People Share Their “Over The Top” Petty Revenge Stories

Like most people, I’m not a fan of mean people, and again, like most people, I wouldn’t consider myself a mean person. But, hey, if you want to play dirty, we might both end up in the mud. I’m pretty sure that’s how most people work these days; they’ll treat you the way you treat them first.

However, if you’re not much into drama, dealing with terrible humans might be a difficult task. You might bite your tongue, voluntarily unclench your fist, and either walk away from the person or perhaps even kill them with kindness. Honestly, sometimes it’s best to react in these ways, but other times, I’d say the person could use a little lesson.

If you’re a firm believer that some people deserve payback for their actions in the form of human-to-human revenge but aren’t a fan of being brutal and completely cold-hearted, these revenge stories are for you. They’re a little petty (some more than others), but they involve vengeance without completely destroying a person.

24. Try To Take My Seat? I’ll Make Sure You Keep Standing

“This happened a few years ago when I had to take the bus to work.

The bus I used to get to work went from the bus station in one town, stopped a short while in the next town, then onto the bus station in a third town. After this, they would repeat the journey back to the first town. I got the bus at the first town and got off near the second town. The bus was awful at 6 am as it was nearly full by the time it left the first station. It was usually the same people each day, so I knew when we would be stopping, who was getting on, and where people were getting off (at least up to where I got off the bus).

A couple of stops before I got off the bus, a certain lady would get on the bus.

I guess she must have noticed when I was getting off, so she started getting into the habit of standing next to my seat to wait to sit down. By the time we got to my stop, the seats were always taken, and people were standing. I never really took any notice of her and just got off the bus, but after a couple of weeks, it started to annoy me as there were people who had been standing for much longer, and she got on and took a seat almost straight away.

Eventually, I had some days booked off work. I didn’t have any plans; I was just going to stay home and play video games all week. I’m normally up very early, even on my days off.

Since I still had my bus ticket paid for the month, I decided to go on a bus ride. To make it seem like there was nothing different, I put my work clothes on, put my headphones on, and got the bus towards my work.

Sure enough, the woman gets on and comes to stand by me. When we were near my stop, I stood up, adjusted my trousers and hoodie, and went to sit back down. Unfortunately, she had decided to sit straight down on the seat with her legs in the aisle way expecting me to move out of the way. I asked her to move, so I could sit back down to which she argued that I was getting off the bus in a moment, so why does it matter? I told her that this was not my stop, and I was not getting off the bus.

She started screaming that she sees me get off the bus every day at this stop and that I’m a liar.

She was quickly attracting attention from the people around us. The bus driver had to come over to ask her to move as he had seen me sitting here the whole time. After more attempted arguing with the driver who threatened to kick her off the bus if she didn’t move, she reluctantly got up and waited for another seat. Unluckily for her, one didn’t come available, and she had to stand for around an hour till we got to the 3rd station where she got off. I waited on the bus and went back home. A couple of hours well spent.

I decided to repeat this for the rest of the week. She would still come and stand near me, but when I didn’t get off at my usual stop, she huffed and went to stand somewhere else. After the fourth day, she stopped standing near me.

When I went back to work, she rushed towards my seat when I got up to get off the bus. I’m guessing she figured I was back at work, so she started standing near my seat again. I wasn’t going to let her win, so I would ask someone who had been standing for a while if they wanted to sit down, ensuring I blocked her from getting to the seat before they could. I made sure to smile at her when I walked past the window.

She would keep trying to get my seat, but I made sure each time she had to stay standing. Thankfully, I drive now, so I don’t have to see her anymore.” Arrium1

23. Get Lazy On A Group Project? He’ll Sabotage You

If everyone pitches in like they’re supposed to, things like this wouldn’t happen.

“This was many years ago when I worked in a cube farm. (An office filled with cubicles is sometimes called a sea of cubicles or cube farm. Although humorous, the phrase usually has negative connotations.) It was approaching the winter holiday season, so the bosses were pretty lax on hours as long as you got your work done.

Me and the guy next to me, Jared, both had the same job, just for different sections.

The sections did almost exactly the same thing, just for a different type of clientele. The internal processes were the same, and that’s the important part of the story.

We were tasked by our respective bosses to collaborate on an updated Standing Operating Procedure (SOP). Fair enough. I took the old procedure book and highlighted different sections in different colors to indicate who would update which sections. When the time came to share the work, a simple “find and replace” would change one section name to the other section name. That was the plan.

I worked on mine. Jared did not work on his. He was a bit of a bully and a lazy one at that, and so was his boss. My boss saw what was going on and read the tea leaves.

While I worked on the new SOP, Jared and his boss went home early knowing I would finish the SOP and give them the product, so they could submit it as well. My boss told me to keep working and just do the entire thing, and he would make it up to me somehow. Sure boss, OK. He was a good boss, so I went along with it. When I was done (a few days early), I submitted it to my boss for proofing. My boss approved and submitted it to management. Management approved.

The due date came for Jared and his boss to submit their SOP. My boss emailed them the SOP (a few minutes before end of work on the Friday it was due) and let them know that he had already done the “find and replace” on the SOP, so all they had to do was submit it.

Jared’s boss told Jared to scan the SOP and make sure it was good. Jared scanned the front page and only the front page (lazy) and told his boss it was good to go. So Jared’s boss submitted the SOP right before closing, logged off, and went home.

As soon as Jared and his boss left, my boss started giggling. I asked my boss what was so funny and he said to have a good weekend and that Monday was going to be a great day. OK, sure.

What I did not know is that my boss also used ‘find and replace’ to replace words on pages 2-36. Some examples:

“submit” was changed to “brontosaurus”

“time” was changed to “s*x pickle”

“approval” was changed to “marmalade”

Sure enough, on Monday, Jared’s boss was called to see management about ‘his’ version of the SOP.

Jared’s boss, in turn, roasted Jared who “proofed” it. Yep, Monday was great. Absolutely glorious.” Reddit user

22. Give Me Milk When I’m Lactose Intolerant? Enjoy My Smelly Gas

“I (19f) live at home with my parents and my older brother (23m). We generally all get along okay. However, recently my brother has been doing a lot of stupid pranks on me I didn’t really mind that much the first few times, but once it got into double digits, it just started to get tiresome and annoying. I asked him to stop, but he ignored me and continued to play these tricks on me.

Yesterday, he took things too far. I’m very lactose intolerant, so I always use substitutes like lactose-free milk and nondairy alternatives.

If I don’t, I get really bad diarrhea, stomach pains, and gas. I usually get a glass of lactose-free milk in the morning. So, yesterday morning, I poured a tall glass of it out for myself and drank the whole thing straight. I realized after drinking all of it that it did taste a bit different from the regular. My brother then walked in laughing, and he told me that he had poured the regular dairy milk into the carton of the lactose-free milk, so I had just drunk a full glass of that stuff. He knew full well that I’m lactose intolerant and that it would be very painful for me if I consume dairy, but he just did his prank on me anyway.

He just said “have fun” to me as he walked off cackling.

Later that day, I was heading out to pick up some groceries in the car, and my brother asked if I could drop him off somewhere along the way, so I said fine. I had spent most of my time that day on the toilet after the incident in the morning. I got some severely bad stomach cramps, and I felt absolutely awful even after taking medication to help ease it. For those of you who don’t have lactose intolerance, it can be really painful. So, despite all this, I went on out in the car with him.

On the way, I felt a really big fart brewing in my stomach.

Again, for those of you who don’t know, being lactose intolerant makes it pretty much impossible to hold any gas in. I was not physically capable of holding my farts in due to my medical condition. So, I decided I would teach him a lesson for causing me all that pain earlier on and bothering me so much for the past while.

As the pressure of the gas built up to its peak, I quickly put the child lock on and then I unleashed a truly resounding fart. It was long and deep; it must have lasted at least 5 seconds. And it was extremely stinky. I’m honestly proud my body can produce something that dangerous. I just turned to him and said, “I hope you enjoy smelling my farts; have fun” and then I just blew him a kiss and winked at him.

He then absolutely flipped his **** and started freaking out at me. He began cursing at me and calling me disgusting, all while I was just laughing my a** off at him. He kept on asking what the **** is wrong with me and that it was disgusting unladylike behavior. He said a real woman would not do anything like that, and he continued to call me some vile words. I just giggled and said to him that if he didn’t want to have to smell my lactose intolerant farts, he shouldn’t have tricked me into drinking milk earlier. I told him that this problem was his own creation. He just ignored me and kept calling me unladylike and revolting.

I eventually reached where I had to drop him off, so I turned off the child lock, and he left the car, slammed the door shut, and stormed off.

I just laughed all the way through his freakout, and the angrier he got, the funnier it became. Anyway, I think it’s safe to say I taught my brother a lesson, and he won’t be messing with me again.” BlondeGirlThrowaway_

21. Won’t Let Me Go To The Bathroom? You’ll Get Suspended

“To preface, I have Crohn’s disease and ulcerative colitis. This qualifies me as disabled and so starting when I first got sick in high school, I was required to have accommodations by state law. Being disabled was hard and pretty complicated since after being diagnosed with IBD, I started getting various other health issues ranging from kidney issues to neurological issues to fibromyalgia. My school was very reasonable, and even after missing 3 months when I was first diagnosed, I still got all of my credits.

The following year, I was doing alright. Then the second semester, one of my teachers left, and the new one was a complete monster. She refused to teach with the textbook and used Wikipedia instead. She wouldn’t give us any tests or practice for the AP exam we were due to take. I was very frustrated and felt unprepared.

She absolutely loathed me since I had a little, pink pass that allowed me to take my meds in class, go to the nurse as needed, and have unlimited restroom breaks. She thought I was a disruption. I would do my best to wait until she was done talking unless I was in too much pain, but she would always roll her eyes and groan at me.

One day, I had just gotten in from a doctor’s appointment and rushed into her class. I asked to go to the restroom and said I’d be right back. She said no. Well, asking is just a formality. All of the teachers get emails about the disabled students and know about their accommodations. So, I told her, “I need to go to the restroom. I’m going.”

As I left, she groaned something about me always wasting class time and faking it. I picked up my stuff and took it with me. I went to the restroom. Then I went downstairs to my dean’s office. I signed in, and when he came out to get me, I told him about the teacher’s attitude and how she refused to let me use my accommodations, so I came here.

I simply told him that they should let her know that she’s required to let me leave the class for a reason, and I have medical paperwork to back that up.

He apologized profusely and called the teacher. He told her that he was sending a substitute to her room, and he wanted to speak with her. Then he called for a substitute teacher on his walkie talkie. She arrived at his office looking very displeased, to say the least. He sent me out of the room, and I waited in the lobby for I think 20 minutes. Once she left, he had her stop at the desk to fill out some paperwork. He brought me back into the office to fill out paperwork too about what had happened.

A few other students who heard what had happened came in as witnesses, and after that, she was gone for 3 weeks.

To my knowledge, she was suspended because she opened them up to a potential lawsuit. Blatantly denying a disabled student their accommodations is against the law here, and the school didn’t tolerate it one bit. I will admit I do feel a little bad, but I don’t take any **** when it comes to my body and my diseases.” valpaljoy

Another User Comments:

“I’m a teacher. Even without your medical needs, that attitude towards letting students use the restroom is harmful and out of line. It’s a power play and is controlling. No teacher should have that policy.” singerbeerguy

20. Scream At Me Over 50 Cents? I’ll Make It A Hassle To Get It Back

“When I was a teenager, for about 8 months, I worked customer service at a shopping center type establishment.

One of the parts of my job was issuing refunds for when vending machines didn’t work. Basically, you put money in the machine, and it doesn’t give you the product you paid for. We had a lot of vending machines, and you know those things don’t always work right.

All our machines were numbered, and the policy was to ask for the number of the machine and then issue whatever refund they claimed it was considering the majority of the refunds were for 50 cents to $1. Management basically told us, “Look, just side with the customer; it’s not worth the hassle.”

Well, one day, I’m working when Karen comes up and said that the Coke machine took her money and didn’t give her the Coke she paid for.

I asked her how much money the machine took, and she told me 50 cents. I then asked her what was the machine number.

Now, at this point, I fully expected her to not know; in fact, very rarely would a customer know. In cases like that, the normal practice would be to ask them where the machine was located, and we’d fill in the rest ourselves. We wanted to know which machine caused the issue, so we could send someone to fix it.

Well, instead of saying, “I don’t know,” she freaked out and started yelling.

She accused me of being a sexist, a racist (I’m white; she was Hispanic), she accused me of calling her a liar, she told me I was a piece of **** for not listening to her.

She made a huge scene… She said I was just an angry man because I was stuck in a dead-end job. (I actually was a customer service rep making $12 an hour…and this was back in 2007; it was one of the highest-paid, non-management jobs in the store, and I was still in high school.)

So, I calmly waited for her to finish her rant, and I said, “Miss, I’m sorry, but for every refund I do for a vending machine, I need the number of the machine to issue a refund. You’ll need to go back to the machine and get me the number. It’ll be on the front in the upper right-hand corner; you can’t miss it.” She protested, “I’m tired, and it’s on the other side of the store.

Can’t you just give me 50 cents?” I said, “Sorry miss, my hands are tied.”

She then called me an ******* and stormed off.

10 minutes later, she returned with the machine number was written on her hand. I smiled, pulled out the paper, and took my sweet time filling in the report. Normally I would wait until after the customer left, but I really wanted to add in the solid minute it would take to fill in the paperwork before I gave her the 50 cents.

After everything was said and done, I asked her to read my report and sign where it says, “Customer signature,” which, for your information, we never did, but she was special. She took a second read the report, signed, and I gave her the 50 cent refund and wished her well.

I then proudly walked into the back office where my supervisor was and handed him the report, and he laughed his a** off and said, “That was the lady that was screaming, wasn’t it?” I said “Yes,” and he said, “And you made her walk to the machine, didn’t you?” I said “Yes,” he said “And then you made her sign the refund slip?” and I said “Yes,” and he said “Good man.”” PJExpat

19. Try To Pull A Lie? You’ll Lose A Lot Of Rent Money

“I am now and always have been very (some would say overly) trusting of other people. In general, I think people suck. But on an individual basis, I try to give the benefit of the doubt.

This plays a big part in this story.

No names or locations.

So, my then-girlfriend, now wife, and I wanted to buy a house a few years back when interest rates were low as we knew we would get married and wanted to lock in a low rate. However, as we were both newly out of college and had a fair amount of debt and entry-level jobs, we gambled on instead of renting for a year to improve our credit and save some money.

We find a great apartment in a complex of what I think are called townhouses (?) (a bunch of 2 story buildings with 2 apartments on each floor, 4 per building). On our initial walkthrough, in the shared lobby of the 4 apartments, there was a “Do Not Occupy” order from the town.

I asked the landlord/property manager about it, and she said they were being asked to increase the service of electricity to each building but that it was safe and already underway, and of the 30 or so buildings on the property, only a handful was awaiting this small upgrade. Being the trusting person that I am, we signed a 1-year lease.

Things went smoothly for the duration of our lease term, and towards the end, we started looking for houses and signed with a real estate agent. Inventory was low at the time, and we couldn’t find a house we wanted to make an offer on. Around a month prior to the end of our lease, we received a letter from the property manager asking if we wanted to renew or if we were going to be moving out.

I called the PM and, as her office was in one of the buildings, she asked that I come by instead of chatting over the phone. So, I went to her office and explained that we wouldn’t want to sign another 1-year lease as we were actively looking for a home. I asked about a month to month lease or a shorter-term lease. The PM started talking about how she liked us as a couple and that we had been good tenants. She explained that, normally, the month to month option is $200/month more expensive than a lease, and since she liked us so much, we should sign a year lease, and if we found a house before then, we would end up saving money every month, and she would, “work with us.” (With a literal wink, which I found odd, but as I said, I’m very trusting (read stupid)).

I took a copy of the lease, and my now-wife and I sign it, and we are good to go.

About a month into the new lease, we noticed a strong fish-like smell. We looked forever for the source and ended up Googling it. Turns out, sometimes when an outlet goes bad, it can smell like rotting fish. We searched around and noticed a clicking sound behind our couch. We pulled out the couch and found a sparking and smoking outlet. The PM was called, and the outlet was replaced.

A few months later, we finally found our home. We put in our offer, and it was accepted the same day. That next day, I called PM and left her a VM letting her know we found our home and that we would finish out the current month and then move out 2 months later.

At work the next day, I got a call from PM while at work, and she left a voicemail practically screaming that we signed a 1-year lease, and if we moved out early, we would be responsible for the remainder of the term (about 5 or 6 months after the move out date we provided). She also said that we could not use our 2-month security deposit as rent.

I called her up to chat and reminded her of our conversation, but she said, “That never happened…” and threatened to sue us and notify the credit bureaus that we defaulted on a lease. Mind you, this is all WELL before our move out date.

I looked up my options after realizing she was sticking to her story and couldn’t be swayed.

The only thing I could find online was showing the apartment myself and having someone take over the lease. I told the PM that this was my intention, and she said she didn’t know if she could allow that. Preparing for a lawsuit, I figured it would make more sense for me to try to rent it myself, so I could show that I provided a way for the property to limit their losses. Unfortunately, nobody ended up renting the apartment.

Being upset that I was scammed and lied to, we moved out without paying the last month we lived there, essentially using 1 month of our security deposit to cover that and expecting not to get the rest back despite the fact that we left the apartment in great shape.

I got a few angry voicemails from the PM but ignored them the best I could. Finally, at my new home, I received a letter from the PM with very legal language putting in writing the threats she made about the lawsuit and credit bureau reporting.

Ever the optimist, I called her one last time and again reminded her of our discussion. I tried to work out a compromise where, on top of our security deposit, I would pay for half of the amount due to end the lease. She wouldn’t budge and continued making threats in a very demeaning and angry tone.

So, finally, revenge.

I just happened to speak to my dad about this, and he let me know that he went to high school with the head lawyer (I forget the title) of the state housing authority.

He gave me her number and said I should call her and ask if I had any options.

After having a long chat about my general predicament, the housing lawyer (HL) asked me to walk her step by step through the whole ordeal from the initial showing until our last conversation.

I started to tell her the story above and got to the “Do Not Occupy” sign and how the PM explained it away and said it was safe. She stopped me in my tracks and said, “Don’t talk to the PM or ANYONE from the complex until you hear from me.”

A few days later, I got a call from HL who said something along the lines of, “Don’t worry about it, and if they contact you, call me.”

After thanking her and ending the call, I didn’t give it a second thought.

A few weeks later, there was an accident on my way home, so I got off the highway to take back roads home. This particular route took me right by my old apartment. Suddenly finding myself curious, I decided to be nosey and pull in. I drove up to my old building and noticed there were no curtains or blinds in any of the windows of any of the 4 apartments. There was also now a much bigger, “Do Not Occupy” sign on the front entrance to the building. It seemed as though my call to my dad’s friend caused the “Do Not Occupy” order to be enforced, and all 4 apartments were now empty. Feeling a slight bit of satisfaction, I drove to the exit of the complex and noticed that my building wasn’t the only one with no window treatments and a big sign on the door.

On my way out, I could see 7 or so buildings in the same condition, each with 4 apartments.

So, instead of sticking to her word and allowing us to move out peacefully, the PM lost out on monthly rent from about 30 apartments on top of any fines they may have incurred.” biimerge

Another User Comments:

“What exactly was the nature of the Do Not Occupy? Was it supposed to be forever? Like the buildings were condemned? Or did PM never get the stuff fixed and illegally allowed tenants to move into a fire hazard?” JodyR82

Reply:

“Do Not Occupy indicates a living hazard, likely to do with the smoking and sparking outlet OP found. Most likely, the person who renovated the buildings did so improperly, causing a safety hazard – or there were so many hazards present that the management lady didn’t want to pay to fix, so the district deemed it unsafe to live in.” SIlver_McGee

18. Trick Her Into Thinking She Won The Lottery? She’ll Tell Everyone You Won

She got him way worse.

“My wife and I like to play harmless pranks on each other, things like swapping all the photos in photo frames, or playing around with clocks, etc., etc. All mild stuff.

Once, I convinced her she had won the lottery with the old “record-last-week’s-lottery-and-play-it-back-having-bought-the-‘winning’-ticket” prank. After the initial excitement, and before she tried to contact anyone, I revealed the prank, and she didn’t take it well. In fact, she got quite upset. It took a few hours before we both could have a good laugh about it. Or so I thought.

Anyway, a few years later, I was serving at sea as an officer on board a warship. We were deployed and had been for several months at this point. The routine was fairly dull, but the Ship’s Company were keeping themselves entertained for the most part.

The ship’s Chaplain (also known as “the Bish”) had commandeered the internal radio broadcast system and set up a schedule where members of the ship’s company could DJ for a bit or have a discussion, host quizzes, etc., etc. The Bish’s favorite bit was his “messages from home segment” where he would read messages sent to the ship from the families back home. As you can imagine, the majority would be insipid stuff like, “Hey Smithy, me and the kids miss you so much. Can’t wait for you to get home, xxxxx”. Families would email the message, and the Bish would read it out, exactly as written.

Anyway, on this fateful day, I was on watch in the ops room. For those who don’t know, the operations room (CIC in US parlance) is quiet and busy, and everyone is focussed, especially in an operational environment, which is what we were in.

After being in there for a few hours, I needed a leg stretch and a drink, so I let the team knew that I was popping out for two minutes and headed into the wardroom to grab a cold can of diet coke and come straight back.

As I opened the door and stepped in, a massive cheer erupted! There were about 10 other officers in the wardroom, all cheering and looking at me.

“Ummm, what’s going on guys?”

“Didn’t you hear the Bish on the ship’s radio?”

“No, I was in the Ops Room on watch, like you lot should be.”

“Go see him, now, NOW!”

“What, why?”

“You have an important message; you’re going to want to hear it!”

So, I left the wardroom, aware that around half a dozen of the other officers were following me and made my way to the compartment that the Bish did his broadcasts in.

As I walked through the ship, one sailor yelled out, “Nice one, sir!” and another, “How much, how much?!” I was very, very confused.

I stepped into the compartment, and the Bish was mid-flow reading someone’s message. As soon as he finished, he looked at me, and a huge smile breaking across his face.

“Here he is, the man of the moment! What have you got to say, OP?”

“About what, Bish? I have no idea what’s going on?”

“So, you didn’t hear your message? Shall I read it again, listeners?”

I realized that he was still broadcasting throughout the ship; a muffled “YEAH!!!” could be heard.

He did a little fake cough and proceeded to read the message:

“Dear OP, I’ll get straight to the point. We have won a life-changing amount of money on the lottery.

Please call me as soon as possible! Lots of love, Snugglepuss, the Sausage Monkeys, Blockhead, and Pest-Cat.”

I was utterly confused. The message would’ve been sent to the Bish around a week ago, and my wife had made no mention of it in the daily emails/phone calls I’d had with her. It was also odd that she’d signed off using our silly little family nicknames (Snugglepuss = wife, Sausage Monkeys = kids, Blockhead = dog, Pest-Cat = well, the cat). This was not normal for her on any level; something was off.

The excitement in the compartment was electric; everyone was slapping me on the back and shaking my hand.

I managed to leave, saying something like, “There’s a phone call I need to make” and retreated to my cabin.

On the way there, I bumped into the XO (second in command), who enthusiastically shook my hand.

“How much, how much? You lucky, lucky b*stard!”

“I don’t know; I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“Call her! I need to know if we have to put ‘special measures’ in place.”

A little worried about what that would mean (turns out, the Navy has procedures for sailors who come into a lot of money unexpectedly in order to protect them; who knew?), I dashed away.

“Ummm, ok. I’ll let you know.”

Finally in my cabin, I check my watch for the time back home and called my wife.

“Hello?”

“Hey you, apparently we’ve won a life-changing amount of money…”

A muffled giggle.

“It’s a prank, isn’t it?”

“YES! We won $12! Got you!!!”

“Not really, I knew the message was odd as soon as I heard it.”

More laughter.

“OP, you don’t understand, the prank is just beginning. You’ll see!”

And, in that moment, I understood the genius of what my wife had done. I was due to stay on board this ship for another 2 months. She had just told the entire ship’s company that I was a lottery winner. EVERYONE “knew” that I’d won a “life-changing” amount of money.

It started reasonably enough. Pretty much everyone wanted to congratulate me, shake my hand, and talk about what I was going to do with the money. I would try denying that I’d won anything, and then I’d get a, “of course you haven’t,” or in at least one case, getting outright hostile with me for “trying to lie.”

After a couple of days of congratulations came the beggars.

From slips of paper under my cabin door to people on board I barely knew taking me to one side, telling me their life story and asking to either borrow or have money from me. Any attempts to convince them I hadn’t won a lot of money were met with either, “I understand; I wouldn’t hand out money either” or were just plain nasty.

As much as I tried to tell everyone I hadn’t won the lottery, it took a lot to convince some people. Even two months later, in my last week on board, I was still being asked by some about what I was going to do with the money and whether it was enough to leave the Navy and retire.

Even now, years later, I receive the odd text from someone who heard about my “win” asking for money.” Big_JR80

17. Kill My Dog? I’ll Kill Your Sleep

“I had a dog once.

My next-door neighbor is a member of the US military and owns 3 dogs. Many of my family members serve in the military, so we assumed he was a pretty trustworthy guy. One day, I go to let my dog (Romeo 2004-2007 RIP) out, but I notice my neighbor’s dog in my backyard. I wasn’t exactly surprised to discover they had dug under our fence.

According to our town’s laws, we couldn’t fix the fence. He owned those particular pieces of wood, so there was nothing we could do about it. Naturally, we asked him to fix it.

No problem; he is on it.

Over the next couple of months, we noticed a lot more trash than was usually carried by the wind was ending up in our yard. Beer bottles among them, we figured we might need to talk to someone. Same deal as before; he is on it.

I was in elementary school at the time, and that summer, things got particularly heated. I personally didn’t really care about whatever thing my neighbor was doing at the time. At that point in my life, my dog was all I cared about. I bought books on how to take care of dogs, I tried to play with him every day, the whole nine yards. I was just a kid, so although I tried, I didn’t always treat my dog ideally.

That summer, though, I was just beginning to realize how stupid some of the stuff I was doing and was making an effort to stop.

Bing bang badaboom, April rolls around, and I am awoken on a Sunday morning. Surprise, *****. Your dog is dead. I spent that Sunday morning not lounging around but comforting my dog who was bleeding to death on the kitchen floor. It really didn’t look that bad, but his breathing was ragged, and he was just laying there.

He stopped moving.

So, here’s the skinny: apparently, fixing a fence and filling a hole is neighbor speak for putting a recycling bin over the specified area. Now contrary to popular belief, dogs aren’t actually ********. Even if they were, it’s not that hard to push a box out of your way.

So, here’s the scene:

In one corner, you have a pitbull and 2 German Sheppards, and in the other corner, you have a chihuahua. I didn’t see what happened, but I was told he was fought over like a toy. If you have ever seen a dog rapidly spin its head with a toy in its mouth, imagine that but with a little more *****.

I don’t like dogs anymore. In fact, I’m afraid of them. The ring of a small dog’s collar behind me will put me into eighth gear fight or flight mode.

When everything was said and done, the dog tally was 0 on our team, 2 on theirs.

Let’s do some math. The average person goes to bed at say, 10, right? I have made it my duty to be as loud and disruptive as possible for my neighbors in the late hours of the night.

Between that and their kid, hopefully, they would be pulling a grand slammin’ total of 0 hours of sleep. This has been my life’s purpose since that day.

They can’t get mad; what are they gonna do? Who are you? Oh yes, the man who neglectfully homocided my dog to death?

At the very least, you could have ******* told us you didn’t want to do it. Just give us like 3 dollars, and we’ll fix it for you, so it’s all official and legal.

I’m a very introverted person, but I am quite the rowdy partier. Lights on, music blaring to the left a bit. Slap a few slurs around their children for comedic effect. They own a small dog of their own now, but I’m not that much of a sociopath yet.

I’ve really harnessed my couch potato, though. Our yard isn’t the one getting littered in anymore. The occasional garden snake I catch? Why take it all the way to the woods when there is an area completely devoid of sentient life right next to my house? As I’ve matured, so has my payback. I used to ding **** ditch them every day. I used to intentionally accidentally walk through their garden and make their yard look like something out of a trailer park. Though, to be fair, parking your truck in the middle of your front yard does that for you. I don’t do anything anymore, and I have never truly felt satisfied with my revenge. I’m still waiting for the right moment to bust a flaming pile of brown playdough onto their front doorstep.

I am 100% willing to take suggestions.

To be fair though, they did later fix the fence.

I had a dog once.” PrettyBoyPerry

16. Can’t Seem To Be Nice To Me? I’ll Plant Something In Your Locker To Get You In Trouble

“I was the sort of outcast kid in high school who never really fit into any group. At the time, I was 6’0” and about 210 lbs and was considered fat and unhealthy. I had a few friends, and we just did our own thing during lunch, but that was it as far as my high school social life was concerned. I kept to myself and didn’t want to make enemies of anyone.

This happened back in 2006 in my sophomore year of high school.

At the beginning of the school year, we are given the option to choose our own elective classes for the first and second half of the year. (Science, math, English, and reading were the four mandatory classes, and then we could choose to elective classes such as photography, PE, woodshop, autoshop, etc.; you get the idea.)

Anyway, at the start of the second half of the year, I chose weightlifting as my second elective class because I really wanted to build my muscle mass and get in shape. This was when I met the main antagonist of this story whom we will call Chad. Chad was a two-faced ******* in the most literal sense of the words. He was co-captain of the football team and the biggest brown-noser of the gym teachers (who were also the coaches of the football and wrestling teams) you have ever seen.

Chad liked to cozy up to them to stay on their good side, but if he decided he didn’t like you, he was gonna make your life ****.

I don’t know why he had it out for me, but he would do anything to make me look like a fool. He’d kick weights in front of me so I’d trip, he’d mock my efforts in front of the other jocks (also *******s), and even stuck his dirty gym socks in my lockers on Fridays, so I would come into my locker on Monday smelling like a landfill. I put up with Chad’s ******** for nearly four months.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was when he had something bad to eat one day, and instead of throwing up in the toilet like any normal person, proceeded to throw up in my backpack.

It wasn’t like vomit levels of puke or anything, but it did make a mess of my paperwork and folders. I finally had e****nou*gh of* this* *** and decided it was time to get even.

Just in case any of you are wondering, yes, I did inform the teachers of what was going on, but they were just making excuses because they didn’t want to risk losing the star football player just before heading to the state tournament. Okay, *****s, you wanna play hardball? Let’s play hardball. I spent the night at home thinking about how I was going to get back at him. Then my brain hatched an idea. He wanted to *** with my personal ***, so I’m going to do the same to him.

Objective 1: Find out his locker combination

The following Monday was a normal day as Chad was up to his usual ***, but this time, I was discreet. I played nice with him, trying to butter him up, hoping he would drop his guard. He finally did when I saw him put in his locker combination. Objective satisfied.

Objective 2: Find some booze

This one was obvious yet difficult. My dad had a bar inside our house in the basement and had quite a respectable collection of liquor. I figured he wouldn’t miss one or two bottles as I was doing this for a good reason. (Dad, if you ever read this, I’m sorry. I hope you understand.) Objective satisfied.

Objective 3: Plant the booze

This one was difficult as I knew I was risking suspension and possible expulsion from school.

(I didn’t have the privilege of being on a sports team, so I would have been thrown to the wolves immediately. You’ll see what I mean here in a bit.) I had to be discreet and make sure no one was around.

When school was over the next day, I went to the locker room and waited. It was easy enough to convince the teacher I just needed something out of my locker. I was fortunate he had to step out real quick to deal with some issue with another teacher and trusted me to be quick and close the door behind me. Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Cole, I will be; of that, you can be assured.

The moment he left, I worked fast.

I got Chad’s locker open pretty fast. I took the booze out and stuffed it in the back part of his locker. Then I reset the lock to the number it was on before I opened it. The little details are always important. Objective satisfied.

Objective 4: Tip off the principal and security officer

We didn’t have a weightlifting class until 5th period, so I had a good window to get this last objective done. During lunch, I went to the computer lab (bless you, Ms. Fraser, for being so kind to me) and typed out an anonymous letter stating that I believed a student in the weightlifting class was bringing alcohol to school and taking drinks while in class. I thank the powers, that being I was born with a silver tongue, because I was able to just walk into the principal’s office with smiles from the staff.

I left the note right on her computer, so she would see it the moment she walked in. Next, I went over the security guard’s office and left the note taped to his door. Objective satisfied.

And now, the waiting game. Pretty much as soon as the principal and security officer got the notes, they immediately called for a search warrant of all the lockers in the boy’s locker room. Every boy was ordered to come from their class and open their lockers, including me. Chad was completely unaware of what about to happen to him, and man, I couldn’t help but smirk a bit when he opened his locker to find a bottle of gin and vodka in his there. He tried to tell them it wasn’t his, but the security guard was having none of it.

He was escorted to the principal’s office.

I don’t know what happened to him exactly, but I do know he was no longer apart of the football team and was suspended for two weeks as a result. He’s thankful that the investigation remained in the house and didn’t catch the attention of the local news media. (This was before things like Facebook really took off.) He also still got accepted into the college he wanted but lost his football scholarship.

I never truly hated Chad; I just hated that he didn’t know when to stop being an *****. From what I understand, he’s doing alright now. He has a wife, one kid, and a fairly good job working as a garbage truck driver.

Moral of the story? Always be kind to people because you never know what kind of person you may be ****** with.” MrCriminalScum

15. Lock Me Out Of Our Shared Room? I Hope You Like The Taste Of Toilet

A classic revenge story, but nonetheless, an entertaining one.

“Sooo, when I was in middle school, I was…coerced into joining our school’s UN (debate) club. The teacher that was in charge of said club really liked me, and I liked her. (Yes, I was a teacher’s pet.) I liked the people in that club alright. Everyone except Johnny Boy. He was THE school golden boy, the most liked by both the student body and staff. I did not like him, at all. He did not like me back; he was always sending snarky comments my way.

And ****** be the person who snaps back.

It was my first time going into Debate Club, and as such, my abilities were kinda… trash. And Johnny boy wasted no time correcting me and not out of his desire for me to get better. Every mistake was noted and taken advantage of. Needless to say, I was peeved.

I had not been two weeks into debate club when the teacher took me aside from the group and gave me the opportunity most kids in that debate club were tearing each other for. Every year around February, my school was invited to either New York or another school for a big, international debate. That particular year it was Harvard… HAR-VARD. I was invited just because I had good diction (according to my teacher).

I am not stupid, even though there were kids who were loads better than me and deserved the offer more, I obviously said yes. When else am I going to get an opportunity? Life is short. But, here is the ballbuster. I was going to roomie with no one other than Johnny Boy and another dude. Yay…

The entire trip, I get more snide comments from Johnny Boy and company. Every night, I wonder how long I’ll get in prison if I push this smarta** from the window. On the last day, I forgot our room key when I left the room. When I noticed I went to knock on the door, Johnny Boy had been expecting it since HE SAW my key in the room.

He laughed through the door and poked fun at me for a good ten minutes. When he finally opened the door, he and the other dude laughed in my face as they left.

I was mad, but I am not going to go after him in front of a group of people who LOVE him. So, I went to the bathroom. (I was pooping my pants the entire time I was outside.) Before I answered nature’s call, I noticed two things: someone had not flushed after peeing, and Johnny Boy had NOT hidden his toothbrush nor his deodorant in his suitcase. I did not think about it twice. I was mad. I took his toothbrush and I gave the p*ssed toilet a nice scrubbing.

And just because I was extra I ALSO rubbed his toothbrush on his deodorant…

Later when both guys came back, I pretended nothing was wrong. He kinda chuckled when he saw me. But I kept on reading my new book. I was delighted when out of the corner of my eye I saw him introduce the nasty toothbrush into his mouth. He gagged (a lot). I laughed. The ***** sacrifice had been paid. Enjoy that, p*ss breath.” MajesticEvidence

14. Think I’m Such A Bad Student? I’ll Be Just That

“Before I go into the story, I need to explain some important things about me and how our classroom worked. As a child, I loved studying-I know; I’m a giant dork-and was quite **** and spiteful.

I didn’t care much for others and wanted to focus on bettering my grades, no matter the method.

As for my classroom, we had a behavioral stoplight system. Everyone had a clothespin with their name attached to this 4 ft tall poster board with different colors. We all started on green which was good. Above the green poster board were two more poster boards colored blue then purple. Those were the above and beyond spaces in which you got a treat towards the end of the day if you stayed there. Underneath the green space was the rest of the stoplight colors. The red space meant you had to write a small explanation of why you there in which your parents had to sign off on it, making sure they saw it.

You could move at any time on the chart as that was the rule our teacher made.

As for my teacher (let’s call her Mrs. Jerk), I don’t know what it was, but she despised me. Maybe it was because I was an annoying kid. Or maybe it was the fact I didn’t like working with others as they didn’t care about their grades as much as I did. Probably that since, I got told I was a cold and aloof child. Oh well. Anyways, Mrs. Jerk considered me as one of the “bad” kids even though I was a good student as I turned my work in on time and made sure it was perfect. ****, she was so convinced I was a bad kid as she literally moved my desk right next to hers.

In short, she pretty much wanted to prove I was a bad kid, and I made sure to stay as a kid who only made minor mistakes.

Now, onto the story.

Throughout my elementary school career, every teacher I had would show us short, animated videos including a human man and his friend robot explaining various concepts and ideas. Everyone loved them as they gave a good synopsis of the topic at hand and were honestly a fun way to learn new concepts.

As 4th grade came about, I ended up figuring out the login for that website. (Our school had their own unique login for it which a 5-year-old could figure out.) So, when I would start studying for tests or do my homework at home, I would pull up that website and watch those videos as a way to help study.

It was amazing, and it allowed me to retain the info in a fun manner.

However, I got sick one day and ended up missing school. I was upset at myself as I knew I was going to have to study twice as hard to catch up, but oh well. When I came in the next day, it turns out that a couple of other students were absent just like me. Our teacher told the class that those who were absent needed to go to the class computers to watch the animated video covering the topic she discussed the day before and complete the worksheet the other students did. The students who weren’t absent had to pair up with their tutor partner while this was happening.

(I was so happy with this as I hated the kid I had to partner tutor.)

When it was my turn to watch the video (the classroom had a limited amount of computers), I logged into the website immediately without thinking about it. I completely forgot that she said we had to ask her to log us in that website. So, as I was watching the video and doing my worksheet, she realized what I did and made her move. Like a true jerk, she ripped into me in front of the whole class for not only knowing the login but also for “talking back” when she was yelling through her tirade. Apparently my talking back (I apologized for what I did) and blatant disregard to her instructions gave her enough evidence to move my clip from green to red with no way to move back up.

I. Was. Furious.

So, as I was home fuming and doing my homework, I had a realization. If she believes I’m such a bad kid, why not make that a reality? And since it was her first year teaching at our school district, it made an even bigger impact.

From that point on, my homework was never turned in with the same perfection I used to do. My tutoring was just passable, and it definitely did show. The kicker? I purposefully failed every single test she gave out.

Every. Single. One.

She knew I what I was doing, but she couldn’t do anything. She knew I was capable of the work and even tried to “help” me learn, but I never listened. I wanted her to look like the worst teacher, and what made it so much better was that other students struggled in her class.

So, me joining in on the struggle bus, the once perfect A child, absolutely ruined her.

Turns out, she didn’t work at our school for much longer after that. And jokes on her as I’m now a thriving college student with just as much as spite.” Gaygirlwalking219

13. Cancel My Birthday Lunch? No Office For You

Don’t be a flake next time.

“A few years ago, I was working at a tech company doing quality assurance (QA). For the most part, I liked my manager. He was a decent guy but not someone that was a technical guy so more of a manager than a team member. School starts for the year, and he starts to get to be a pain in the a** to get in contact with: working from home most of the time, erratic office hours.

For the most part, I didn’t care. Things were getting done, and life went on.

Things started to get real bad in October. He was a believer in one on one meetings, so at the beginning of the month, he scheduled one with me and then missed it. I don’t think much about it and just went with the new time to meet on a new day. It happened again and again. In all fairness, we did meet once for our one on one but both agreed that the crisis going on in the department needed both of our attention, but he scheduled eight different meetings with cancellations going out minutes before the meeting (maybe two?) or not even doing that much, MIA.

At this point, October was on its last days, and I was p*ssed as **** about this and decided to send him a pointed email about how I expected better out of him than that. He apologized to me, and I figured it was done. We decided to hold off on another one on one meeting for a while because I would just rail on him about this, and I didn’t want to do that.

November comes and goes without any sort of scheduled meeting between us, and it’s alright. He is still hard to get in contact with him, but I don’t care. I figure things are back to normal, but I’m also kind of bothered by the fact that he hasn’t asked for a new meeting.

December comes around, and the morning of my birthday has arrived. I don’t care; I don’t bring it up, but I get an email from the calendar app to schedule a birthday lunch for the next day. I inwardly groan at this as it’s way more of an official thing and that it’s for the next day. I press accept and start looking forward to going out to lunch.

Less than four hours later (probably two hours) comes the notification that the event organizer has canceled the event, he explained that he had some schedule conflict. All of the calm and cool that I worked to build up over November suddenly erupts into a rage in me. If he had just sent out an email saying let’s get lunch and had to cancel that, I wouldn’t have cared.

This was an official meeting because of the d*mn calendar thing and canceled, just like nothing had changed since the email I sent the manager.

I decided to sit down and write another email to him, detailing out what happened again and how it showed no respect for me and the rest of the department. (They were all having similar issues.) I managed to keep it professional, but it was also clear I was p*ssed. I also added his boss to the email, the CTO of the company.

After a bit, I manage to get back to actual work rather than just fuming from these events when I get a call from the CTO. He says that he wants to talk to me Monday (next business day) about what is going on and that he wanted to get it today but had a full schedule.

I say it’s all good and thank him. A call happened around noon, and by three o’clock on Friday, I was sitting in the conference room talking with the CTO about what happened. We have our conversation as did all of the people in the department.

I found out that my manager was a full-time manager, a newly married husband with kids (four of his own and four of hers), and going to school full-time for nursing. There might have been more to the list, but the guy had negative time during the day and cut time from his employer to make it work. D*mn, salary is great, isn’t it? The CTO was pretty p*ssed about this, with one of the most direct changes being made was that the QA manager had to sit in the QA lab with the rest of the department.

I don’t recall what else he had to do or what other changes he had to suffer, as it’s been years.

I did feel a bit bad for the next QA manager (the manager of this story lasted about 3 more months). He had to fight and beg to have an office that he deserved, but I never did try to hide the fact that the reason the new manager didn’t have an office was because of me.” quakeholio

12. Jerk Holier Than Thou Roommate Gets Blasted Out With Satanic Music

“So, this was a few years ago, sophomore year at university.

I lived in a traditional dorm room: one bedroom, 2 occupants. I had a bad feeling about this roommate from the start. Our first conversation on move-in day, she immediately asks if I’m Christian.

I’m not, and she wasn’t ok with that; she was one of those rrreeeaaallyyyy religious nutjobs. Also on move-in day, she told me I wasn’t allowed to have s*x in the dorm room nor was I allowed to swear.

As the weeks went on, she didn’t exactly do unto others. She refused to listen to music with headphones, instead always blasting it in the room. And it was either gospel or gangsta rap, no in-between. (I listen to rock/metal and can tolerate most other genres, but those on full blast was just ridiculous.)

She’d play it late at night, ’cause apparently, that was the only way she could sleep. I get insomnia and need things quiet to sleep. (Earplugs don’t cut it either.) If I politely asked that she put headphones in, she wouldn’t react at all.

She wouldn’t even look at me. It was like she was deaf. She’d be out till the middle of the night, and when she returned, she’d slam the doors, take her sweet time getting ready for bed, and keep the big overhead light on while I tried to sleep. She’d even have her friends over till like 4 AM on school nights.

I tried multiple times to get a new room assignment, nothing. The RA met with us multiple times, nothing. The RA took us to the person above her, nothing. According to the roommate, my concerns were “petty and not worth her time.”

The revenge… No s*x in the room, eh?

Move-in day was mid-August, and in March, I finally got a new room assignment.

In the days as I was packing/moving my stuff, I blasted the hardest Satanic metal I could find in my playlists. Then, twas the night before move out, and my roommate had just washed her bedsheets…

After she left to do the rest of her laundry, I got in her bed, and “dialed the rotary phone.” Then, using my wet finger I wrote on the underside of her freshly cleaned sheets (in nice, pretty cursive), “Hail Satan,” and “See you in ****, ****!”

My new dorm happened to be directly across the hall from the old one. Interestingly, after I left, my old roommate had guys over almost every night, and you could clearly hear her having s*x with them (during which sometimes I’d play “The Loophole” by Garfunkel and Oats outside her door), and the air around her door frequently smelled of weed.

I never heard a peep from her nor anything about my revenge.” OurLadyofMorningStar

11. Be A Demanding Customer? Let Me Make You A Special Manual

So much effort but worth it!

“I used to have a regular customer that would request things by saying, “You give me…..” or “You do this….”, never “Can you please….” or “Can I please have……”. I felt like I was her slave that had to jump to her command.

I asked her several times to use her manners, but she would more or less “shrug it off” like it was something that just didn’t matter.

I have to admit, I let it get the better of me, and I allowed my emotions to take over my professionalism….. so I had an idea to make her a little pocketbook to use as a reference when she came in.

I titled it, “Manners for Beginners.” I wanted to use “for Dummies,” but I figured she may take offense to that. I can’t remember the exact wording, but it went something like this:

When asking for something, phrase it as the REQUEST it is; never DEMAND it (e.g., “Can I please have…..?” or “Will you please….?) If you DEMAND it, your request may be denied completely. Tip: Remember that you do have rights as a customer, but that does not include authority over the employees or the premises; the company actually pays someone qualified to do those tasks for us.

When receiving service from an employee, always remember to use the word PLEASE in the beginning and then use the work THANK YOU (or equivalent) when the interaction is coming to a close.

If you wish to, you can converse more than that, but it’s non-essential. Tip: You could end the interaction with, “Have a nice day.” Again, it’s non-essential, but it gives the perception that you are a considerate person who cares for others.

If someone gives you eye contact and a smile, always acknowledge it by doing the same in return or even giving a slight nod of your head in their general direction is sufficient. This indicates that you appreciate the warm gesture displayed to you. Tip: Even if your eye contact is accidental, still smile and/or nod. People are unaware of it being accidental, so they will conclude that you’re staring at them or judging something about them if you don’t back it up.

Both are considered to be rude and anti-social.

And it went on with a few more basic tips, a few stick figure drawings for some of the “harder to get your head around” tips, a facts and questions page, a table of contents, a “possible scenarios” section (a second person was required for role plays, though), blank pages for notes, and a quiz at the end. It was not lacking in detail; it couldn’t be. It was for beginners after all.

The ****** thing took me hours over several days to finish because ideas just kept flowing, but I wasn’t giving up. It wasn’t just about manners; it was also (yes, I’m going to say it) THE PRINCIPLE! I was going to make that lady be civilized, even if I had to be petty to do it! There was nothing stopping her from making me a book on how to be less petty or possibly, how not to offend your customers.

She could have taken her pick, really.

So, I gave her the book. She took it looking somewhat confused and a little embarrassed. As she walked away, I rubbed my hands together, stating to my co-worker, “Now I’ll just wait for her to come back a polite, considerate person, so I can reap my reward.”

I never saw her again! No, I wasn’t happy to be free of her, who puts that much time, effort, and creativity into a project to never see any results or receive any feedback on it? I guess I was a little too petty to deserve that in the end.” Christine Kelly

10. Terrible Neighbor Gets A Superglued Door Lock

“It was my mom and dad’s anniversary recently – he passed around 10 years ago.

I would be lying if I said that we had a good relationship, and we never saw eye to eye on much – but at the end of the day, he was still my dad, and from the many, many posts I’ve read on this site, I realize that maybe I didn’t have things quite so bad.

Anyway, the reason I mention this back story is that we were reminiscing about him and some of the stuff he would get up to. When he was younger, he liked to think of himself as what we’d term in Scotland as a “hard man.” He wouldn’t go looking for trouble, but he would quickly end any trouble that would find him. And that was often – back in his early twenties, the culture here was often that guys would go out drinking and having fun with their friends and come back home to their wives, who might or might not make them spend the night in the yard depending on how generous they were feeling.

In addition to twenties and thirties filled with drinking, he was a heavy smoker as well. My parents had me late (there is a 10 year gap between me and my next oldest sibling), so I think that was perhaps why my dad didn’t really bond with me as well as my brothers. This story takes place when I was around 17. I’ve told it to my family many times, and it always gets a laugh.

By this time, my dad was not very well at all. He struggled to walk and had a multitude of health issues mostly due to his booze consumption and smoking. That didn’t deter him in these habits, and most nights, he’d stay up after my mom went to bed, continuing to smoke and drink.

By the time I was 17, I mostly just spent nights in my room, keeping my head under the radar. Both of my older brothers had moved out of the house by this time. My dad had mostly stopped giving me a hard time by this age, and most of our night time, interactions would be if I went past him to the kitchen to get a drink.

One thing around this time that we both had in common was that we HATED the neighbor living upstairs. He was rude, and we often heard him shouting at his family. My dad could be a jerk, but he was never usually that bad. We tolerated it because it was mostly worse in the small hours in the morning.

My mom would be asleep, my dad would be drunk, and I’d probably be playing my PC with headphones on. Me and my dad had both noticed it, but we didn’t care enough to do anything about it.

One day, the neighbor inexplicably bought a puppy. I only ever caught glimpses of the puppy, but it usually seemed happy enough. The only problem with the puppy was that every time, he left it alone (which was a LOT). It would not. Stop. Barking. Day or night, if we heard him leave, or saw him get in his car, the puppy would go absolutely nuts. The worst part for me was that the puppy would go to his front door, which was near the window to my bedroom.

That meant it was mostly me who heard it barking. My dad would hear it whenever he got up to go to the toilet, and I heard him grumble angrily to himself “****** dog.” It was unusual for us to have a common issue.

On one particular night, the dog was going at it as per usual. My dad and I happened to cross paths during a late-night visit to the bathroom. While waiting outside for my dad to finish, he shouted out to me from behind the closed door.

“I’m going to put a note through his door.” I laughed a bit – my dad was drunk again, and the idea of him doing that was funny – because at best, my dad was able to shuffle the length of the living room before getting out of breath.

When he came out of the bathroom, he shuffled past me and went back into the living room. I didn’t think anything of it and used the bathroom, then went back to my room.

Maybe about 20 minutes later, I’m playing the PlayStation, sitting by the window in my room. I see something out of the corner of my eye, and look – it’s my dad in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, shuffling along the back of our house in his slippers, heading towards the upstairs door to the neighbor’s house. I was sh*tting myself. If the neighbors turned up and things got physical, my dad could have been seriously hurt.

I scrambled for my shoes and ran through the house to the back door and along the back of the house to catch him.

When I turned the corner, he was already on his way back down the stairs. I quietly shouted to him “What did you do?” He simply said, “I posted a note through his door.” I went to go help him back in and noticed that he was holding something. I asked him what it was, and took it out of his hand – it was an empty tube of super glue.

Preempting my question, my dad said, “I put it in his lock.” In the UK, many locks are really small and narrow – superglue would ruin the lock and mean it’d needed replacing. I couldn’t help but laugh, but then I said to him, “He’ll come knocking on our door first needing help.” (This was before mobile phones were prominent.) My dad literally did not give a *** and shuffled off to bed.

I went to bed too, but sure enough, the door went a few hours later around 3 AM. I woke up and opened my door. My dad had already gotten to the front door before me and opened it. I settled for listening to the conversation from my room door.

Neighbor: “You’re not going to believe this, but some b*stard has put superglue in my lock. Is there any chance I can use your phone?”

Dad: “You’re joking? Of course, come on in.”

The neighbor flicks through the Yellow Pages for a locksmith and eventually phones one. All this time my dad is genuinely trying to act helpful and friendly. When they’re done, my dad shuts the door and laughs. I peek my head out of my bedroom door and laugh as well l.

But then I have a horrible moment of realization: “The locksmith is going to have to drill and hammer his door to get it open!” He shrugged and said he didn’t care.

20 minutes later, I’m lying in bed, unable to sleep due to the hammering and drilling. I definitely was not destined to get any sleep that night! My dad was definitely in the wrong, but I will take the image of him shuffling along the back of our house to my grave. Our family still has a good laugh about it to this day. My dad and I were definitely not besties, but this is absolutely one of my favorite memories of him.

Oh, he did apparently post a note, but he took what he wrote on it to his grave.

I’d love to know what he had written. The puppy continued to do its thing, but we would always have the night of the superglue in the lock to console us.” OrdosDeluxe

9. Complain About My Dog’s Food? You’ll Gag At His New Diet

“So, I (26) live with my parents (67, 52), elderly grandfather (94), three sisters (22, 22, and 20), and younger brother (15) as well as my three dogs, two cats, and two rabbits (as well as other pets who are in enclosures).

I’m my grandfather’s carer, which is the only reason I live with my parents as they didn’t want me to take him too far. All seven of my pets are very well trained living with him.

My sisters used to live together but have moved back for whatever reason, so now me and my grandfather are sharing a room (which he does not like, but oh well).

One thing that’s become obvious is that my sisters are so p*ssed about my dogs and cats. They bought vegan dog food for me to switch over to. I sent it back. Anyway, they keep complaining. My parents said they’re my pets, and I could do whatever.

Well, my grandfather hates it. Every day he has to listen to them complain. His dementia is setting in, but he remembers most stuff (mainly me and Baxton, my elderly cat who sits with him constantly). He’s very protective of Bax, and he will throw his slippers at them if the sisters complain.

A couple of weeks ago, he went, “Feed them dogs a live chicken. Then see how they’ll like it!”

They have also tried taking the animals’ food and binning it.

I usually stop them, but it really p*ssed me off because then my animals are getting improper portions.

Well, I took his suggestion, sort of. I wanted to switch my dogs over to raw feed anyway, so I decided to do that to my younger cat also. (Bax has no teeth left, so he has to eat the sloppy stuff, lol).

I bought a bunch of meat and vegetables, as well as vitamins, and wacked it together. I keep some portions in my section of the freezer and some in the fridge. They’ve been eating raw for about a week and a half.

I was very obvious and just happened to be mixing the mince together just as they were eating their lunch. One of them threw up.

Oh well.

My sister are going ballistic, straight up gagging every time they come downstairs.

My parents are fine because I’ve told them this diet is healthier for the animals. My grandfather thinks it’s hilarious. He’s asked me to buy chicken legs for him to have, so he can give one to the dogs whenever my sisters walk in the room. I might, but I don’t want my babies getting chunky.

I’ll probably do something else, but this is all for now.” pupppeawbdbd

Another User Comments:

“Can’t a vegan diet also kill pets (cats and dogs)?” chemtiger8

Reply:

“It can! It kills cats and can make dogs extremely sick.” pupppeawbdbd

8. Awful Bus Driver Gets Forced To Quit

If it were up to me, I would have definitely fired her.

“From 7th grade to just before my 11th-grade year, me and the other kids on the bus had this horrible, vindictive bus driver. I’m going to go ahead and say her real name, Cristina.

Our school system has too many kids for k-12 to all ride the bus, so we have an “Early Bus” for kindergarten through 5th grade, and then the “Late Bus” which had 6th grade through 12th grade. My bus came around 7:40 a.m., and I have to walk half a mile from my house to get to the bus stop, so I would leave at around 7:20. (This is important; trust me.)

Cristina would always tell us we “HAVE to be at the bus stop five minutes early or else you’ll be left behind.” She would purposely come ten minutes early to make kids miss the bus, and then she’d yell at them if they were coming up on the bus stop just before she pulled away.

She would scream at us for stupid ***. Everybody hated her.

When I was in 7th grade, I witnessed her screaming in her own daughter’s face as soon as her daughter got on the bus from the high school. I later learned her daughter was taken into DHS custody after running away multiple times, but I never heard what came of that.

She was also a REALLY reckless driver. She would run off the road, she hit a stop sign, she ran the bus into a ditch, and she even backed into a DISABLED MAN’S TRUCK. Wonder why she wasn’t fired? We didn’t have enough bus drivers to cover someone being fired. Welcome to the Oklahoma Bus System.

Now, I have some anxiety when it comes to car accidents because when I was in 3rd grade, I was in a school bus accident (different driver).

A car T-boned the bus, and I was thrown from my seat and got my face a bit torn up. I have one noticeable scar just above the right side of my jaw, but it’s not super big, and I also have four other small scars that aren’t noticeable. I have a scar on each eyelid, a scar on my left cheek, and a scar on my left cheekbone. So, every time she put us in danger with her reckless driving, I’d get major anxiety.

The final straw was when Cristina nearly got us all killed when I was in 8th grade. There’s a train track that runs through my town, and there were two different stops we had to go over the tracks to drop kids off.

We came upon the tracks, and Cristina decided “*** it” and STOPPED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TRACKS WHILE A TRAIN WAS COMING!! The safety arms were coming down, and we were all screaming at her to move the ****** bus. She finally moved off the tracks, and the safety arms literally scraped across the top of the bus.

All of us were panicked and started calling our parents in tears. My mom knows how bad my anxiety about this kind of stuff is, as I had completely blocked out the traumatic memory of the bus wreck for years and finally remembered it when I was around 11 or 12 when I started riding the bus again. Literally every single parent of the children on the bus called the Bus Barn and complained about Cristina constantly putting us in danger, and she was investigated but never fired.

We had a substitute for the rest of the year, but she was back when we got to high school. We decided to put a plan into motion to force this *** to quit her job.

Cristina was always telling us about how much she hated us and wanted to move out of the town. So, we decided we’d help her with that. We all decided to be as misbehaved as we could to force her to quit. We refused to listen to anything she’d say. We’d get up and walk up and down the aisles any chance we could. We’d eat and drink and leave the trash on the ground (*** move, I know, but she deserved it), and some kids even smoked on the bus.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore and announced to us that we were “the most disrespectful little brats” she had ever had the displeasure of transporting, and she was quitting because of how horrible we were to her. We told her that she was the most horrible bus driver and that she traumatized us and nearly got us killed, and we’ll be glad when she’s finally gone.

This story does have a happy ending. The new bus driver, I forgot her name, but she was a sweetheart, was the nicest driver I’d ever seen. She would greet us with a big smile and tell us good morning, and she passed out candy every Thursday. (Our schools go to school Monday-Thursday because of budget cuts.) Unfortunately, she had to stop driving for a few months because she’d had intense knee surgery, but as far as I know, she’s back on the route.

I don’t feel bad for making Cristina quit. She deserved it, to be quite honest. I’m glad that I’ve graduated and don’t have to deal with that bs anymore.” Midnight_Serenity

7. Refuse To Be A Decent Grandma? You Won’t Get to Meet Your Grandchild

”So, here’s the story. I come from a family, in which family is family no matter what they do, and that anything should always be forgiven and forgotten. My grandma and my mom are your classic emotional manipulators, but my grandma is the absolute worse. She has absolutely no empathy, is very cruel, and has a slick way of working her verbal jabs in and making them seem like no big deal. I didn’t know her much as a kid, but whenever my grandparents came to visit, she would single me out of my 7 siblings and treat me like crap… probably because of the two girls, I wasn’t “girly,” and she is very old fashioned.

I don’t know.

When I was a pre-teen, my closet-in-age brother and I were sent to live with my grandparents for a few months due to some medical complications with my older sister. While my brother and I were there, my grandma treated me like a slave. They had two couches and two guest beds, but I had to sleep on a dingy, old army cot while my brother got to sleep on one of the guest beds. (My grandma slept on the other because of my grandpa’s sleep apnea machine keeping her up, and I wasn’t allowed to sleep on the couches.) I had to get up every morning and make breakfast for me and my older brother and lunch for everyone later on in the day.

I had to make everyone’s beds and clean the house every day. Even when the house was immaculate, she would find ridiculous things for me to clean, like boxes of keepsakes that would just go back to the barn attic after I was done.

My brother and I were homeschooled at the time (ugh), and I struggled a lot. My grandparents both only passed 8th grade in the 50′, so they were no help, and instead of even trying, my grandmother berated me whenever I couldn’t understand something and asked my older brother for help. She would tell me I was stupid or not to interrupt him while he does his schoolwork.

My brother pretty much got a free pass while we were there.

He got to watch whatever he wanted on TV, including shows my parents would not have been okay with. He was allowed to play on their old Nintendo, but I wasn’t because I was a girl, and girls shouldn’t play video games (eye-roll), and he even talked my grandma into bringing us to the skating ring every week… I can’t skate, never have been able to, but my grandma would force the skates on my feet and toss me out into the ring. She would laugh when I would fall over repeatedly, and even other kids there would come up behind me, push me down, and call me names.

While we were staying there, I got extremely sick. I’m not sure with what because my grandma refused to take me to the doctor, but I remember aching all over my body and having a fever so high that I had hallucinations.

While I was sick, I was still forced to sleep on the cot and do my daily chores. I was so relieved when we were able to go back home.

Flash forward to a few years, we ended up moving to the same area as my grandparents’ because my grandpa wasn’t doing well. He had retired and was beginning to have a second battle with cancer and also Alzheimer’s. This really broke my heart because my grandpa was my only escape while I lived with them and was always kind and a gentleman. My grandma did absolutely nothing to help his condition over the years… Instead, she made it worse. A thing about Alzheimer’s is the less a person does, the more their mind depletes.

Regular daily activities should be kept up to help improve cognitive function. My grandma slowly took away things that made my grandpa happy: gardening, yard work, his pets (she purposely let his cat outside where it got hit by a car and died; they live on a very busy road, and the cat was not an outdoor cat), his carpentry, etc.

After his cancer was confirmed, and he wasn’t in a right mind, she refused to have him treated for it because it was just a “waste of money” – from his retirement; she never worked a day in her life. As my grandpa’s condition worsened, she put him into the cheapest nursing home around where he was abused and neglected (my family documented it and have lawyers working on a case), and she was aware of the abuse and neglect and refused to move him to a different nursing home, trying to save every penny she could.

He eventually died there.

Around this time, I was an adult and had moved out of my parents’ house, was living with my husband, and was pregnant. My grandma and my mom enlisted my husband to mow my grandma’s several-acre-lawn every week, without pay, unless you consider every blade of grass being scrutinized and no thank you as pay. She would literally draw a map of her yard and tell him how she wanted each section of grass to be cut… This was on top of us paying for gas to not only drive there but also to fill up her lawnmower and even for my husband to fix the lawnmower if something went wrong. With me being pregnant and him working full time, this was an unnecessary strain on our relationship.

We were relieved when Fall came around and decided to never do a d*mn thing for her again.

Then came my baby shower… My mother-in-law was hosting, and my grandmother was invited. She not only was rude to my husband and made some back-handed comment to him about leaving poor-old-pregnant me at home without a vehicle while he worked (we had just gotten a second vehicle that morning, so he was able to backfire her *******), but she also insulted my mother-in-law who spent the whole morning trying to make sure everything was perfect. My mother-in-law cooked a full 3-course meal for my baby shower, and my grandmother insulted her (wonderful) cooking to her face.

It was after that and much discussion (*** talking, really) between my husband and I that we came to the agreement that my grandma would have absolutely nothing to do with our soon-to-come baby.

We knew that at any given chance, she would try to manipulate and control our child as she has with every other child in the family.

Before I went into labor, we discussed our plans to announce our daughter’s arrival to our families; old hag was not to be involved. She ended up hearing from my mom and later on via Facebook. Thankfully she didn’t try to visit while we were still in the hospital, but as soon as we got home, she was blowing up my phone, not with, “When can I see the baby?” but with, “I’ll be over later to see the baby.” She never asks for anything; she demands and doesn’t even say thank you afterward… None the less, I got back to her and told her no.

I gave the excuse that we needed to get settled in and that we weren’t ready for visitors (true, we didn’t have anyone over for the first two weeks) and that I would let her know when we are ready.

Well, it’s been 5 months, and there has been plenty of talk about it amongst my family. Apparently, she’s so hurt that she hasn’t seen the baby yet. She never will. Even if she does “see” her at family events, she will never socialize with our daughter, hold her, or talk to her. For all I care, she can rot in a grave without ever meeting her. I don’t care that she’s living alone after my grandpa’s death. Honestly, it’s what she deserves.

P.S: There is a lot more to the horrors of my grandma; this really just scrapes the surface. She is also incredibly sexist, homophobic, and racist, along with many other disturbing qualities… like trying to control absolutely everything. She also refused to give my parents and siblings some of my grandpa’s items that were to be gifted to them via his will, especially if they had any cash value to them, even though he left her very well off. Everything described here isn’t even the worst of what she’s done, including letting my grandpa be abused and neglected for months before dying alone.” october_rust_

6. Attack Me? I’ll Invite Troubled Kids To Your Birthday Party

“Ok, so a bit of backstory. This happened 4 years ago, and I still remember it to this day.

So, my family and I were renting out a friend’s house for the summer while they went on vacation. Their house was located in a housing estate in north Madrid (which we still rent out), and their house was the only house in the estate with a trampoline which made a lot of kids jealous of them.

Anyway, so we get to the house, and there is a note saying that we have permission to use the trampoline, and if any of the other kids want a go, they have to ask my parents. So, I end up making friends with the local kids (whom I am still friends today with), and they accepted me into their group pretty fast (I am Irish, but my mom is Spanish, so I can speak the language), but one kid from the group seemed to take a disliking to me.

For privacy reasons, I will call him Paul.

I got the idea Paul never really liked me (I think it could have been because I was a foreigner who was grabbing his friends’ attention by speaking Spanish fluently), but still, it doesn’t excuse how he treated me. One day, me and Paul and some other boys were hanging out at the jungle gym inside the estate (it was a big estate, so the jungle gym fit), and Paul begins arguing with one of the boys about the Far Cry 4 video game, and it got really heated, so I promptly f*cked off to my trampoline. Paul and the boys see this and ask if they can go on as well.

I don’t know what to say, so I just replied with a “yes” in a weak tone.

Big mistake. They all get on, and before I know it, there are girls and other kids queuing to get on. A disaster strikes when one of the girls bouncing rips a hole through the bottom (don’t ask me how), and all of the kids scram out of the front yard, knowing that someone’s gonna get yelled at, and it’s not going to be them.

The girl who broke the trampoline stays and explains what happened to my parents. They were understanding and glad she was honest but gave me a light scolding for not aking them about the trampoline. So, a few days later, Paul has gotten into another heated argument, and I am sick of hearing his whiny *******, so I head off towards the trampoline.

(We had to buy a new one.) Paul again asks me if he can go on. I tell him that he needs to ask my parents, and he does, but they say no, and he says why is “he” allowed to go on (pointing at me).

My parents tell him it’s because the landlords gave him permission to use it, and they said if any other kid wanted to use it, they had to ask them. Paul walked off after that, but he came and confronted me with two of his goons (who were really just some other kids that had been at the trampoline incident) and tells me I am the worst friend ever and how selfish I was being by not letting him jump on the trampoline and a bunch of other degrading stuff.

As he is about to leave, one of the boys that was with him slaps me, and Paul kicks me as hard he could in the stomach, making me double over. It came as a surprise nonetheless.

I retreat back into the house because what is a 10-year old boy meant to do once he has been attacked by someone he thought was his friend? I decided to tell my dad who is furious with Paul and wants to go over to his house and give him a piece of his mind, but I stop him as I don’t want the situation to escalate further.

A week has passed since the incident, and I am thinking of a way to get Paul back, when I get called down by my real friends, who ask me if I am going to Paul’s birthday party today.

I was invited by Paul’s grandma who had become friends with my mom, so I responded yes. Then before the party, we are hanging out with these well-known, troublemaking trio of brothers who are all between the ages of 12-14 (I say hanging out, but it’s more like them walking up to us, and my friends and I not being bothered to move.) So, the party is about to begin when, suddenly, I have the most brilliant idea I have gotten all day and the perfect way to get back at Paul. I tell the trio of brothers that there is a party going on in the yard of the estate, and they are invited. They get excited and rush over to Paul and the other kids with me trailing behind.

The trio asks if they can join the party, and Paul’s grandma being the kind person she was (she got grumpier over the years, but that’s another story), let them into the party, and their parents began chatting with Paul’s grandma, completely ignoring the trio. As it turned out, my plan was a good one, and like I predicted, the trio of brothers started going wild. They were eating all the chips and desserts left out for the party, disrupting the film that was being projected on the screen that Paul had somehow managed to hang up outside, and were basically creating a mess. The cherry on top was them eating slices of the cake that Paul had laid out. The trio’s parent’s eventually noticed and took them home apologizing profusely; meanwhile, Paul is just staring at his half-eaten cake, and he just storms into his house with tears in his eyes.

I honestly felt kind of bad for him, but he was aking for it when he beat me up.

Anyway, Paul never found out I was the one who told the trio about the party, and I still bring it up to this day, and he is still clueless about how they were told. Paul and I became friendlier towards each other as the summers progressed, but I still don’t trust him at all.” Big_Gloiner

5. Bully My Aunt? She’ll Make Sure You Fail Your Test

“When I was in 8th grade, there was a girl who bullied me; we will call her Judy. One example of her bullying was whenever I would try to open my locker, as soon as I got it open, Judy would close it on me, preventing me from getting my stuff.

Judy would knock books out of my hands whenever we were in between classes, swear like a truck driver at me, would punch me when I was changing in gym class, and Judy’s little possie would follow suit and punch me as well. At the end of the day, Judy would keep slamming my locker shut to make sure that I could not get to my bus on time. Judy and her possie would call me names and generally be mean to me overall. Judy was in every class that I had, so they could always bully me.

One time after I had gotten punched, I had gone down to the nurse’s office and called my mother. I told my mother about everything and said that I didn’t want to go back to school.

After I went back to school, they were able to change some of my classes to get away from her but not all of them.

My savior, who we will call Jamie for her privacy, had ridden the bus with me, but I was always a bit scared of her. She was a bigger kind of girl and looked tough in general. Now, this was in Connecticut where there were mostly white people, and Jamie was adopted and Puerto Rican, so she looked different from everybody else.

One day, I was at my locker at the end of the day, and Jamie, who just happened to be passing by, was walking by my locker when Judy was slamming the locker closed. Jamie recognized me from the bus, saw that I was having a problem, she stepped in and looked right at Judy, and said: “Is there a problem?” Now, this by itself was enough to scare Judy, who immediately said that there was no problem.

So, Jamie walked to the bus with me, and every day after, she waited at my locker and protected me as my little bodyguard.

And yet, this was not over.

One day in my English class, which we still had together, we were taking a test. I noticed Judy copying off of my paper. So, in a stroke of genius, I put down all of the wrong answers. So, as soon as she finished the test, Judy got up and gave her paper to the teacher. Being that it was a multiple-choice test, I could quickly erase my answers and put down the correct ones. So, the next day when we got our tests back, and she had an F, and I had an A.

She knew.” ShadowedByDark

4. Idiot Gets Tricked Into Going To School During A Storm

Sometimes you’ve gotta learn the hard way.

“The events in this story happened in 2006 at a Youth Shelter I lived at….. the one I got evicted from because “I was uncontrollable” (utter ******* by the way).

NOTE: The names used in this story are not the real names of the people involved.

Nick: Moron of the Day

Korey: Cool guy who disliked Nick

Darryl: Other cool guy who really disliked Nick

Kylie: The staff member on shift

Me: Me, Myself, and Irene

I used to have issues with some guy who I’m going to call Nick. Nick was an utter moron who would do whatever he could to get a negative response out of me no matter what it was.

On one particular occasion, the idiot threw some stink bombs in my bedroom, and they went off…….. The stink bombs didn’t bother me in the slightest as I have no sense of smell; I was more curious about the packaging if anything else before I threw them away like it was regular trash. I decided to pull a prank to get him back but knew it required assistance and perfect timing for it to be pulled off.

The “Perfect Storm”

I woke up early one Saturday morning because I could hear the rain hammering down on the roof and on my windows. I really like storms because of the heavy rainfall, the crash of the thunder, and the lightning zipping across the sky.

I had noticed Kylie, Korey, and Darryl talking to each other in the living room as they were watching the news. I asked Kylie if Nick was up yet, and she said, “I’m going to wake him up after I’ve finished with my coffee.” I asked Korey, Darryl, and Kylie if they’d be willing to assist me in pulling a prank on Nick, and they all said, “Yeah, sure, what do you need us to do?”

I was ecstatic that this was my chance to get payback:

“The prankening begins.”

Me: Guys, I want to pull a prank on Nick, and I need all of you guys to play along with the prank in order for it to work.

Korey: What do you need us to do?

Me: I want you guys to dress in your school uniforms, and I will dress in mine; this is the only way for this to work.

Trust me.

Darryl: What do you think us wearing our school uniforms achieve if there’s nothing else to the prank?

Me: [Chuckles] I already got it planned out. Okay, as soon as we are in our uniforms, we get Kylie to wake up Nick, and I will tell him a story that will convince him to go to school. I will need you to back me up by saying, “Yeah, I remember seeing that on the TV last night. We got no choice but to obey the government.”

Kylie: I doubt this will work.

Me: This is what I will say to him, “Nick, we saw a news broadcast last night after you went to bed. It was the Minister of the Department of Education. The Minister said as of tomorrow, students will be expected to go to school 6 days a week to ensure our children get as good an education as possible and prepare them for the future.”

Me: Do you think that would be enough to fool Nick into going to school?

Korey: [Wry smile] I think that will suffice?

Darryl: I like it.

Me: Kylie? Are you in?

Kylie: Sure. I’ll play along, I’m tired of his antics anyways.

Korey, Darryl, and I get our uniforms on and wait outside Nick’s door. I give Kylie the signal that we’re ready to start the prank. Kylie unlocks Nick’s door, and I shake him awake.

Nick: What are you doing in my bedroom, and why are you guys wearing your uniforms? You know its Saturday, right?

Me: Yeah, I know. Look, the thing is, we saw the news last night, and the head of the Department of Education told us that we have to start going to school 6 days a week now. We don’t like it either, but we have to go to school, and so do you.

Nick: Okay, okay, okay.

I’ll get ready.

Korey & Darryl: Yeah, I remember seeing that on the TV last night. We’ve got no choice but to obey the government.

Nick gets his uniform, takes a shower, and gets on his bike to ride to school. We watch as Nick rode his bike off the patio, down the driveway, and down the street. Kylie, Korey, Darryl, and I run back inside the house, and we start p*ssing ourselves laughing.

Several minutes later, we get a phone call from Nick. He said, “I looked in the car parks, and there were no cars. I looked through the office windows, and nobody was there. I even knocked on several classroom doors, and nobody answered them……… Can you please come and pick me up, Kylie?”

Kylie: [Smiles] It seems Nick is at school and realized he was the only one there.

I got to pick him up…. I can’t believe he fell for that.

Several minutes later, Nick stumbles in utterly drenched by the rain, and I say to him, “That’s payback for the stink bombs, you ****** moron.”

After that, Nick never tried to prank me again, but sadly, his stupid behavior continued. Idiots never learn.” AccursedBoredom

3. Skip Me Over A Promotion? The Power’s In The Handbook

“This story takes place in the mid-2000s. I had just graduated high school and was working my first job. This job was at a children’s gambling center arcade. If you’re from the US, you probably know it. If you’re not, imagine an arcade aimed at children where you play games to win tickets which can be exchanged for sh*tty prizes you could buy 30 of at a Walmart, and in the corner, is some terrifying animatronic mascots that sing and dance.

Anyways, to set the story, you need a little background info. When I started working there, we had a district manager who was awesome. He only came to the store maybe twice a year and left basically everything up to the store manager. This included everything from enforcing rules, to firings, to us getting free food on breaks. He really didn’t care as long as the store was doing well, and he wasn’t forced to travel across the state to us too often.

About 6 months into me working there, though, he decided to retire. Corporate didn’t want to fill his place yet, so our districts got reshuffled, and our store was added to the neighboring state’s district. This meant a new district manager.

This district manager was an absolute ****. She came in all high and mighty as the fancy district manager of the other state, which is so much better than my lowly state. She immediately went on an absolute tirade over our store. She fired a bunch of people and changed a bunch of rules, and when my store manager fought back to keep some of our perks (free food on breaks, in particular), she fired her too and changed the rules. Lastly, she changed our schedules, so we would never work more than 4 hours in a shift, so she didn’t have to give us breaks ever. This made a lot of the remaining workers quit because they were getting so few hours a week that it wasn’t worth working there anymore.

Then spring came. I was in line to get a promotion from a regular worker to a preventative maintenance worker. It would have been a small raise, set hours each week, and work that was more interesting to me and much less customer service. District Manager, though, absolutely hated the idea of me doing this job. The upper management for my entire time there was a bit sexist when it came to giving the game room work, and it was even worse when it was one of the nicer positions. That in addition to District Manager hating me in general because I wasn’t afraid of her and didn’t worship the ground she walked on. (I had another job that was paying me more for less hours, so I really didn’t need the job anymore; I had just been holding out for the preventative maintenance position.)

Well, the time came for the position to get filled after I had been doing it to fill in for the person who had left for a few months.

I came in one day thinking they would pull me into the office finally and make it official since I knew both District Manager and our main game room guy would be there that morning. Turns out, District Manager hired someone else from outside the company. When I asked her about it, she told me she thought I was quitting.

Well, I wasn’t, but I certainly wanted to after that. But I wanted to do something to get back at her even if it was something small. So, I read our handbook as much as I could to find any pedantic little thing I could find that would p*ss her off. Turns out, our uniforms were a little more open than they led on.

We were to wear a solid red polo shirt and black or khaki pants and tennis shoes. There was also an allowance for a solid black jacket or sweater over the polo shirt. This was mostly for the winter months when it gets cold, but the handbook didn’t say anything about it only being allowed then. And our managers all wore solid black shirts, so wearing a black top usually meant you were a manager (since no one ever used the sweater clause).

Well, I figured I was apparently planning to quit, so why not make District Manager a bit mad in the process? So, I went out and got a solid black sweater thing to wear every day I worked. I didn’t care what temperature it was; I wore this sweater every day.

People often mistook me for a manager too which was just fun. So, when the weather got hot, and District Manager showed her face again, it was so fun to watch her eyes on me in disgust at my uniform. I had made sure I was completely up to dress code, so she couldn’t possibly retaliate on something petty too. She even came up and told me I needed to take off the sweater because it’s not uniform, and I just directed her to read the handbook.

Was well worth p*ssing her off even just the handful of times I saw her before I finally quit. (They refused to give me more than 4 hours a week total, so I gave in and quit.)” TGotAReddit

2. Bully Me? I’ll Blame This Silent But Deadly On You

“I have a long story of kids of all ages bullying me / calling me names because I looked different from the other children at that time (mixed kid with pretty long dreadlocks at the time).

But there was that one kid (that we are going to call DB for D*uchebag).

DB was a dumb kid, an absolute ***wit, living just to *** *** up, and mess with people, but he especially liked to mess with me because of my reactions to bullying. (I later learned that I shouldn’t ever react to ******* like this, but at the time, I was like 8-9, so I was not mature enough.)

At some point, I was so done with him messing with me / bullying me and stuff, so I decided to plan some kind of revenge.

I wanted something stealthy, something silent, to make everybody blame DB for that something.

Every week, there is a display board where menus at the school canteen are displayed for the whole week, and that day, there were some cauliflower, beans, hardboiled egg, and beetroot.

You already know where I’m going.

I have some sort of ability: whenever I eat something, it could be the most refined piece of meal that I could eat or the worst ****** plate ever, I will always make the raunchiest, smelliest, foulest farts anyone can smell, guaranteed.

Like, someone told me once that my ***** was rotten because of how bad the smell was, comparing me to Fukushima/Chernobyl and ***.

After the morning, we went to eat lunch, and I ate a pretty hearty lunch because I already had planned my revenge on DB.

It was set on a hot summer day: big sun, big heat, no wind whatsoever, and the ceiling fans weren’t even working at the time. (They just had been installed; they needed to be wired.) Some windows were closed, plus the door was closed as well.

I was sitting at the very back of the classroom, and even further back, there was the teacher’s desk where we had to bring our exercise sheets, do school work, to get it checked later.

On the last row, we were 4 kids sitting.

I was at the furthest right, and DB at the furthest left, with two kids in between us.

As I had finished my first 10 exercises, I got up from my seat and went to get my sheet corrected for any errors, and as soon as I headed back to my seat, I finally released the horrible gas trapped inside of my bowels. I carpet-bombed the *** out the air right behind DB.

Then I went back to my seat and waited.

And waited.

It felt soooooooo long.

Until the girl next to DB started to smell the foul odor and began literally screaming because of that awful stench.

Plus, that girl was a “loud girl;” she was talking loudly and made sure everybody heard her (we all know that kind of person), and right after, she accused DB of farting silently in class, and everybody believed her.

From here, *** hit the fan; there was that kind of domino effect happening.

As the smell was spreading in the air of the classroom, more and more kids became disgusted, and some more continued to accuse DB for ripping a horrible fart.

It does not stop here; the best is yet to come.

The teacher also smelled it and started to angrily sermon DB because of that fart he never released.

Seeing DB’s face literally decomposing was so ****** funny, but I had to hold my laughter because he would’ve found out it was me (or not, because, again, he was as dumb as a bag of rocks).

His face was a mix of sadness, hopelessness, disdain, and incomprehension. That was golden; his expression was priceless.

The “hot girl” of the class, beautiful, popular girl that DB wanted to date (everybody wanted to date her, me included) at the time even accused him and made fun of him in front of everybody.

Sometimes, the school director went to check every room to see what is happening in class or to pass some information about anything happening in the school that needed to be known by everybody.

Our classroom was really noisy because of the bomb I dropped, and the director rushed in the classroom, only to be welcomed by an awful stench penetrating his hairy nostrils.

He was like, “D*mn, that smells horrible in this classroom. Who the **** farted?”

The teacher pointed at DB right away and replied something like this: “It’s DB that is responsible for all that havoc and stench. He deserves to be put in a PIG PARK.” (Pig Park is slang for piggery.)

And I was there on my seat, watching the whole sh*tshow I had caused, trying to hold my laughter so hard.

And all of that caused by a single, silent but deadly, raunchy fart.” roydavinci

1. Dance With Me As A Joke? I’ll Take Home What Would Have Been Our Prize

“Back when I was around 11-years-old, they held these dances every Friday at an elementary school.

The dances were called “Friday nighters.” At the time, I had a good group of friends: the “cool” kids, if you will. They liked me cause I was funny and genuinely nice, so I’m glad we became friends instead of them taking advantage of me. However, I did not look like a cool kid whatsoever. I was overweight (still am) had glasses, braces, and no real sense of fashion.

One evening of these dances, a girl (we’ll call her Joan and her friend Fiona) approaches me and says, “Hey, my friend Fiona really wants to dance with you for next slow dance. Do you want to?” I look over to see Fiona and a few other people snickering to themselves. I did, however, find her attractive, and since I always assume the good in people, I didn’t really pay attention to the snickering.

A few minutes before the song came on, I heard one of my buddies was looking for me. I went to look for him, but the song started, so I thought it could wait. Me and Fiona start dancing, the classic arm length away slow dancing, while a group of Joan and their friends kinda gather around laughing and whatnot. The song finishes, and they just kinda runoff. Whatever, I’m thirsty, so I’m gonna grab myself a drink.

I get to the concession, and there’s my buddy, looking pretty concerned. He asks if I danced with that girl, and I said, “Yeah, of course.” He then shows me a picture that Joan posted of Fiona with the caption, “If this gets x amount of likes, I get to pick the ugliest guy at the dance to dance with her.” So, now I’m quite devastated and have a lil breakdown in the bathroom.

I finish, and I’m going to grab my jacket when I hear the DJ say, “Congrats to Phatboi [me] and Fiona for winning as the best slow dancers. Come and collect your prize!”

A little taken aback, I head over to the guy, and he’s got 2 $25 iTunes cards, 1 for me and 1 for Fiona. Phatboi brain turns on and I say, “Oh, Fiona went home. I can bring it to her tomorrow; we’re good friends.” Homie agrees and gives me both cards. My mom gives me a call and says she’s waiting for me in the parking lot. As I’m leaving, I see Fiona and the gang walking by, so I let her know we won the gift cards and told her to go talk to the DJ.

It instantly made my night feel a **** of a lot better, and I ended buying a few movies and some of my favorite albums for my iPod.

So, Fiona got to try and humiliate me, but I got $50 worth of *** you money, which as a kid is a lot.” PhatBoiMcGee

I think this was a great collection of variant petty revenge stories, some that were were more harmful while some were a little more silly and lighthearted. Out of curiosity, let us know: do you prefer stories of revenge that are dark and cruel and or the more minor, petty ones?