going to pay me back for all of the abuse, but I don't see it happening. The kid is way smaller than me and cries all day just like the sissies in my class.
The only person who fights back is my sister. I pull her hair and she pushes me away. I push her back, she yells at me and tattles to Mom. My revenge? I bite her. Two weeks ago, I bit her really hard on the stomach. You can still see the mark. Sometimes I impress myself.
The best part of being a bully is that I know when to turn it off and be charming. I can charm the pants of anyone. I've got my grandparents totally snookered; they think I can do no wrong. In fact, everyone over the age of 55 thinks I'm adorable and that's just the way I like it. It's the retired crowd that has the money and can buy me great gifts.
Granted, I have gotten in trouble for my bully ways. Not only does Mom put me in time out like ten times a day, but my teachers at school have written me up several times. You ought to see Mom's face when she sees an Incident Report in my cubby when she picks me up. An Incident Report means that I hurt someone else, usually one of the wimpy boys, but you know, if they would fight back, then I'd learn my lesson. At least that's what Mom is hoping for.
Maybe someday I'll grow out of my bullying ways, especially as I figure out that all the other boys are bigger than I am. If not, then I suppose I'm on my way to becoming the next Napoleon and then my parents are really in trouble.
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