People Share The Proudest Acts Of Revenge They Have Zero Regrets Committing

Maddy Heeszel

Published on February 11th, 2020

One night, we came up with this:

Jacka** had a pretty decent girlfriend. I’m not really sure why she was with him. Regardless, we followed his schedule for a while. His gf was out of the house the same times on the same days working: Tuesday – Saturday, 8-4:30. We staged a few fake pizza deliveries, and this dude never answered the door if she was home. Easy enough. So one Monday that summer we called an escort service.

We told this chick exactly what to say, what to say in certain situations, etc. Took about 2 hours of coaching and going through mock situations, but it played out flawlessly. Cost us $100 an hour for 3 hours. We send her over there, she knocks, girlfriend answers.

The girlfriend opens the door. Escort, with a stunned look: “Oh ***,* is Tuesday tomorrow?” The girlfriend then started questioning why the **** some ***** is coming around, but we gave this chick answers to everything.

She started talking about how she’s been coming every Tuesday for months, things start getting louder. The jerk is at the door at this point, saying **** like “Baby I have no idea what she’s talking about!”

Then the ******* kill shot. Escort starts talking about dates she came over that this chick was out of town, nothing a random person would know. After they started yelling at each other the escort took off blowing off the situation.

There’s no way any person would admit to seeing an escort every day for months, so he was pretty much ***ed.* They were b*tching at each other for a good 10 minutes before they took it indoors. She moved out by Friday. Mission accomplished.

And for the record, I feel absolutely no ******* guilt. It helped that I worked with this chick at Future Shop to know her schedule, and we later hooked up. Awesome.” neksus

24. Whenever The Call Went To Voicemail, They Learned About Her Infidelity

“Long story short.. maybe.

Well, my GF, of then 6 years and I had broken up.

Well, more accurately, she had broken up with me. This was 4 months after us moving across the country from NJ to CO under her request, so she could live near her parents. I had gotten a job but other than that, I was a stranger in a strange land. She asked told me to move out of the apt that we had just gotten even though her parents lived right down the street and she could easily go live with them, she could not afford our apartment on her own (I could and she eventually did jump ship and I lost my deposit), and I had nowhere to go.

I pleaded with her to give me the apt. She didn’t care. Her whole mentality through the whole thing was that she was not giving an inch for any reason, even if it was for the benefit of everyone. Anyhow, so one day I go back to ‘our’ place to talk to her. I really wanted her back and I couldn’t understand why, out of the blue, she didn’t want to be with me after 6 years or so.

I kept asking her if she was with someone else. Because, to me, that would be the nail and I would just move on. But she insisted over and over that this wasn’t the case. Sometime during this conversation, she said she was going to go to my friend’s house and have him come pick me up (I had nothing. I sold everything I had, including my car, to get us to Colorado). This friend had dropped me off thereafter I requested he do so.

I was living on his couch (and many others). So, at this point, my ex went to get him to come to get me.

While she was gone, for some unknown reason, I decided to check the voice mail. The first msg went something like this: “Hi Tina, listen, you need to change your voicemail. It says “we” are not home. And, well, if Alex calls and hears that he is going to know that you have had a boyfriend the whole time you have been dating him….”

And that is how I found out.

I was devastated and fuming angry at the same time. The truth, it finally came out and she had been lying to me and cheating on me this whole time and she dragged me across the country (by happenstance) to do it! So, I did what any rational person would do under these circumstances..I changed the access code to the voice mail.

I then changed the outgoing message to “Hi! This is Halbowitz. Unfortunately, I’m not at home right now because it ends up Tina has been unfaithful to me and has been sleeping with a guy named Alex.

Of course, she never fessed up to it and thought it would be easier just to kick me out of house and home with nothing more than the shirt on my back and her lies denying her infidelity in my head.” and I also said some other choice things. But, for the most part, that is the msg I left.

Well, since the phone was in my name, she had a hard time getting that message off the voicemail.

So, for weeks after that, anyone who called when she was not home was greeted to that message. And since she didn’t have much of a reason to call her own number and hear the message, she didn’t know I had changed it for some time and was LIVID when she found out.

I’ll admit though, I did get a small amount of satisfaction from it. She did everything she could to make the breakup as rocky as possible while I bent over backward to appease her.

So, this, as small as it was, was something for me to hang my hat on.

Edit: For the record, I’m rather sure she didn’t know the guy until after we moved to CO. So, it’s not like she had a plan.” halbowitz

Another User Comments:

“After you changed the VM message, what sort of messages did you receive?” daxbranagan

Reply:

“You know, I don’t think anyone left a msg. At least I don’t remember. This was back in 1999. Anyhow, It seemed to scare everyone off.

Maybe people felt like leaving a msg to that was getting involved somehow. I do know it was her parents who heard it, who alerted her of the ‘new’ message. Then she called me and threatened to get the police involved because somehow that msg was threatening to her.” halbowitz

23. Bully Me Because Of My Accent? I’ll Go Straight To The Principal

“I’ve lived in Germany almost my entire life, yet through a twist of fate, I grew up learning the English language as a native speaker, since my father emigrated to Germany from the USA.

As such, I’ve always had an American accent when speaking English and I’ve never met anyone who thought they felt the need to complain about it.

Every time a teacher asked why I spoke English so well I replied that I am a US National by birth because my Father is from the US. All my teachers seemed quite impressed, except this one Hag, half a lifetime ago… If there ever was an award for creepy Anglophilia, she’d be neck-deep in honors and certificates.

Instead of encouraging me to speak more so that the other students could learn proper pronunciation from an actual native speaker, like many other English teachers at my school back then did, this woman thought it necessary to berate me for “speaking in such a horrible and filthy manner” and “cure [me] of that insufferable atrocity of an accent.” Mind you, these were actual quotes from this woman. My dad was no help at all. He was fairly ignorant about me being bullied by one of my own teachers, and even went so far as to yell at me to “***************** up and respect my elders”.

So, yeah, I stuck it up. It didn’t help that I also wrote in American English (you know, color instead of colour, tire instead of tyre, cookie instead of biscuit, that sort of thing) and the Hag had the audacity to write these “mistakes” up as double errors, meaning I got twice points deducted for spelling errors that weren’t even actual errors! I was so fed up with this woman and it wasn’t even two months into the school year.

But my revenge was sweet and succulent and came so unexpected because all my classmates and the teacher seemed to think I was just letting it all happen to me.

I remembered that I still had one of those old voice recorders that use magnetic audio cassettes I used to play with as a kid. I dug it out from my old toys and tested it to see if it still worked and the capabilities of its built-in microphone.

I guess you can all see where this is going. From my allowance, I bought a bunch of record-able audio cassettes like they were going out of style and for the rest of the semester, I would secretly record every single English class, carefully label and catalog the tapes and even transcribe any pertinent passages. I also made copies of the tapes, just in case an authority figure would want to make them disappear. I played it doubly safe because I knew from experience that the school administration liked to ignore complaints students had about teachers.

About a week before the grades for the semester were announced, I went to the principal’s office and requested that he let me see him. I laid out my case in excruciating detail, showed him the transcripts, played the copied tapes and answered all his questions. The Principal listened to me and in the en, thanked me for bringing this issue to my attention. But I knew from his tone of voice the whole issue would be ignored, at best.

At worst, the principal would only talk to the hated English teacher about, which would exponentially increase my suffering at her hands for daring to blab about her treatment of me. I had to take a gamble. I told the principal flat out that should this issue not be resolved in a proper manner, I would pass all this evidence to the state department of Education and Culture (SDEC), along with a letter stating that this teacher’s behavior is not only tolerated but encouraged at our school, as evidenced by the lack of disciplinary measures taken when teachers bully their students.

Since it was common knowledge that our school already was under the scrutiny of the SDEC for other reasons I shall not divulge here, adding another case to the mountain of issues could very well cause an avalanche.

The day came when we received our mid-term report cards. It was the last period of the day and as it so happened it also our English class. The Hag handed out everybody’s report cards and lo and behold, where my English grade should have been there was nothing but a small dash.

At the bottom, after the usual quips about behavior and class participation was a note that stated the following, translated from German: “Due to unjustified and unfair behavior towards xxx by Mrs. Hag, the School cannot with good conscience give an appropriate estimate as to xxx’s English grade this semester.”

The Hag also said that she would not be returning for the summer semester and that we would be getting a new English teacher. In a moment of smug, petty vindictiveness I raised my hand and pointed at my report card, where the missing English grade was.

When the Hag came over to my desk I looked her dead in the eye and said: “You know how the Revolutionary War ended. What made you think this would be any different?”

The look on the Hag’s face was priceless. The best part: I knew she couldn’t do anything about it because at that point anything she said against me would only add to my case.” [deleted]

22. Make Me Work 6 Jobs At Once And Not Pay Me? See Ya Later!

“This happened two years ago.

I was twenty and a recent university dropout. I needed a year to empty my head, recover from imminent burnout, and make some money to help support my single mom and my younger sister (who’d just given birth with no father in the picture). I was a very insecure person at the time. I really wanted to work, but without a degree, life sucks balls… until I got contacted by Mr. B.

Mr. B found me on a federal website for job-applicants, where I was registered.

He was looking for a manager to help manage his small hotel: a beautiful establishment with six lofts located in the heart of a medieval city (my city). I answered him immediately, saying that I had no prior experience with management and that my qualifications didn’t exactly lie in that area, but thank you very much for the consideration. He answered back, saying ‘just come take a look and we’ll talk about it.’

The first thing I did was Google Mr.

B. He had an architectural firm and was coaching a professional football (soccer) club, which is kind of a big deal in my little country. Secondly, I Googled the hotel. It was indeed really small and fairly new; an old underground mill transformed into six luxury lofts, but with the medieval style and feel kept intact. I decided I had nothing to lose by simply visiting and hearing him out. I was extremely curious, too. Why me? Well, you can probably guess, but I couldn’t.

I was naïeve, terribly insecure and in desperate need of a job, to prove to myself and to the world that I hadn’t taken a gap year for anything.

Long story short, I met with Mr. B that same week. He was a short, business-like, fairly handsome man, friendly enough, didn’t sweat the little things, showed me around and explained to me what he expected. It was a slow season so I’d have some time to learn the ropes.

Before I knew it I was employed. Mr. B made me three promises:

a salary between €1400 and €3000 that would increase depending on the hotel’s (my) performance

a job as a manager + receptionist, since the place was small enough to combine the two

my own room in the hotel, so I wouldn’t have to commute daily

The work started immediately. I was designing stickers to put on the doors, translating letters in German, French, and English, working with the booking software, making schedules for weeks to come… it was a rush, like nothing I’d ever done and I was loving the experience.

Finally Adult Life, Responsibility, a way to prove my worth!!! As business started to pick up and all lofts were opened for rent, I was soon working from six in the morning ’till ten in the evening, doing administration until it was time for check-in, then checking people in, communicating with clients and suppliers, checking people out again, preparing rooms for the next visit, grocery shopping at the market nearby and preparing breakfast for clients, etc, etc.. I also had an old work phone that I couldn’t turn off under any circumstance.

If clients called, I had to be accessible.

PHASE 1. REALIZATION

Soon inconsistencies started to rear their ugly heads:

1. There was only one cleaning lady for the whole hotel. She had a second job at another, bigger hotel, so I could never be certain if she’d be available. I realized I’d have to jump in to help with the cleaning. I hadn’t been informed of that. I pressed my boss about this and he gave me the name of some African girl who ‘cleaned his house sometimes’.

Off the books.

2. Only then did I realize that I hadn’t signed a single piece of paper. He said he’d fix that as soon as possible. I didn’t push my luck since I was a new recruit and very eager to please.

3. The room he promised me (where I would be living) turned out to function as an office/supply room/washing room. In other words, the cleaning supplies were stashed there, as well as the washing machine, the keys and documents for all the lofts, etc.. I would be living at work, literally.

Also, there was no bed. I was to sleep on the floor.

4. Mr. B had disappeared from the face of the earth. Or, well, he acted as he had. He lived in a luxury apartment only 5 minutes from the hotel, but he didn’t like to be contacted about ‘all the little things’.

5. I soon figured out there had been a reason some of the lofts only became accessible once I moved in as a manager.

They weren’t finished. Some bathrooms needed extra insulation, one of the faucets made a horrible noise, locks needed fixing, cables and insulation were visible in some spots, wood clippings were raining down from some of the beams (I would later discover there were WOOD BUGS in the beams, something he hadn’t informed me about and that he’d left untreated for months! Guess how I found out…)

6. Mr. B started to ask little favors. Like could my mom fix some curtains for his daughter’s bedroom, or couldn’t my uncle help with the repairs in lofts 2, 3 and 4… all of it for a little price, if you catch my drift.

I was the manager after all. I was supposed to fix that stuff. And if my family could do it for cheap…

7. At the same time, he managed my budget. This is understandable of course, but let me elaborate: managing a hotel costs money. The only money he gave me was on a credit card that was constantly empty. Be that as it may, I did the best I could, saving money by doing most of the washing and ironing myself (the laundry service he’d hired was extremely unreliable, but he didn’t want to change because it was cheap), being frugal with the food (every room had luxury coffee machines they were free to use and the coffee cost me a fortune), not making expensive phone calls, etc.. I handled huge amounts of money coming in (most of the guests were rich people), but wasn’t allowed to go to the bank and put more money on the hotel’s credit card.

Once we needed an extra mattress because more clients would be coming in than anticipated and they all wanted to stay in our biggest loft. I had already begged him for an extra foldable bed (the one he told me to use was so cheap it bent sideways if you put weight on it, so he reluctantly, after much begging, supplied me with a new one). I drove all over the province on my day off, hunting for the best, cheapest mattress.

I found an incredible one, bought it with my own money, and informed my boss of the cost. I received a very angry e-mail, basically telling me I better watch what I spend…

8. As I became a more capable manager, Mr. B became more demanding. I have a friend with severe schizophrenia that I visit in prison from time to time. You might know how harrowing a process it is to visit someone in prison. I had planned my visit meticulously to make sure I’d be back in time to relieve my sister who, with her little baby of a few months, was holding the fort for me, managing check-ins and phone calls.

When I entered the waiting room, I had to turn off my work phone. This was no big deal, seeing as the fixed phone at work would always ring first and my sister was there to pick it up.

When I exited the prison and jumped into my car to rush back to work, I had a few missed calls from my boss. I rang back, only to be cussed out for not picking up my phone.

I hadn’t been at the hotel, either. I told him my sis was there in my stead. He said he didn’t want to talk to my sis, he wanted to talk to me – insert berating tone, short, angry sentences and a whole lot of guilt-tripping.

9. Furthermore, since the card was so often empty but rooms needed to be cleaned every day (by a group of off-the-books cleaning ladies that I’d rounded up left and right since I had no other choice) I was forced to pay these ladies out of my own pocket, which left me broke half the time.

10. Aside from hotel-related phone calls, Mr B had started to connect some of his personal calls to my phone as well, namely, the ones he didn’t want to deal with himself, aka disgruntled companies asking for undue payments, creditors asking for his phone number and address, etc.. As he was my boss, I didn’t give these people his information. Occasionally, I got a call from a fancy pansy company in France, telling me it was time for Mr.

B’s bi-annual ordering of luxury wines.

11. The money didn’t come. My money, that is. My salary. My bread and butter.

12. Lots. More. Sh*t.

PHASE 2. DETERMINATION

Finally, I realized I needed to get out of this situation. Or rather, I’d known for a long time, but I had hoped things would settle, he’d give me my contract and I could start making demands. Psss***, naw.

So I made plans:

1) The Turkish cleaning lady. Since this woman had been at the hotel from the very beginning and was way more experienced than I was, she didn’t like me at first (understandable: I was a stupid youngling but still technically her boss).

However, all it took was a few questions about her kids and a whole lot of admiration (not fake) for her cleaning skills, and she opened up to me like a floodgate. I paid her more than Mr. B had told me to pay her (out of my own pocket) because she really was the most reliable person I worked with and she could clean a loft-like nothing I’d ever seen. She taught me a lot.

Soon she was loyal to ME instead of him. And once that happened, the little secrets started coming…

2) My Turkish cleaning lady told me about the girls who’d worked at the hotel before me (all young, non-white and inexperienced, just like me). They’d all quit within the span of a month (there were six of them). I was the only one who had stuck around (probably because I lived with my mom so I wasn’t dependent on my salary to survive).

I soon got hold of one of them. I visited her and did a cross-examination. She told me about Mr. B’s treatment, his refusal to make the job official and how he still owed her quite a bit of money. This was useful information because I now knew for sure that this guy wouldn’t give me my contract, ever. I still had hope because he’d found me through a federal channel, which at the time I took to mean that he wanted to do things the right way.

FALLACY.

3) I had my family behind me. At this point, my uncle had done lots of big repairs (insulation, plumbing, fixing furniture, etc), my mom had worked on most of the curtains and some of the floorings, my sister was pulling FREE SHIFTS to help me carry the enormous workload that no person in their right mind would give to a single employee…

Thing is, my family had only been keeping their mouths shut because they love me and want to support me.

I was a bookish, introverted, insecure, eager-to-please, little girl. My mom is a criminologist who works with very scary people on a daily basis. She knows a crook when she sees one. My uncle is the most brutally honest, short-tempered, intimidating repairman you’ve ever seen. He loves me, but he hates entitled little **** who call themselves businessmen. My mom’s calm and collected powers of logic combined with my uncle’s brash ruthlessness was a death trap waiting to happen.

But that wasn’t all.

Let me tell you a little something about my sis. She’s fierce. In high school, she was a super popular bombshell who got thrown out of two different schools for bad behavior and whom I witnessed cussing out a police officer on more than one occasion. Uhu, that kind of delinquent. All of that changed when she got pregnant. She cleaned up her act in a spectacular way and is now working as a human rights advocate.

She’s also one of the best mothers I’ve ever seen. In any case, back then, when the mother things had only just started, she redirected her efforts towards her family. I guess she felt guilty for messing up my life for so long (I developed OCD because she used to stress me out so much – I’m fully cured now, though) She was helping me at the hotel because she knew I needed her in case things got bad.

4) Lastly, there was the thing that made ME angry. I’d been experiencing some difficulty with the administration of the hotel, mostly booking-related. When I went digging through emails and online payments, I noticed inconsistencies and eventually concluded that Mr. B was messing with my ***. He was canceling services and contacting people behind my back, without telling me anything, leaving me to desperately search for bugs and fix last-minute bookings. That’s when I snapped.

PHASE 3: REVENGE, FINALLY

I convinced the Turkish cleaning lady, as well as all the other cleaning ladies, to stop working at the hotel.

The Turkish lady had better prospects anyway, but she hadn’t been sure about leaving. I asked her to keep it a secret. I would inform Mr. B.

I contacted the creditors who’d been bugging me for months, as well as the companies who were still waiting for their money, and gave them Mr. B’s phone number and home address. Because, you know… business is business

I wrote a very honest review of the hotel on one of the major booking sites, telling everyone all about those giant bugs in the ceiling…

I basically told my family they could be themselves now, I was quitting the hotel anyway.

So my mom sent the bill, my uncle made his phone calls and my sister, well…

I made sure the hotel was fully booked for the upcoming month (every year my city holds this huge street festival that people from all over Europe flock to, so that wasn’t too difficult

I sent Mr. B an email saying I was quitting on Sunday. I was valiant enough to finish my work for the week. Oh, and the cleaning ladies would be quitting, too

I gave the work phone to my sis, reclined in my seat and listened to the beautiful conversation that unfolded when Mr.

B called. My sister didn’t disappoint. She spared no expense.

I thought about reporting his shady antics to the police but decided against it (for my own sake, as well as the cleaning ladies). I did report him to the federal service for employment and told them he was using their site to lure people into undeclared work against their will. The person I spoke to made sure our conversation was confidential. So no further legal action for me.

I was satisfied with the knowledge that on Monday morning, Mr. B would have to drop everything and rush to the hotel to serve his snotty guests, prepare breakfast, struggle with his faulty administration, receive complaints from cuckcoo clients, write sh*tty emails to his angry suppliers, do the washing, the ironing, the cooking, and the cleaning, and all the other stuff I had been doing for months, unpaid and underappreciated.

Thanks for making me a thousand times stronger, *******.

I regret nothing.

PS: The hotel is no longer in business. Whoops.” OpheliaoftheRipples

21. The Problem Is With The Book, Not Me

“This revenge story is two years in the making and is long, so my apologies. Two years ago I started a distance Ph.D. program. My very first full semester in the program consisted of an intro course which is basically “Welcome back to school. Here’s how to do research. Here’s how to do APA citations.” A LOT of it focused on proper APA writing and one of the first assignments was just doing a simple abstract.

Okay, I can do that. I pull out my trusty APA guide which I had just bought online and complete the assignment. And I get a D-. I was completely shocked. I’d followed the book to the letter. How the **** did I get a D-? I messaged my professor and told her I followed the book exactly and she did the academic equivalent of patting me on the head and saying, “Of course you did, dear.”

By this time I was thinking I was out of my mind.

I sent a Strongly Worded Letter to the APA that basically said, “What the **** is wrong with you guys selling a book like this?” They wrote back and did the business equivalent of patting me on the head and saying, “We’re sorry you don’t like our book.”

Then I started REALLY looking at the book. And I started noticing a lot of typos. Eventually, everything clicked and I realized “Holy ***…these are OCR (optical character recognition) errors.

This is a scanned and reprinted counterfeit textbook.” So I took a bunch of pictures of the errors and did what any good Internet user would – scribble on them in MS Paint with red arrows, put snarky captions on them and upload them.

My first thought was “Wow, this poor seller got taken advantage of by whoever printed their books.” In retrospect, this was probably stupidly naive, but that seems to be a common theme in my life.

So I wrote them a very polite email and sent them the photos of the book and said, “I think you might have been provided a pirated version of the book.” Well, the seller didn’t appreciate that and wrote me back a SUPER nasty email saying that my suggestion that they were selling counterfeits was very offensive, all their books were brand new from the publishers, and that I was a **** they were going to report to the police for slander.

Okay, I was pretty upset about the sh*tty grade, but you wrote me back and swore at me and threatened to report me to the police? Now I’m p*ssed.

I start by looking up their Amazon seller profile and I notice a couple of other people have reported that books received from this seller were missing pages or had other unusual issues.

This is the part where I went full Internet stalker. I searched for their company name and found it was a registered LLC.

I got the address from their state’s listing of small business registrations (which turned out to be a fairly nice looking house per Google Maps) then looked up property tax records on the house to get the owner’s name. I found the owner on Facebook and found they had a business website listed under a completely different name that they’d shared all over their FB timeline – and their website was pretty blatant about the whole thing.

“We offer you deeply discounted prices by having books printed on demand.” Umm…I don’t think that’s how publishing works.

I reported them to Amazon (where I bought the book). And AbeBooks. And Biblio. And eBay. Basically anywhere I could find them selling anything at all I reported them. I wrote to the APA and apologized for my terse email and sent them copies of the photos of the book along with all the seller’s personal information. They respond and say they’re going to send it to their legal folks and ask if it’s okay if they contact me for more info.

Finally, I report them to the FBI Internet Crime Complaint Center.
Today I happened upon my old APA manual and I started wondering whatever happened to them so I dug up the emails with the info and went looking. They no longer have seller profiles on any of the sites. Their website has been taken over by a domain re-seller. The house appears to have been sold last year (which may not be related, but I’d like to think it is.) And the owner’s Facebook page lists them as now working at a place that turns out to be a PayDay lender.

I dug through their timeline and found someone asking in October of last year if they were still selling books and them replying with “No. Had to stop.”

Also, my professor raised my grade to a B+” AbortRetryImplode

20. Pick On My Daughter? I’ll Find You

 “So, my daughter, who was about 8 at the time, was REALLY into Minecraft (as most kids are these days). Also desperately wanting to join the Youtube/Let’s Play culture, I had installed some screen recording software that would let her make videos of the games she was playing so she could later upload them to Youtube.

Anyways, one day I’m minding my own business when I hear her quietly sniffling over on the computer. I asked her what was wrong, but she didn’t want to tell me so I let it go, but decided to keep on eye on her. A few minutes later I discovered what was happening; someone was harassing not only her but also all the other kids playing on whatever server she was on. This kid (we’ll call him Little ***head, or LS) was saying *** about how he was going to **** my 8-year-old daughter (she told him how old she was hoping he would stop), how he was going to hack into her IP and steal all her info, swearing profusely (remember, this is a game for kids), etc, etc.

By this time I had gotten my fiance involved, and she was also obviously quite upset at what a little *** this kid was being. We realized that our daughter had been recording the entire incident, and a plan began to form.

I started by googling LS’s username. There were several hits immediately, the most interesting of which involved a page where he was publicly applying to be a mod for a server on Minecraft. I was able to learn a lot about this little POS: he claimed to be 15, likes hockey, used to live in Toronto but now lives in Florida.

But the bombshell was easily his skype contact info; it was literally first name/last name. I know your name now, you little ***.

So I head over to Facebook and search for the name. Nothing. Hmmmm. On a hunch, I searched for just the last name, while narrowing my results to only the state of Florida. Several dozen hits. Hmmm. So I have to start combing through each one until I find what I was looking for: a middle-aged man with the same last name, whose profile indicates he was born in Toronto and now lives in Florida.

I FOUND YOUR DAD, YOU LITTLE ***.

So I sent him a message on Facebook, asking if he had a son named (first name) who goes by his username on Minecraft. Dad confirmed I had the right guy. So my wife begins telling the dad everything that LS was saying to my daughter, and we sent him the recorded video as proof. Radio silence for a few days.

Then we got the message back: LS had his computer taken away from him for the entire summer and had also been lying about his age (he was only 11, I think).

His parents were ****** livid with him, and he surely hated the next few months of his life.

No one **** with my daughter.” DrRaveNinja

19. Cheat On Me? I’ll Just Leave You A Bunch Of Annoying Little “Gifts” Everywhere

“Living with a guy from the age of 19, I was besotted. He was a little older than me, and a drummer. As a teenager, I was bowled over and besotted, and it was only a couple of months after we met that I moved in with him.

We’ll call him PBB for Ponytailed Brummy Bastard.

I really, really loved him. Even when he told me he was still in love with his ex (who had cheated on him) and would insist I should do the housework and shopping and cooking even though we both worked full time because it was his house, he earned more than me, and I didn’t pay any rent (all of my wages went into his bank account in his name).

In case you missed it, I loved him, I really did, even when he’d started to go out and gasp happen to iron his own shirt. Wearing aftershave. Even when he went out “For a couple with the lads” then stumble in the bedroom at 3 am, hardly able to stand … His excuse? “Someone had spiked his drink”.

I even still loved him when he came in at 3 am, with his ironed shirt all creased, aftershave on, and with a shag tag glowing from his neck … His excuse? “My mate Steve did it to me for a laugh”.

I moved into the spare room in protest, surely he would come in, apologize, change his ways, promise not to go out as often, not come back as drunk?

Nope. This stalemate went on for 2 months, I still loved him, but moved out to my parent’s house at the age of 25. I just moved a few things out with me, just my cassette stereo (lol, a couple of decades-old this story) and my clothes. I even left my beloved cat behind, on the agreement when I get my own place I can come back and reclaim him.

For some reason he let me keep a key. I realized only a couple of days later I had forgotten the lead for my boom box. I knew he was going to be out with the lads at the time I was driving back from work, so deliberately timed it when he wasn’t at home. Pre mobile phones, I’m not having the pain of speaking to him, too much, I love him. In and out, the job is done.

I walk in, something is wrong. The house is clean. Not clean, but clean.

Wait, what’s this on the mantlepiece? A generic love card, no occasion but you know the kind a la Roger The Rabbit “How much do I love you? Let me count the ways!” Inside was neat flowery writing “Dear PBB, I love you so much, from -.”

Slowly, I see the cassette answerphone machine is flashing with a message. My curiosity turbocharges me over there, O little red flashing light, what can you tell me? The female voice purrs “Oh, PBB, I had such a luuuurvely night last night, I can’t wait to do it again soon!”

Looking around the room, two wine glasses.

By this time my head is like a volcano. I run upstairs to the room and there’s a ****** WEDDING RING next to his side of the bed! ***!!

I am shuddering, crying, drive back to my parent’s house in bits. I walk in the door, sobbing so hard and loud my Mum asked if I had been abused .. I couldn’t talk for the snot bubbles of anguish. Why doesn’t he love me?

We talk, and I want revenge, but more than petty.

I plot. I plan. I think of sewing prawns into the hems of his curtains. Too much hassle. Cutting his clothes up? Not my style. I am too subtle for that. I want long-range passive revenge.

Dad got a van. We went the next day (Saturday) with the cat basket. Everything that I had bought and left behind I was going to take. Only things that were mine. That was the only rule.

Side note: PBB used to half-work every Saturday at a music store in town, talking drums and ***.

He was screwing the owner’s sister. I recognized her voice and name from the love card.

So, I took the washing machine I had bought 3 months earlier – did I mention he was a drummer – I replaced it with a washboard and thimbles he used for percussion.

I took the tin of Christmas ham that was out of date in the cupboard. I took the cutlery as it was Eternal Beau and I bought it from Argos.

I took the teabags, as I had bought the last lot.

I took the double bed and mattress, and I took my cat.

Just before we left, I told Dad to sit in the van, I had my own special goodbye to say. The previous night I had found every single printed photo of his face. This took an hour, before camera phones etc, I cut them all up and ripped them into quarters. I hid handfuls under carpets, inside vases with dried flowers, behind picture frames, under ornaments, back of cupboards, inside the freezer ice cube tray and behind the bath panel.

Nothing obvious to the eye.

Whilst I was in the bathroom, I opened the cabinet and saw his precious Joop aftershave. I crouched over the toilet, p*ssed in it and put the top back on.

Finally, I took the cassette recording from the answering machine, stopped off on the way home at a phone box, rang the music store where he always hung out on a Saturday, asked to speak to him and said in a calm, controlled voice:

“You have one week to tell her husband.

Or I do” and hung up.

I sold the bed the same day to a bloke down the pub, sold the washing machine cut price to an elderly neighbor, and resettled my cat into my parent’s home (he loved it there).

I had a phone call at 3am when he got home to see he had no bed or washing machine and spat down the phone that I was an “Evil vitreous ****”. When I got up in the morning I had to get the dictionary out as it was pre-Google and I had no idea what vitreous meant.

3 months later part 2 came into play. I started to call his friends, pretend I was drunk, giggle and confess I had p*ssed in his aftershave, so eventually, word got out what I had done, but it was too late by then.” RedBanana99

18. Keep Nagging About Lettuce? Cool, Have An Old Batch For Full Price

“Working at a grocery store I get to deal with lovely customers and coworkers on a daily basis. People don’t realize we can’t control what the product looks like when we receive it, and that the managers are the ones who order the product, not us.

So there’s a lady who comes in regularly, ALWAYS complains about something not being immaculate. It doesn’t matter what it is; potatoes have a lot of dirt on them, these apples are shaped a little too oval, guy in aisle two smells, the store is too cold, our kale is half the size of another store’s. Never fails to find something wrong. She walks over to me one day and expresses her feelings about our lettuce being slightly wilted (something about the ends being a little flimsy) and demands I go into the back room and bring her a fresh bunch.

I politely explained to her that what was out there was fresh (I put some out 20 minutes beforehand) and that there was nothing wrong with it. She goes back to shopping and scanning the store for things to complain about.

5 minutes later I hear the angry shuffling of a buggy and fumbling of a bag. Lettuce Lady is back. She struggles with getting a head of lettuce out of a bag and presents it to me, some leaves ripped from her aggressive removal.

She exclaims that it is unfit for a horse to eat and that I need to reduce it for her. I take the product and look it over, nothing was wrong except for the leaves she had ripped. I tell her I can’t reduce it because there’s nothing wrong with it. She persists saying the leaves are wilted and ripped, there’s a small brown spot at the bottom, if you hold it a certain way you can see the devil on one of the leaves, it’s not as green as the others.

I’m a patient person, but she was getting on my nerves, like every time before, so I agreed to reduce it and took the lettuce into the back room. Luckily it wasn’t a busy night, so I spent a little time sweeping and cleaning. I stacked some product and cleaned up the storage area. I spent about an hour and a half back there, expecting her to have given up on waiting.

Nope.

I walked back onto the floor and she’s in the same spot, obviously tried for patience.

She asks where the lettuce is, I wanted to say a number of things but I headed back into the storage room and proceeded to exchange her lettuce for an older, less friendly bunch. I wrapped it and marked it as regular price, then headed back onto the floor. She gladly received the lettuce and went back to aggressively scanning the store for imperfections.”

17. Cash His Social Security After His Death? I’ll Notify The Authorities For You

Serves them right.

“The man who owned the house next door rented it out to four nonrelated people who each had their own bedroom but shared a bath.

One day my four-year-old son was riding big wheels down our driveway and he was stung by a wasp. I noticed that there was a very large wasp nest on the porch in front of his house by my driveway and mentioned it to him the next time he was there picking up the rent. When I told him the story he said not my problem keep your kid in the house and you won’t have a problem.

Yes I was p*ssed but I was more p*ssed when I mentioned it to one of his renters an elderly lady of about 75 she said that he hadn’t put oil in the tank in weeks and that her room was cold every night. She said the paint was peeling in her room and that the sink they all used kept backing up. She also asked me if I noticed that the 80-year-old gentleman who lived in one of the other rooms was gone.

I had noticed that I had not seen him for a few weeks. He was always nice and would sit on the porch and sometimes come over when my son and I were out just to talk.

Well apparently he had passed away and this b*stard made an agreement with the man’s nephew who I had never met who was supposed to be taking care of him to not let anyone know he died. The plan was for the nephew to cash his social security checks as if the poor man was still alive and they would split the money.

So long as they kept the address going and kept signing the man’s name to the check they were in the money. What b*stards.

First I called the town and told them that the man next door was renting to elderly people and leaving them without heat and that the living conditions he left them in were deplorable. Then I contacted the Social Security office and told them although I didn’t know the man’s last name or when he died but it had been at least two months back.

I did know his address and his first name. I told them about the scam the nephew and the owner of the house were pulling. They said they would look into it.

Now I wish I could tell you that both those gentlemen got what they deserve. What I can tell you is that two weeks later a man around his 30’s was moving stuff out of the house. I went over and asked who he was as I knew he didn’t live there.

He said oh I’m George’s nephew my uncle passed and I’m getting his stuff. So I do know the scam was over anyway. A month after that the house was on the market and Miss Susan the elderly lady from upstairs said when she called her son and told him about what was going on at the house he said she could come to live with him. Apparently she had never mentioned to him about the heat and the paint because she didn’t want him to worry.

She was really excited about moving in with her son and I was excited she was going to be taken care of.

I don’t regret turning them in at all. If what comes around goes around there is a nice place in **** for both of them. Preying on the elderly is just disgusting.” Mary Francis

16. The Chocolate Ex-lax Did All The Work

“When I was in 4th grade, we took a class trip to the symphony and I loved it.

If you’ve ever heard a live symphony, then you know how amazing the sound is. I’d never heard something that awesome before and was so excited that I turned to my friend next to me and made a comment (something like, “Wow, this is totally rad!”) Well, there were two girls were sitting behind us and they complained to the teacher, saying that my friend and I had talked through the whole performance and ruined it for them.

Well, my buddy and I got in some serious trouble for that and we had to sit in detention for several recesses.

Detention was super boring, no talking or reading; you just had to sit there. With nothing else to do, I plotted my revenge. The next week, I brought some chocolate-flavored Exlax to class. I apologized to the girls for being such a terrible disturbance during the symphony and offered them the chocolate just before class got started.

The first hour passed without any action, but in the middle of math, things got interesting. It’s important to say that our teacher was a pretty old school authoritarian and had a very strict hall pass policy: Only one student out at a time.

So as the girls started to squirm and act uncomfortable, I told my friend to take the hall pass. Almost immediately, the girls’ hands went up, asking to use the bathroom. No go, as my buddy had the hall pass.

They squirmed and pleaded and begged and still, our teacher wouldn’t let them go. And then, that magical moment I hadn’t dared hoped for: in the middle of reviewing our multiplication tables, they crapped their pants. So awesome, so much win! Everyone in the class nearly died laughing, then nearly died gagging. It was soon revealed that I was responsible and I was sent to the principal’s office and my family was threatened with criminal charges, but the months of teasing that those two little chits endured made it worth it!” CaptainMoroni

15. Be A Witch Of A Stepmother? Enjoy All This Junk Mail

“I was 14. My dad had always been a ladies man and had several girlfriends at a time.

However even though he was only in his mid-40s, he had had a heart attack, which had just left him disabled. As soon as he became ill, this one woman, let’s call her Geraldine, who had only dated him a few times, muscled in and took over. Within a couple of months, they were engaged.

Geraldine was a very bossy woman, older than he was, and a teacher of disabled children. My dad was from a rich family, though he wasn’t rich himself.

My grandparents were still alive but around 80.

They decided to get married on my birthday. Birthdays aren’t a big thing in my father’s family. My mum said ‘don’t go to the wedding if you don’t want to’. But I was excited; I had never been to a wedding before.

It was a disaster. By the end of the day, my brand new stepmother said if she ever saw me again it would be too soon.

I wasn’t allowed to ring their house or see my father for four years until my sibling saw how awful this marriage was for him with this controlling woman.

My sibling took my dad away and set up a home so my sibling could care for my dad. My dad asked for a divorce, because of the way Geraldine treated him as a checkbook, and how much she bossed him around. Geraldine refused to agree to a divorce (we knew she was just waiting for my grandparents to die) and my father had to wait 5 years under British law to divorce someone who didn’t consent.

So what was my revenge? Well, I was 15, there wasn’t anything decent I could do. No mobile phones, no internet, they lived 100 miles away, no public transport. What there was in the 1980s was mail order. Every TV listings magazine or women’s magazine had loads of offers you could write off for Freepost…so that’s what I did.

You name it, I applied for it in the name of Mrs. Geraldine Miros: carpet samples, blind companies, double glazing quotes, Kay’s catalog, those baths for old people which open at the side, over 50s equity release, Stannah stairlifts, every single coupon I could send off for, I did.

I think my mum had an idea of what was going on, if only that all the magazines in the house had the coupons cut out and she kept needing to buy more envelopes.

I am sorry for the companies, wasting their time and resources in sending a catalog or for a salesman to write for an appointment. But I am not sorry for p*ssing off that greedy woman who took my dad away from me. He died when I was in my mid-20s so I had a few years with him before then, but four years fewer than I should have had.” Marine Miros

14. His Employees Are Now Treated Fairly Thanks To Me

Always stand up to unfair employers.

“So, I was working at a 7-Eleven for just shy of a year. The store was a franchise, which means it was independently owned by a guy who’s IQ was probably somewhere in the 80s. He treated us all like ***, and the only person who made more than minimum wage was the useless clerk he was cheating on his wife with (who, for some reason, made $15 an hour).

This guy never did anything by the book.

If he thought it would make him more money, then the law didn’t apply to him. Nobody at the store ever got a lunch. We were barely afforded smoke breaks, and we weren’t allowed to eat while on the clock. In California, when you work more than 5 hours without lunch, you’re supposed to get paid an extra hour’s wages, which counts toward overtime. We didn’t get that, either. On top of that, when he did payroll, he wouldn’t actually go by when you clocked in and out, he went by the schedule he wrote.

So if you stayed an extra hour or two to help out when it got busy, you’d be working for free, because the hours wouldn’t show up. Also, your schedule was subject to change whenever he felt like it. There were several times he wrote me up for showing up late because he would change my shift without telling me.

So, here’s where the trouble starts. Whenever we would take expired food off the shelves, we’d come in the next day, and he had printed new expiration dates, pasted them on top of the old ones, and put the food back on the shelves.

This happened consistently, the entire time I worked there. Well, one day, I’d had enough of his ***. I called up the health department and reported him, then emailed corporate and filled them in on what was going on.

Well, word got back to him, and when I went in the next day, I’d received a “complaint”, and was promptly fired. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never worked anywhere with a one-strike policy.

Here’s the thing, though.

Since the day I started there, I’d been keeping records. I had copies of every schedule posted, and every pay stub I’d ever received. I went to the labor board that day and picked up the paperwork I needed. See, when you don’t get lunches, and you don’t get paid the extra hour you’re supposed to, the labor board can force the employer to pay you the money he owes you in one lump sum. So I filled out the paperwork and turned it in.

My old boss wasn’t so smug when he had to make a check to me for $2,600. Right after receiving a hefty fine from the health department.

Now, I’m working to get the labor board to force him to hire me back under the whistleblower clause. If he has to re-hire me, he also has to pay me back lost wages for the past few months. Also, my old co-workers get lunches now.

Was the revenge sweet? It felt *****’ awesome! But that’s not why I did it.

I did it because that sack of *** was going to keep on exploiting his employees and customers to make a buck and keep being a worthless human being, and I felt like unless I did something, he was going to get away with it. I simply could not abide by the idea of him suffering no consequences for his actions.” KyrptKat

Another User Comments:

“This is not a story of revenge. It’s a story of righteous justice.” Reddit user

13. He Finally Stopped Harassing Me When I Released A Blog Post About Him

Be careful who you choose to harass.

They might just write an article about you!

“I was stalked pretty relentlessly online by a guy who claimed that “another studio had hired me to defame his operation.” Daily Craigslist postings (up to 50 a day) running me roughshod.

He started emailing my gear companies (ProMark drumsticks, Aquarian heads) using his real name in order to “seem legit.” Of course, I found out who it was.

Then he began sending random threatening messages to people with my email attached; I started getting calls from people asking me ***….

I talked to lawyers, FBI, the police, and really there’s nothing that could be done.

Proving it was actually him would be next to impossible.

So….I spend 5 days of my work life carving out a pretty damning dossier against the guy, made a blog story about the experience, balanced it with enough favorable material towards the guy to make it an op/ed piece rather than a libelous attack, emailed him and told him that he’d have to take up this issue with Google because now when his name is searched my site is result #1.

If he was worried about work being diverted from him back then, having to explain his crackhead motivations to other prospective clients would be one more obstacle towards getting hired.

The harassment magically stopped; I eventually took the piece off my site because I did not want to further the argument. However, it’s been rewritten with a more caustic and pointed tone (approved by my attorney) and should he start up again, I’ll simply republish the article and start sending it out on Reddit, CL, etc.

I put **** on the guy, LOL. It’s pretty hilarious but I hope that it doesn’t come to a republish.” Reddit user

12. Putting Rotting Shark Meat In Her Locker Made Her A Better Person

“Long story short, bully chick picking on lots of people, and then finally one of my friends so my dad, brother and I devised a great plan. We bought shark meat and cut it into super thin pieces, then froze it solid. We picked shark because I heard that it stunk the worst… shrimp would have been better but we couldn’t cut those into slivers as easily.

So, the plan was to shove the frozen shark meat into her locker slots (some lockers have them) and let it rot over the weekend. The best part was, we had Easter break the following week, so it was more like… 10 days. The timing was so perfect, my Art teacher asked me to take my project home over the break to finish it up and I needed my dad to help me carry it down to the car after school… that’s when we sharked her locker.

I told only one friend that I was doing this. She loved the idea but was more concerned with me getting expelled.

So when we got back from break, I remember being so nervous that I got caught… I saw the flies buzzing around her locker (lockers were outside!). I felt bad for whosoever locker was under hers. All-day through classes you didn’t hear a thing. The girl also was not to be seen. Finally last class of the day happens to be Religion class (yay catholic school), during prayer time no one offered any prayers for the girl.

The teacher finally gave in and spoke her prayer for her and stated how terrible it was… Then all the gossip broke loose! No one knew how they got in her locker. Some felt she deserved it. Some felt it was a random act of evil (because, it also happen to be April 1st!). They all thought it was chicken skin because apparently we had baked chicken that week… I only wish I could have seen it!

The bully was nice the rest of the school year and then didn’t come back for 10th grade.

She had to buy new textbooks, rewrite some homework, notes; she lost photographs and her blazer (school uniform requirement, worth $180). I waited until my graduation day, at the after-party to make my announcement. No one believed me at first until my one friend spoke out to prove it… The looks on all their faces… the awe… What a moment of glory!

Totally ****** worth it.” ************

11. Want To Play Loud Music All Hours Of The Day? Two Can Play That Game

“I have a rather nice revenge story:

Everyone has had that annoying neighbor in an apartment block that just doesn’t understand that other people live there too.

Mine just happened to live above me.

He had one of those god awful boomboxes whose existence is solely to provide maximum bass. He would play his ***y music at all hours mostly in the evenings and afternoons when his mother was out. I’d bang on the ceiling and from time to time he would actually turn it down, but mostly he’d ignore it. I’ve even knocked on the door trying to talk reasonably with them. The son would ignore the door, and the mother would scream that it’s not her son doing it.

The mother was a piece of work too. I’d be banging on the ceiling, and then 5 minutes later I’d get a pounding on the door. It was the mother, drunk as can be, telling me to turn down my music. I stared at her in disbelief. I casually pointed out that the music she could hear from my hallway was in fact, coming from upstairs. She screamed some more so I shut the door in her face.

I slid a note under the door stating that I would show them what loud really was if they didn’t stop this ***.

Despite repeated complaints to the landlord, nothing was ever done. One night, my wife was trying to sleep, and he simply would not turn anything down, my wife finally said ‘Do it.’ referring to a plan I had formulated involving my subwoofer. I’m a home theater enthusiast, and generally speaking, have some fairly decent stuff.

I placed my sub, bottom facing upwards against the ceiling. I then propped it up with books and wood to hold it in place without slipping around. I then fired up the old Xbox and found the bassist, loudest game I had in my arsenal, and played it for a good hour, cranked up as high as the sub would let me, and with the receiver outputting as much bass as possible. I played for about an hour.

The building shook. Really shook. Each explosion, thud, and artillery salvo resonated. I slowly turned down the volume. No noise from upstairs.

I slid another note under the door:

“I’ve played your little game, and as you can see, can pulverize you anytime you start having a little bass battle. I won. Keep your *** down, or you’ll never have sleep again.

Any time after that the music was at a very low level. Slightly audible but nothing that would keep you awake.

We moved out a couple of months later to a much more respectable apartment building.” Reddit user

10. He Used My Work For His Portfolio. He Didn’t Care, So I Told His Agency

“For a while, I worked as a web designer in a small ad agency serving a very niche industry. Previously, the design team had no creative lead and were all sort of operating independently across varying clients. We decided to hire a creative director to fill that gap, and I was given the task of sorting through and giving first-round interviews to find the person who would later become my supervisor.

Two candidates, in particular, stood out from the rest for very different reasons. One was exceptionally talented, an all-around nice guy, and somebody who generally would have been great for the role. The other, let’s call him John, had mediocre talent, came across as an insufferable, arrogant pr*ck, but had previous experience working within the niche industry that we serviced. He also had contacts within that industry that could lead to new business. Despite my strong recommendation to not hire John, his relationships in the industry were too compelling to our agency’s leadership to pass up, and they hired him.

It didn’t take long before the entire company started to realize John was a huge burden. He had virtually zero experience in anything related to digital design. Design for apps, websites, mobile, etc., were all completely and utterly beyond his grasp, but he used his position of relative power to make decisions on those projects that the entire design team refused to support, most of which came back to bite the company in the a*s later.

The design team hated him because fixing and working around his screw-ups became part of our daily routine. The sales team hated him because he’d claim it took him unbelievably exaggerated amounts of time to complete even the most trivial of tasks (ex: 4 days to design a business card template), so they wouldn’t even assign him projects anymore. Work that was clearly his responsibility started to rapidly trickle down to the rest of the design team.

We’d be working late nights 4 out of 5 days a week because all of his projects that were in danger of missing deadlines would be re-assigned to us. Meanwhile, he’d be the first to walk out the door every day, right at 5P M, without fail. On top of all that, the guy was absolutely, without a doubt, the biggest tool I’ve ever met. Always right about everything, completely unbending on his idiotic opinions, and completely clueless that literally every person in the building wished he would get hit by a truck.

I genuinely tried to work with him for about a year, until I decided that the job had become intolerable because of him, and wasn’t going to change any time soon, so I turned in my two-week notice. About a month after I left, I heard that he had been let go from the job. Shortly after that, I noticed that he had changed his LinkedIn status to show that he was working for a new agency I had never heard of, also servicing that same niche industry.

I looked them up, and quickly figured out that he had started his own agency… a primarily digital agency… when he had NO experience in digital or interactive design and had literally f*cked up every digital/interactive project he’d ever been on (I know because most of them were reassigned to me when he proved incapable of doing them himself). I looked at the portfolio on his website and found literally project after project of my work.

He was using my work from the ad agency as examples of the work his agency could produce.

I briefly considered contacting him and requesting he remove my work from his portfolio for ethical reasons. But I could already hear his reply in my head. “As a creative lead, all work done by my team is an extension of my creative direction.” He’d used similar lines in the past to insert himself into receiving credit on successful projects he’d had zero involvement on.

So instead I sent an email to one of the partners of the agency we both had worked for, saying something along the lines of “hey, not sure if you’ve noticed this, but it looks like John is using your company’s intellectual property to directly compete against you… if I had to guess, I’d assume his next step would be to make a move at your client list.”

The reply was short and sweet: “Thanks for bringing this to my attention.

He’ll be hearing from our attorney in the morning.” John’s website was brought down less than 24 hours later.” dr_tantia_moboggan

9. He Almost Hit Me On The Freeway, What I Did Next Scared The Crap Out Of Him

“Ok…. I know how stupid this was and how bad it could have turned out first of all.

One night I was driving to my GF’s house and as I was getting on the highway, the guy in front of me is going like 15 mph.

To enter a 70 mph highway. I was worried we would be rear-ended. So the first chance I got, I moved one lane to the left and shot around him to get up to a reasonable speed.

He didn’t take too kindly to this and came up on my side flipping me off and cursing me out. He was very clearly drunk. He then moves in front of me and slams the brakes, moves back to my side flipping and cursing, then behind me about 2ft from my rear bumper.

And just keeps doing this cycle over and over. For like 10 mins. Eventually, he threw a bunch of fast food, complete with a milkshake, at my car.

It was pretty late and there wasn’t a lot of traffic. Eventually, he pulled into the far right lane, which became an exit only. He slowed down to get a couple of last words in on me.

Up to this point, I had been pretty chill…maybe a head shake here or a furrowed brow.

Earlier that day I had also taken my GFs little brother to shoot BB guns. Including a BB pistol that was an exact replica of a Colt 1911 .45acp. You’ve probably already figured out where this is headed.

I waited till he was already so close to the exit he couldn’t follow me or pull a REAL gun on me. Finally the last second I pull the gun up and yell something vaguely gangsta..probably POINT BLANK SUCKAH!!! or something equally stupid.

This guy’s jaw immediately hit his lap. He ducked down and when he did so, inadvertently yanked the steering wheel to the right…HARD…and about 200 ft short of the exit. His car went across the median, bottomed out and tore his undercarriage up something fierce.

I immediately panicked. There was nobody anywhere near us, but I took the next exit and u-turned. I thought if the cops were looking for me they’d expect me to be heading the same direction.

I hid the “gun” in a culvert at the exit and headed back the same way I had just come. He was stranded on the side of the road…with police coming to him. I went down a few more miles and turned around again (so heading the original direction again). I figured if the cops pulled me over it would be my word against a drunk dude, and I didn’t even have the incriminating evidence anymore.

He was getting a field sobriety test.

Again, I know how dumb it was. I was young and stupid and would never do it again. And if he would have gotten seriously hurt, or worse hurt someone else I would still feel horrible.

But being that none of that happened, and the guy was such a colossal ***** prior, ehhh.” Babybancroft

8. Act Like A Jerk Half-Business Partner? Have Fun With Your DUI And Job Loss

“Needed to make a throwaway for this one since it’s still in process.

So my other half is a 50/50 owner of a business. Things were going great for about 4-5 years.

My other half is the quiet numbers person who is actually running and steering the company. The business partner is the face guy the one who gets out there and is known as the guy attached to the company.

At the point where this takes place, the company is expanding like crazy and the loudmouth guy, we’ll call him Archie, starts to focus on making the company only about him so much so that people who don’t even know anything about our product, say things like “it seems like he just wants to be rich and famous” he’s doing this because he doesn’t really have a job anymore cause the company has grown beyond the usefulness for him to do anything other than be a talking head.

Literally, every other company in this industry (a very close group) has ended up hating us because of this person. Archie is loud, obnoxious, self-absorbed, thin-skinned.

Anyway, I start working a minor unimportant job on the retail side of things (officially hired not working under the table a real job) where Archie is in charge. Not one positive thing comes out of this guy’s mouth. While he’s around, you hear him insulting other staff, and others in the industry, belittling people and starting into minor bits of ****** harassment.

Then there was the conversation he has with me out of the blue about not telling anyone who comes in how I’m involved or that the owner and I are married, so “I should only mention that we’re gay if someone asks me first.” Cause it makes us look bad.

At this point, I’m livid I try very hard not to bring anything home but I’m very upset and he starts to know he f*cked up. A month after this happens, I’m late twice due to bad accidents due to the weather.

He pulls me aside and says, “This isn’t working this is why I didn’t want family here. I thought your job would be temporary. When can you leave?”

My other half is p*ssed but I ask them to stay not involved as it just proves Archie right. Exactly a month passes with no mention as I’m looking for work. He asks if we can go for coffee and talk about progress. I say it’s tough for work and I’m still looking for something.

I say let’s meet every two weeks until I’m ready to put my resignation in. We agree share and handshake things are good. Working with him is fun again.

A week later he comes in on his way out the door and says, “So we’ll pay you out to the end of the month. We’ve hired a new girl and we’re giving her your shifts (2 days left in the month) and you’re done.”

So here’s where I get petty.

The industry we’re in is very heavily regulated by certain governing bodies and one of the rules is you can’t have a DUI on your record. I happen to know if he has a DUI he will be forced to sell his shares of the company.

The next night after this we all go out he has about 5 drinks and drives the company van home. I call the police and report a swerving vehicle giving a good description of the vehicle (not hard to nice big cargo van with company branding) and the route I see it taking.

He gets pulled over gets a DUI and is in the process of trying to fight it.

In the meantime he’s been removed from his official positions in the company, is embarrassed amongst the community, and blew so far over there’s no way of getting a slap on the wrist. He will be forced to sell his half of the business.” Throwininthedeep

7. He Stopped Bullying Almost Completely After I Placed Menstrual Pads All Over His Car

“I worked in a fish factory most summers when I was in my teens, and there was a boy who also worked there one summer who was an ***** and a bully.

Another girl and Il were his main targets, and this was really disgusting verbal bullying, ****** and racial in nature (the other girl was of mixed race). He would yell his insults over the factory announcement system whenever he didn’t have enough work to keep him busy. The foreman refused to get involved, so we took action.

One day, we finished work before he did, and spotted his car out in the parking lot (his dad’s car, actually).

We looked at each other, went back into the building, got several rolls of toilet paper and a packet of menstrual pads and “decorated” the car with them.

The car was seen by many of our co-workers, some of whom also witnessed the decorating and cheered us on. Once he got out he just stood there, blushing and embarrassed and wondering who could have done this to him. He was very subdued at work after that and the bullying nearly stopped, I hope because what we did made him realize what it felt like to be at the victim’s end of it.

The best thing about it was that everyone, including his brother, knew who had done it, and no-one told him.” Netla

6. Petroleum-Jellied Desk

“Had a Chief Warrant Officer in Iraq throw a bottle of petroleum jelly at my after I got done ranting about something I’ve long since forgotten. Told me to go “take care of it, and come back when I feel better.” During his afternoon siesta, I spent an hour covering everything on his desk with it in the most inconspicuous spots (e.g.

inside the handle of a coffee mug, underneath the handle of the Keurig pod loader, behind the canister holding Keurig coffee pods, anywhere he could grab something and not see it without first inspecting it).

He came back and proceeded to curse at a rate never witnessed before as he had to continuously wipe all the jelly off his hands every 3 minutes. He caught the jelly on the inside rims of his over-the-ear headphones before he rimmed his ears with it, but the best came after I let him calm down and get back to work.

Everyone else in the office watched me do it, no one said a thing, but they all had their eyes on me as I waited five minutes before picking up my phone on my desk and slowly dialed the number at his desk. It rings, everyone turns to look at him, he’s on the computer, picks up the phone, slaps it to his ear, “Radio Battalion SIMOSONOFAB*TCH!!!” Turns his head, ear was caked full of petroleum jelly I had dumped all over the earpiece of the phone.

Master Guns and Major told me these antics and pranks made that deployment. CWO Ryan, if you’re reading this: Sorry, not sorry.” sjmiller85

5. Short Guy Wins Against The Tall Guy Thanks To A Tube Of Toothpaste

“Summer after freshman year of high school I went to this tripping camp in Vermont (tripping meaning going on long a** canoe/hiking/camping trips in the Northeast and Canada). There was this new guy that year who was about 6’3”, cross-eyed, a Neanderthal looking creature with a limited vocabulary and loved boasting to us fellow campers about his hot girlfriend who was ugly by the way.

This guy was a brute and standing at 5’5″ at the time, I had a negative disposition towards anyone A LOT taller than me (I’ve gotten over this). This guy was a d*uche straight up I can’t say it enough.

Anyway, we more or less got along at the time but for some reason at breakfast in the dining hall one day he decided to pour syrup all over my head. In front of my friends and fellow counselors…for no reason…just thought it would be funny.

The counselors thought it was of poor taste and everyone kind of had a “This is f*cked up” kind of expression on their face. I wanted to punch this dude square in the face at that instant but knew I’d probably get kicked out so I played it cool. He apologized to me a couple of hours later and I acted like it was totally cool and we were boys.

That night when camp activities were over, it was time for our age group to hike up this mountain and sleep in our cabins.

The hike takes about 15 minutes if you’re walking but you can do it in about 5 if you sprint up it. I sprinted up to the cabins ahead of everyone…went to his cabin and found his bed. I then took another camper’s toothpaste and squeezed it on this d*uches bed underneath his blanket and underneath his pillows. I used a lot of toothpaste but did it such that you couldn’t notice it until you got in bed.

An hour later it was light’s out and from a few cabins away I hear this maddening screaming. My friends in this d*uche’s cabin told me how they all turned on the lights to find him covered from head to toe in toothpaste. Imagine this cross-eyed neanderthal *** covered in Crest it was ****** beautiful. One of those moments where I feel like the short guy won and the tall d*uche never confronted me about it.” PDres123

4. That Was The Last Time She Played That Song

“I had an extremely uptight and religious roommate during my freshman year at college who would come and yell at us to go to bed at 9:30 pm but who would wake up every morning at 6:00 am and blare this same playlist, beginning with “The Whole Armor of God.”

This was every day.

Late-night out dancing? 6:00 the next morning:

“What soldier enters life’s battlefieeeeeld, without a sword, without a shieeeeeeeld? I take my sword and shield each daaaaay When I kneel down and humbly praaaaaaaaay!”

Exhausted from cramming? 6:00 am:

“What soldier enters life’s battlefieeeeeld, without a sword, without a shieeeeeeeld…”

It was kind of like a way worse version of Groundhog Day. To this day my left eye develops a tic when I think about that song.

So, another thing about this lady is that she was really terrified of “unwholesome” music.

Our other roommate’s Late Registration album by Kanye West was one she particularly hated. She’d always glare when we put the cd on, stomp into her room with a heavy sigh, and blast her music, trying to outdo Gold Digger with:

“What soldier enters life’s battlefieeeeeld, without a sword, without a shieeeeeeeld…”

Importantly, I don’t believe she ever actually listened to any of the songs on the cd, so she didn’t recognize them. One day, while the roommate was out, I went onto her computer and saved all her precious titles into another folder, then ripped the Kanye CD onto the computer and spent 20 minutes meticulously renaming them to match every title, artist, etc.

on her normal playlist. When I was done, it looked exactly the same.

The next morning at 6:00, I heard her stupid alarm and then the sound of her getting onto her computer. I lay there in silence as she cued up The Whole Armor of God. At extremely high volume, out came:

“Wake up, Mr. West! Wake up… Mr. West Mr. West Mr. West…” followed by shrieks of panic. Ditto as she skipped the song and found that each additional title was also affected, with the last several just repeating Gold Digger because I ran out of tracks.

At this point, I had nearly fallen off the bed from trying to giggle in absolute silence.

She asked for my help removing the “virus” from her computer. I restored all her files and then asked as a favor if she could go ahead and stop with the wake-up call, since I wasn’t comfortable knowing that my sweet dreams might now be disrupted by ungodly songs if the virus struck again. And that was the last time I heard that stupid song.” theveryworstkate

3. Sorry, Bullies Don’t Get Brand New Cars For Their 16th Birthday

“I have a hearing loss and wear hearing aids.

There was this girl in high school, who, for some reason, felt the need to make fun of me for it. It was always in Algebra class, she sat kitty-corner from me, and would moan like she was mentally disabled while “adjusting her hearing aid,” among other things. I still don’t understand why, because I never had anything to do with her, or even interacted with her at all.

Anyway, this was around the time that cellphone cameras became more popular.

I had a couple of buddies in the class, and one of them had one of the cellphones. I had him record some of her making fun of me. I could have gone to the principal, and he probably would have just chewed her out, and sent her back to class. I decided to go for the jugular.

I took the video to her house and showed it to her mom and dad. I grew up in a really small town, so I knew where she lived, and her parents and mine knew each other fairly well.

Needless to say, her parents were livid at her. This next part is what I was after. I knew this was going to happen, so I tried everything I could to take it away from her.

She didn’t get the flashy new car she was going to get for her 16th birthday. She also didn’t get to go to prom that year. She never said another word to me, and I can’t say I regret what I did.

I still don’t.” deconstruct2000

2. Steal A Paper From My Desk? Kiss Your New Toy Robot Goodbye

“I’d like to start off by saying, I now know what I did was wrong and you’re on my side.

When I was in first grade, my teacher was a small, bitter old woman who terrified me. Let’s call her Ms. Skeletor. On the first day of school, Ms. Skeletor handed us a small calendar booklet and a sheet of paper with a bunch of different squares with pictures of types of weather.

Every morning we were supposed to cut out a square based on what their weather was like and glue it on the day. Simple.

About a week into school, I reach into my desk and pull out my little calendar, but I can’t find the paper with the weather pictures. I’m of course confused since it never left my desk so I walk around the room and ask kids around me if they’ve seen it. Still nothing.

I’m not worried at this point because it had my name on it and my naïve six-year-old brain thought, “if someone found it they’ll give it back soon.”

Yeah no.

For the rest of the year, I’m getting mild panic attacks for the first five minutes of class cause I don’t have this stupid weather chart and I’m too scared to ask Ms. Skeletor for a new one. This goes on for the entire year, every time someone asks where my weather chart is I Matrix- Neo dodge the question ( probably not, since I was six but back then I thought I was slick).

Eventually, it’s the last day of school and we’re packing up our stuff to take home with us. Everyone is excited cause we’re allowed to play outside with toys we brought from home. I’m relieved because I’ll never have to face Ms. Skeletor or my blank weather chart again.

This is where the pettiness comes in.

This kid walked up to me as I’m packing up. Let’s call him Goblin. Now Goblin was one of those kids that no one in the class liked.

He would always be alone at recess but whenever you invited him to play tag, he would soon storm off saying we were cheating. He was also rude, disruptive in class and all-around a nasty kid.

Goblin walks up to me and thrusts this old, hole-filled paper in my face. I turn it over and lo and behold, it’s my missing. weather. chart. I’m so shocked I can’t say anything. Goblin responds to my silence by spitting out, “Sorry, I just borrowed it.”

Last time I checked you don’t borrow something from someone for a year without saying anything by taking it OUT OF THEIR ****** DESK.

So, I snapped. Later when we were on the playground, I found Goblin playing by himself (of course) with his brand new toy robot that he had been talking up for a week before. I ripped the toy out of his hands, sprinted to the side of the playground adjacent to the street, and hurled it as hard as I could up in the air.

The robot, of course, shattered in the middle of the street, just like Goblin’s heart.

This kid is now sobbing staring at what is left of the robot. It’s at this point I should have walked away. Revenge over. But no. To twist the knife even further, I walk over to Goblin, still sobbing, lean in and say,

“I’m just borrowing it.”

Yeah, obviously I was possessed by a demon that day. But I never saw Goblin after that. I heard he moved but I don’t know where. It’s been over a decade and I’m pretty sure Goblin is looking to murder me.” Saucy-Boi

1. He Caused Me To Get In A Serious Wreck, So I Ruined His Brand New Mustang

“I had a jerk in high school who thought it would be funny to hit my car with a frozen water balloon while I was driving.

It caused a pretty bad wreck and he split the scene of the accident. I had cuts all over my face from the flying glass and broke my arm in the accident. My car got totaled and so did the other driver’s. The cops said I could not prove who did it and the other driver just saw a kid running away. I ended up without a car for almost a year before I could buy something else.

So a few years later, this jerk gets a brand new mustang from his Dad as an early graduation gift. I promptly set out one morning in the school parking lot with a little revenge kit I had set up. As luck would have it, he parked in the far end of the parking lot by the woods where no one could see me and was even nice enough to park in two parking spaces to make sure no one would ding his doors.

So I took a syringe and stuck it in between the window and window seal and squirted a mixture of soy sauce, Worcestershire, urine, and blue leather stain (the car’s interior was creme leather). Now, it was hot out that day, so the smell was going to get ripe as the day went on. I then took out 2 metal gallon jugs of 20% muriatic acid (a really strong acid prepared from hydrogen chloride that has many purposes like leather processing, descaling, and more) poured them very generously over the whole car.

Just to make sure that he was thrice f*cked, I poured a gallon of gas mixed with sugar into his gas tank.

I wasn’t around to see his reaction, but I hear that it wasn’t pretty and after he tries to wipe up the interior to try and go save what was left of the paint job, the engine locked up half a mile away. I didn’t see that mustang the rest of senior year.” TheLastBoyScout

Getting revenge feels great, but it feels even greater when you feel completely satisfied with the outcome.

Which no-regret revenge story from this list did you enjoy the most? Let us know!