I'm not even joking about this:
When I was a kid, we didn't have much money. We were straight-up fucking poor. I became so good at trading items from my poor-kid lunch because my family could never afford the awesome stuff like snack packs, it was an apple and a peanut butter sandwich for me. One time I convinced some kid to give me all his pudding because it was made with "partly skimmed milk". Well one fateful day when I was about nine years old, my parents came back with a box of Twinkies. I was more excited than the average kid because I had never had a twinkie before.
It's also important to note that I was a bonafide wimp at this point in my life. If someone bullied me, I'd take it and not say a word. I was constantly dealing with that sorta crap both at home and at school, you know name calling or shoving and such. Anyway, there I was standing on the playground. My eyes were alight and my heart aflutter as I peeled back the wrapper to reveal the sweet, spongey, cream-fill golden wonder. I began to bring the sweet treat up to my mouth, salivating and contemplating the adventures my taste-buds are about to embark on, when BAM! This kid who was always giving me a hard time actually wound up and dropped me right on my face.
I remember that my first instinct was to just take it. I was going to walk away and not say a word. But then something happened that changed my life forever. I looked down in my hand to make sure the twinkie was alright. In my hand I saw chunks of twinkie flesh and viscera, mixed with dirt and rocks. I looked up at my attacker with pure, unbridled rage. He started running before I even moved. I chased him out to the middle of the field and I beat him until he was a mess of blood and cream filling.
That was actually the last time I ever let someone bully me.