People Come Clean About Their "Mad As A Hatter" Revenge Story
20. I Can't Be Your Only Girl? Your Family Is Going To Hear All About It
“Today is New Year’s Eve. Up until the day after Christmas, I’d been engaged for seven months.
No longer. Want to know why?
In mid-November, I learned my fiancé Sam had been going behind my back for six months.
I discovered this by accident. My phone died and I needed to Google something, so I grabbed his iPad which I hadn’t used in a while. Sam has iMessage, so all his messages (received and outgoing) synced to the iPad’s message app.
I saw everything – texts, pictures, videos – saw it all. Apparently that Masters in Chemical Engineering didn’t constitute much intelligence, because the dumb butt never changed his passcode.
His side chick was a mutual friend of ours, Madison, who’d been in our home, had dinner with us, and was someone I’d actually seen as a potential bridesmaid. I spent days reading through everything, apparently, she let him do anything he wanted.
Oh, and she was pregnant. He’d also been sending her from our saving-for-a-bigger-apartment fund.
I was catastrophic. I collapsed on the floor and cried so hard I thought I’d throw up. But what really got me were the things they said- about me.
They mocked me, made jokes, ridiculed and belittled me; because I was the oblivious idiot fiancée who was so stupid. I was the prude who wouldn’t let him act out his fantasies even though he never told me about them!
Madison would text me, chatting about wedding planning, then screenshot the messages and send them to Sam, laughing about how stupid I was.
There was so much more and far more vicious. I was gobsmacked. I felt like the meanest, witchiest girls from high school were standing over me, laughing while I cried. But I was more confused than anything, who the bloody heck was this person, pretending to be my Sam? Now I realize I’d only seen one side of him. For three years. I won’t even begin with the messages about the baby.
Madison had actively been pushing Sam to dump me, and they agreed he’d do it the day after Christmas after we’d returned home from seeing his family. When I read that particular message, something inside me snapped.
I’ve been snickered at my whole life- for being the “poor kid” in a wealthy school, for being a fat kid and teenager, for being an ugly duckling, for always having older, out-of-date things, for being quiet, for being an unphotogenic teenager… school kids are their own category of vicious.
But growing up with all that gives you a core of steel, and anyone who tries to punch it will break their hand. I was not going to be humiliated. Not again, and not like this.
So I thought ahead.
Sam had been out of town when I discovered the messages, so I had a few days to pull myself together.
For the next month and a half, I pretended everything was fine- at which I’m alarmingly good.
Soon, my feelings toward him hardened until my initial devastation was gone and replaced by nothing. I’d wait until I was alone to read through his iPad, always putting it back in the same position in his bottom drawer. The dumbo never suspected anything, and still never changed his passcode. I collected the most “telling” evidence: the most explicit messages, the most vicious ones towards me, the ones mentioning the moolah, the ultrasound photos, I sent them all to myself then covered my tracks.
Christmas comes. We arrived at his parent’s house on Christmas morning, with plans to spend the night. I spent the day watching that affair-having, mocking, coin-laundering scumbag have a lovely Christmas. He even tried to hook up that night, knowing full well he planned to dump me the next day. One last crap for good measure, right?
The next morning, before we all sat down for breakfast, I sent all the evidence to his mother.
And his father.
And his two siblings, and three of his cousins.
Any family member whose contact I had, received it. I was able to time this, because Sam’s family is pretty phone addicted, and they all get email notifications.
My dear readers, I wish you could’ve witnessed the scene which befell that house. The weasel couldn’t even face his own family. Talk about whiplash from that plot twist.
He ran outside and had to be cornered. His brother dragged him by his hair back into the house, but I didn’t stay for that. I’d insisted we take my car, so I said my goodbyes to his family, reassured them this wasn’t their fault, thanked them for everything, and left.
That was six days ago. I changed the lock on our apartment, sold the ring, put all his things in trash bags, and put them outside the gate to our apartment complex – with the iPad on top.
Luckily for him, no one took anything. He’s currently staying with a friend, as none of his family in town will speak to him, and he can’t afford a hotel indefinitely.
And don’t worry about Madison, I didn’t forget about her. I sent everything to her mother.
With whom she still lives. They’re going to move in together. I’m sure their love will last through the ages. They can live their lives, and I’ll live mine.
Happy New Year, dear readers. Take no crap in 2020.”
19. Threaten My Dogs And Family? Get Kicked Out Of Your Apartment
“Years ago, my mother and I had just moved to a new dog-friendly apartment complex. We had 2 dogs, one was a bichon Shih Tzu and the other is a terrier poodle mix. Because of them, we were excited about the community dog park right next to our building.
Also to note, our who building was filled with dog owners, each with dogs ranging from small to huge.
Our apartment was on the first floor in the back of the building, all the way in the corner.
It was a nice private area for us with how the apartments were situated.
Since one of our dogs is a terrier, he can be a bit barky when we are not home. Though when we are home we have a clicker to get his attention, which he has been trained to stop barking and come to whoever has the clicker.
Due to our work hours, I was usually home in the morning and mom was home in the afternoon, leaving him alone for a few hours during the day.
After a month of moving to our new apartment, we received a note on our door. It was from one of our neighbors. It stated, “Dear neighbor, I understand that you are new to this complex, but it is rude to allow your dog to bark.
It is ruining my sleep before I go to work, and my job is extremely important. I don’t care how you do it but shut your dog up.”
My mom turned in the note right away to the leasing office as she wasn’t sure what to do with it. That is when the office told us not to worry because he had done this to every dog owner in the building.
They did ask us to see if we can find ways to calm him down when we were not home.
So we did. We found out the kids of the neighborhood liked playing with the power station outside our apartment and that is who he had been barking at. So we closed off that area for him when we went out and no one was home. We started playing calming music as a way to help as well.
Another week goes by and this time we hear a knock at the door. We go outside, and we meet our angry neighbor.
He explains that our dog has kept him up every day and woke him up with his hours of barking. Both of us had been home that day, and our dog had been a good boy and had not had excessive barking. I still remember what he had told us when I explained that.
“I know what I heard. If you can’t control your dog, then I am going to call animal control and have them both taken from you. I did it before and have no problem getting rid of your dogs too.
Then I’ll get you kicked out for not following your lease, and I can do that because I am very rich and the apartment needs my moolah.
So do something to shut your dogs up or else.” After that and my mom apologizing for what had happened, we went back in. A few moments later, I walked out to get the mail and discovered from another neighbor that he had gone to 3 other apartments and made similar threats.
After some convincing, my mom told the apartment what had happened. We were told not to worry, and if he did that again to please contact them.
We also found out that the apartment had offered him an apartment away from the dogs, but he had declined since the dogs were the problem and not him.
However, what he had done, my mom began to show signs of anxiety and bought a lemon spray bark collar for our dog.
While I didn’t like this idea, it had put her at ease to go outside our apartment.
We did make sure to only put it on him when we both were not home.
A month went by peacefully, then once again we get a knock on our door. This time it was animal control. They had gotten an ‘anonymous’ report of a dog being abused and neglected in our home. They explained that someone has said that our dogs were barking because of neglect.
My mom invited the AC lady inside and explained the situation. We showed her everything we could to prevent our dogs from being taken away.
The nice lady noticed how playful and happy our dogs were and figured it was another false call. She explained that they had gotten a few of those from an anonymous concerned neighbor for other apartments in this building.
The AC lady left, telling us that if they threaten again to try and get it on record.
This event had turned my mom into a paranoid person who became afraid to leave the house, thinking that if she did, then she would lose her pups. Normally I am the calmest person in my family, never really letting anyone get to me, but this neighbor had done this to hurt us. So I did my research and discovered a few things that could legally help us.
With new information on certain laws and leasing terms, I formed a plan.
During the weekend that my mom was visiting my aunt in a different state, I began my plan. I started it by printing out a few things and then sat outside with my phone and a speaker. I began to play a video of a dog barking really loud. I had figured out which apartment was his thanks to a few neighbors who also were tired of being harassed.
I sat there looking across the courtyard to where his apartment was.
I waited with a huge smile on my face, and as I hoped for, he stormed out and headed over to where I was. I turned off my video and turned on my recorder without him noticing.
His face is red with anger as he looks at me sitting there with a smile.
“I’m sorry can I help you?” I ask him
I effing told you what I will do to your family if you effing didn’t stop your dumb mutt from ruining my sleep. Now, I’m going to get them taken from you and get you kicked out for not doing as I said. I gave you a freaking chance. I hope when they take your dogs that they are killed and you and your mom live inside a cardboard box.”
I give him a fake ‘oh dear’ look and say, “So you are saying that I am not allowed to make loud noises including my dogs barking between the hours of 7 am and 11 pm? And that I went against the law by doing so?”
“You know you did.”
“And you are telling me this from my porch? At 2 pm in the afternoon.”
“This won’t be your porch once I tell the leasing office.”
That is a very serious threat for my dogs and my family, isn’t it.”
“Heck yes it is!”
I give him a huge smile and turn off my recorder from my phone. The neighbor is confused now and I ask him to have a seat, I have a few things to show him. I pull out my papers and hand him the first one. It was the county’s noise ordinance laws.
In our county, a dog’s bark was considered the same amount of sound as a loud appliance, so they can bark between the hours of 7 am and 11 pm.
Before he could talk, I pull out another paper. This one states that it is against the leasing terms to threaten another neighbor and after one warning that the apartment complex had the right to revolt their lease.
He looks at me with an understanding of what he had done now. I silence him and pull out one last paper. This one was another leasing term I had found. This face after reading this one had made him turn white.
This last one talked about how it was a complete violation of leasing terms to go onto another renter’s property and threaten them or their property.
This includes the renter’s outdoor area. Those found guilty of this violation will have their lease revoked immediately and be forced to leave the apartment within a set time.
The scared look on his face was priceless as I silently got up and walked back into my apartment.
After he finally left, I called my leasing office and explained what had just happened and agreed to email the recording to them right away.
A week later my mom came home with some news that she had learned from the leasing office. The man had been evicted from his apartment and would be leaving later that week. I found out that my actions had caused the other dog owners of the building to come forward and admit what he had been doing to all of them.
After that, there was never another complaint and I threw away the lemon spray collar. My mom still gets anxiety attacks once in a while but has been getting help to ease those worries. As for me, I don’t regret what I did, I just feel bad that it had to come to this.”
18. Won't Feed Your Poor Flea-Invested Feline? I'll Keep Your Cat And Get You Evicted
“One year ago, I was renting a house next to the most unpleasant neighbor I hope to ever experience.
The only thing I liked about her was her cat, this freakishly adorable tabby who could grab even the most hardened criminal’s heartstrings. Every time I came home from work he would sidle up next to me for some TLC, which he never got from my neighbor. As far as I could tell, she just used the poor thing to keep away mice and “play” (i.e., be terrorized by) her toddler grandkids on the weekends.
The poor furbaby looked severely underfed and always appreciated the meals I’d leave out for him on our back porch.
Now, I have an indoor fur baby of my own (a tail-less ball of energy, aptly named Goblin), and one day he managed to escape outside. Luckily I found him within a few hours, but by the next morning, what jumps on my lap? Not Goblin, alas, but a flea.
And if my social butterfly cat had fleas, I was positive the next-door fur baby had fleas too.
Now, I already had a bitter history with this neighbor.
In addition to being awful to her cat, she’d harrassed my older parents who were helping me move in. Why? Because our U-haul rental was blocking a sidewalk to nowhere in front of MY house for all of 10 minutes.
My parents are extremely pleasant people — my mom frequently gets THANKED on customer service hotlines for being the rare kind soul in an ocean of impatient Karens. And this lady was berating them needlessly for “ruining the community,” ranting even longer than they’d been parked, until they eventually moved to an inconvenient and wholly unnecessary distance.
Regardless of her insufferable personality, I figured I’d warn her anyway in the best interests of her fur baby.
When I knew she was at home the next day, I knocked on her front door. When she answered (no “hello,” just a scowl), I started to explain that my escaped indoor cat has fleas and so there was a good possibility that her outdoor cat also had fleas. Immediately she berates me for “letting” my cat get fleas and snaps that she keeps her house very clean, unlike me, so there is no way her cat has fleas.
I just loudly sighed at her and went back home as she continued to yell. You’ve never even been IN my house, lady! And that’s not how fleas work!
All week I noticed her cat scratching himself raw and felt so bad for the lil guy. I wanted to give him flea medication and a flea bath, but with my neighbor now watching me like a hawk and screeching like a banshee if I even pet him anymore, I had to leave him alone.
BUT, I realized, there was something I COULD do.
You see, we shared the same landlord, who was very concerned about household pests and instructed us to call him at the first sight of a bed bug, tick, etc. I also knew that my neighbor was keeping her cat a secret from the landlord to avoid paying the pet rent, as I’d overheard her bragging about this to a friend outside one day.
So what do I do? I call up the landlord to explain the flea situation, and I make sure to add that my neighbor’s cat has also been scratching like crazy.
There’s a pause. “Did you say she has a cat?” Yes, I assure him, she definitely has an indoor-outdoor cat.
Turns out that my neighbor had harrassed our landlord into replacing most of her carpet due to her alleged cat allergy.
I don’t know why the landlord caved into this, but it wasn’t cheap. And now our landlord learned that not only had Madwoman lied about an allergy to score a free renovation, but she hadn’t paid pet rent in more than a year.
Well, an exterminator gets called, and our landlord himself shows up to oversee the whole thing.
We had both received a flyer taped to our front doors giving notice that he would be coming to our houses on that date, but I may or may not have removed my neighbor’s so she wouldn’t be able to just hide evidence of her cat for a few hours.
So our landlord arrives, and I listen gleefully with my window open as my neighbor tries to prevent him and the exterminator from entering.
Eventually, she allows them to come inside, where there is obvious evidence of a pet living there. I don’t know exactly what transpired between her and the landlord (there must be other things on her record, she being such a nutcase), but a few months later I had a new next-door neighbor.
And guess who Madwoman purposely abandoned during the move? Her poor fur baby, who became a much-loved (and flea-free) member of our house.”
17. Can't Use The AC Until June? Let Me Give The Housing Authority A Call
“Back in 1993, I had just graduated from college. Since there weren’t any jobs anywhere near my hometown, I moved to the Dallas area. I had a small bit of dough left from college, but I knew it wouldn’t last. I found and rented the cheapest apartment that I could find.
A bit of background on this apartment complex. It used to be a nice complex and it used to be in a nice area.
That was no longer the case. The area was completely rundown with most people either being unemployed, like me, or doing some sort of menial job. The actual apartment was not really an apartment. The original design for the complex had mainly 3 bedroom/2 bath apartments. At some point, they took the master bedroom, one of the bathrooms and one of the closets and made that into a separate apartment.
They called it an efficiency.
I’m sure some of you are reading that and trying to figure out where the kitchen was located. Short answer, there wasn’t a kitchen. The “kitchen” was the closet. It had been a small walk-in closet. They put an apartment-sized refrigerator in it with a microwave on top of it. That was the kitchen. I didn’t particularly like it, but I was broke.
What could I do?
I was looking for jobs for a few months and having no luck.
I spent much of my time in that little apartment. The trouble came in March. It started getting really hot. By mid-April, it felt like I was cooking during the day. My apartment had air conditioning, but it was blowing nothing but hot air. I went to the manager to complain.
I was told that they didn’t turn on the compressor until June.
No way I would be able to make it until June. I had to do something.
I found a way to keep cool. One of the few places with working air conditioning that didn’t mind me loitering was the public library. We were actually close to a huge branch. I could grab a book and just sit there for hours.
But, it was still stifling when I went home.
Since I was at the library anyway, I started doing research on apartment regulations. It wasn’t too difficult. Heck, I had essentially done the same thing for years as a full-time student.
It was just research. The housing codes were located in a row of large books (back before the internet). I had nothing better to do, so I started going through them.
After a few days, I found some things that I thought might help and called the housing authority. They came right over to my apartment the next day actually.
Infraction 1: If the temperature with the apartment was above a certain level, air conditioning had to be available.
I think it was 80 degrees and it was 83 degrees in my apartment when they showed up.
Infraction 2: All apartments regardless of size had to have a working stove.
Remember, I only had a microwave which was not considered a stove.
Infraction 3: All apartments regardless of size had to have a working sink in the kitchen. Again remember, I didn’t have a sink in the kitchen. I had to wash what few dishes I had in the bathtub.
The housing authority people said they’d take care of it and left.
Within another week, I got a notice from the apartment that they were going to put in a stove and sink.
And, best of all, the AC started getting cool.
It doesn’t end there though. I was there when the workers were putting in the stove and sink. I was playing some video game. One of the workers saw it and started up a conversation since he liked video games.
I found out some interesting things.
First, the wiring wouldn’t handle the stove, so they had to do something to get it to work.
They put one hole in my apartment and I heard them putting some more holes in the apartment next door. Don’t forget, those two apartments used to be the same apartment. The fuse box was in the other apartment.
Second, the flooring in the closet was carpeting. That was deemed unsafe to put a stove on, so they had to tear it out (just in the closet) and put down some type of tile.
Third, the closet did not have any place to attach the sink, so they had to go through the wall again to get to the bathroom to connect to the plumbing in there. I’m unsure how that worked since directly on the other side of the wall was the bathtub.
There was no exposed plumbing there.
All told, these changes cost about $10K (including parts and labor). I’m going by what I was told.
I have no direct knowledge and the guy giving me this information was one of the regular workers and not any sort of management.
But, I did find out one other thing. It wasn’t just my apartment. It was all of the efficiency apartments. All 20 of them. If the numbers that I was given can be believed, that’d be approximately $200K. All because it was hot.”
16. Enjoy A Permanently Ketchup-Stained Car!
“At my high school, we had a parking problem. Not that there wasn’t enough room, but that there was not enough spots close to the school, so people would just fight for the spots closest. In my junior year, the school’s solution to this problem was to paint numbers on every spot and issue parking spots at the beginning of each year, the closest spots got issued to seniors as a perk.
So I got put way at the back, which I was okay with because I knew the following year I could have that perk too, I never stole anyone’s spot, and I was a good noodle.
Anyway, I’m a senior now, I get a close spot near three of my friend’s spots.
There is this one junior girl in a new white Volkswagen her parents definitely bought for her.
She is a freaking menace. She constantly steals other people’s parking spots. Meanwhile, my friends and I had an incredibly lenient first-period teacher so we often would show up late, or get food in the morning. So the spots that always got stolen were one of ours, and we’d have to park in the junior lot way off.
This happened for the whole first half the year.
I had had enough.
We show up in the middle of the first period back from McDonalds or something, and she has taken a spot from some poor soul next to mine. So I come up with the idea to leave her a nasty note on her car. I knew paper wouldn’t have the weight I needed, so I looked around in my car for something nonpermanent.
Ketchup packets from the food we had eaten was what I decided on. So I stealthily write “PARK IN YOUR OWN FREAKING SPOT” on the hood of her six-month-old Beetle. And we got the heck out of there.
Meanwhile, it’s like April in a beach town in Florida.
95% and 100% humidity every day. And by the time everyone leaves for lunchtime, the ketchup had not only hardened but had oozed all over the hood of her car.
As I’m walking out, she is surrounded by campus security and they are asking her if she knew anyone who’d do this, and if she knows that she had parked in the wrong lot. (Revenge I thought had been great.)
Anyway, I learned later, another junior had gotten detention because of it, and when she tried to clean the ketchup, and the acidic hot tomato paste had stained the car and it was there until I graduated.
I never told anybody outside my little parking group.”
15. Think You're Cool With Your Engine Revving? Won't Be Able To Do That When Your Car Is An Ice Cube
“Back in the ′90s, a new neighbor moved in to the house just down the block.
He was a single guy in his early 40s, seemed to be one of those guys who worked with his hands and kept mainly to himself. But… it wasn’t very long before we (as in the ENTIRE block) found out that he was a jerk.
He had a beautiful vintage ‘69 Ford Mustang GT 500, with (what I found out later) one of the fastest engines ever commercially made.
Well, the neighbor in question definitely thought so as well, especially the over-powered engine. But in a suburb, where can you show off the power of the engine, really?
How about EVERY MORNING AT 5 AM when he went to work.
Every morning, that lunatic would pull out of his driveway, rev up the engine and demonstrate why that car could go 0–60 in 3.3 seconds! That car (and he) would go straight down the length of the block in practically 2 seconds and burst out onto the cross streets until he disappeared in a telltale cloud of smoke and exhaust.
Our neighborhood had become a 5 AM RACE TRACK.
To put it lightly, the entire neighborhood was NOT impressed. The sound of that car engine could be heard from two blocks away. I think practically all of the residents went to him in the period of a week asking him to not drive so recklessly and dangerously and wake up the entire block every weekday (and some weekend) mornings.
He would fake concern, and assure everyone he won’t do it again. And of course, he did it again and again. We complained to the cops, and they gave him a warning several times, but at the time there were no laws on the books in Montréal about sound decibels between 11 PM and 5 AM. Needless to say, we were stuck.
This went on for about two months until winter set in, and several neighbors and I were assembling the local outdoor hockey rink.
As we were filling in the rink, making the ice and so on, we were talking about the jerk when an inspired idea suddenly flashed in our heads.
Looking at the wooden boards that we used to make the ice rink, a devious plan came to mind. We rushed back to my kitchen as soon as we could and started to work on the math. Later, we went door to door to see who we could conscript to help with our evil plans.
(By the way for all you car enthusiasts and collectors, I have NO idea why this guy was using such a classic car as a daily driver, and why drive it in the winter either.)
A few more weeks we all waited (by this time, the secret neighborhood revenge task force grew to about 30 households) for an ESPECIALLY cold day in Montréal (-20C and below) and waited for the chance to execute our plan… and then the forecast came of one especially cold night and day.
The time had come.
Seeing as the neighbor always went to work at 5 AM, he almost always went to bed around 9 PM. Assuming that he would take about an hour to get ready for work, that gave us a window of around midnight to 3 AM for our plan. And like clockwork, at the stroke of midnight, 30 people came out, with small shovels, wood brackets (the ones we use to make local rinks), buckets and several hoses from the houses surrounding the target house.
We all worked efficiently and effectively seeing as we never did anything like this before.
Brackets went up. Snow got piled in. Water poured in.
Did I forget to mention again that it was -24C that night?
By 3 AM, we were all done. Our act of vengeance was complete and had a few more hours still to harden and solidify. And yes, you’ve probably guessed what we did… and at 5 AM, we heard a very loud man ranting and raving, wanting revenge on whomever that did this, screaming that he was going to do horrible things to the people that did THIS to his beloved car.
Yes, we turned his car into A HUGE ICE CUBE.
Needless to say, when life resumed on the street around 7 to 8 AM as people were going to work, we were greeted by a pretty angry guy hammering at iron-strong ice walls surrounding his car. He wouldn’t even look at anyone as people passed by, and only kept muttering to himself something pretty nasty.
It was about three days before he managed to get his car completely free, and that involved a LOT of hot water, hours of labor and god knows what else he had to do.
Add on that he had to get back to work each day, the mornings were peaceful as there wasn’t a roar or sound of anything.
The cops came and asked for statements from everyone in the area to find out who could have done something so terrible, but no one pointed at anyone, and everyone reiterated that neighbor had been a jerk from day two. He even went door to door, absolutely furious, and demanded that someone tell him who did this.
I think someone must have called the cops on him because he was threatening too many people. Needless to say, his complaints fell on deaf ears, and even the cops, who I think figured out that this was a group event, brushed his rantings away and threatened him with arrest, and told him to calm down or else.
Overall, a pretty satisfying conclusion.
Well, there was a slight miscalculation though… the hot water (then cold) had to drain somewhere and went down the street turning half the block into an ice rink for a while.
Still, aside from a few bags of sand and ice, plus the help of the city and ANOTHER warning from the cops about how he was endangering the street, it was still a successful operation with only a minor inconvenience.
For the next few months, the mornings were quite peaceful. No more 5 AM revving or barreling out of the neighborhood like a bat out of heck.
And in the spring, a For Sale sign popped up on his lawn. By the summer, we greeted a brand new family to the neighborhood, and life went on in a sleepy (no longer sleep-deprived) suburban neighborhood in Canada.”
14. Mess With A Man's Kids? Let Me Play Around With Your Electrical
“So, I’ve got an acquaintance (Richard) who has always been of the “I know better than you” school of thought.
What makes it worse is that he literally received his Ph.D. in physics from one of my country’s top universities about 6 months ago, so he’s not a dummy. The problem is that he thinks that because he’s a physics genius, that means he knows better than everyone about everything.
Just an example, my kids are in Montessori schools. This is a decision my wife and I reached together, and we’re very happy with it. When he heard, he went on a 30-minute rant/lecture about how we’re throwing our moolah away and Montessori is nonsense.
When I told him that I had read and even professionally translated studies proving the opposite, and gave him some real-world examples (Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg, Sergey Brin, Jeff Bezos, Larry Page, etc.), he still would not admit he might not be 100% correct.
Not the subject of this revenge, but so you understand the person we’re dealing with.
Another thing that’s important to note is that Richard does NOT have Asperger’s or anything similar. We joke about this all the time, and he’s been tested from here until next week.
He’s just a really smart, socially oblivious, pain in the butt.
Given all of the above, I try to limit my time with him, but unfortunately, that isn’t always possible, and last week we were both at the same group barbecue for a friend (Jack) who was visiting back home from overseas.
I’ve known Jack since grade school, so we brought our families and made it more than just a “Long time, no see” type of thing.
At some point later on in the afternoon, my eldest (Awesome, <10 y/o) came to me really sad and said she wanted to go home. When I asked her why, she said that Richard had just spent 15 minutes telling her that she shouldn’t eat hotdogs because they’re unhealthy, and he explained what went into hotdogs and what they’re made out of.
Awesome is not a vegetarian, knows that the beef and chicken she eats used to be live animals, and has never professed interest in vegetarianism.
At the same time, when a kid is eating a hotdog, they don’t care or want to know what’s inside.
We spoke a bit, I calmed her down and I told her to ignore Richard and go play with her siblings and her friends.
Being a kid, she was thankfully easily distracted by something else and moved on. I didn’t want to make a fuss with Jack or with Richard, so I just let it be. This turned out to be a mistake.
About 30 minutes later, I heard Awesome scream and begin crying. I ran over to her, Richard had come up to her and knocked her hotdog out of her hand, saying she shouldn’t eat that garbage.
I handed Awesome over to my wife for damage control, and I took Richard aside and told him that A) You don’t ever talk to a man’s kids without permission, B) You don’t ever teach a man’s kids without permission, and C), You sure as crap don’t EVER touch a man’s kids without permission.
He doesn’t have kids, so I still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.
This turned out to be a mistake. Instead of doing the mature thing and moving on, he decided to double down on the hotdog issue.
This was the hill he was going to die on, my kids shouldn’t be eating hotdogs. Keeping Jack in mind, I disengaged and told him to stay the heck away from my family. For the rest of the BBQ, I kept my eye on him, and he didn’t come near them.
Jack enjoyed, we all ate some good meat, end of the story as far as I’m concerned. This turned out to be a mistake.
A few days later, we received a visit from a Child Protection Officer who claimed that we were neglecting our kids, specifically Awesome. She came in and saw that while the house could have been cleaner (what house with kids is spotless?), everything was fine.
She sat with Awesome for a few minutes and asked her some questions, said everything was fine, and left.
The first thing I did was call a friend of mine who is a lawyer, just to be on the safe side. He said it looked to him like we were in the clear, but we should keep in touch with him just in case. Next, I began working the grapevine.
It turned out that Richard had been offended by how I treated him after the hotdog incident, so he filed a false anonymous report.
Being Richard, and never thinking he could ever be wrong, he was even talking about it as if people should be proud of him for what he did.
I had to make sure, though, so the last thing I did before dropping the hammer on him was confronting him personally.
I set my phone to record and went to his house. He doubled down yet again, saying we were torturing Awesome, he’s the one who called Protective Services on us, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. This turned out to be a mistake.
I’m not the violent type, but I swear I wanted to break the son of a witch in half.
I told him that if he came near myself or anyone in my family again, I’d have a restraining order put out on him, and I’d make sure every single one of our shared acquaintances knew why.
I listened to the recording in my car, and his admission that he filed a false report came out clear as day. I immediately forwarded it to my lawyer, who said he’ll get the ball rolling with some friends of his with the Public Prosecutor to see if we could get Richard in trouble, using his admission.
Still waiting on that, the wheels of justice turn slowly sometimes.
Then, I enacted my actual revenge. See, after he got his Ph.D., Richard bragged about the new flat he’d be moving into as soon as he sold his current flat. To that end, he renovated most of his current flat, including putting in lots of new (and expensive) features that required lots of electrical work. He did the same with his new flat. He did most of the electrical work himself, which is a big no-no unless you’re licensed.
I called in an inspector on both of his flats, who asked to see the certification on who did the electrical work. Obviously, there was no certification. It wouldn’t surprise me if, Richard being Richard, he began arguing with the inspector that his work was good enough and he didn’t need to pay someone else to do it for him.
I haven’t seen or spoken to Richard since, but I’ve heard that he had to bring in a certified electrician to examine every single change he made in both flats.
This meant dismantling EVERYTHING and having it inspected. Turns out the buyers of his old flat weren’t happy with the delay in receiving the keys and were even unhappier when they learned why there was a delay.
They walked away from the deal and are taking him to court. Because his sale fell through, he’s now in the hole paying mortgages on two flats. I don’t know if there was a fine levied against him, but I sure as hope so.
The lesson of the story – you don’t ever mess with a man’s kids.”
“God people, who call CPS for no good reason and just to be buttholes are little craps. My fam had a false CPS report called on them. 10 year old me was terrified I’d be taken away from my family, and it caused a crap ton of stress. We’re pretty sure about who called because the people had it out for my mom, but we never pursued suing emotional damages or anything. I wish we had. Good on you, op, for dealing with this well.” goldonfire
13. I Don't Want Your Ca-Ching, I Want Your Time
“So this happened a while ago, back in college. I was working at a gas station for moolah-under-the-table, as well as doing some side gigs, paying my own way through school. I worked with a dummy irresponsible fellow we’ll call Dave. Dave was also going to school, but on his parents’ dime, so wasn’t a busy, harried, or desperate as yours truly, just working for rent and beer money.
Dave worked the graveyard shift, 12am-8am, I worked the shift before, 4pm-12am.
We didn’t have a time clock or anything, and we just got paid for the shifts we were scheduled for. Well….Dave started coming in late. Just 5 or 10 minutes most nights, but it really annoyed me, because I WASN’T GETTING PAID for that time. He was. Finally, one night when I called his house at 12:10 and his roommate said he was STILL playing video games (he lived about 15 minutes away) I had it.
I laid into him when he finally walked in the door – a full half-hour into his shift. He put on the whole “reasonable guy being confronted by frothy-mouthed unhinged co-worker” routine, eyes wide hands up, etc, and told me to let him know on payday “what he owed” me. I had considered going to the owner of the gas station, but then I had a better idea.
I started keeping track of every minute he was late.
Five minutes here, ten minutes there, sometimes 15 or 20. Weeks went by, and I’m sure he thought he was off the hook. I was being really nice, telling him to take his time getting in. No rush. Then, the week before finals, I walked into the store when he was covering a day shift for someone, pulled the schedule off the wall, and handed it to him.
“Which two shifts do you want to take?” I asked. He looked at me funny, and then realized what I was saying, rolled his eyes, and reached for his wallet.
“No, no, no. Leave your wallet where it is. I don’t want your moolah. I want your TIME.“ I handed him the graph where I had meticulously recorded every minute he had been late. “You owe me 16 hours. Two shifts. Pick them.” “DUDE, it’s the week before FINALS!” he whined. I told him I didn’t get to pick which nights he came in late, so he didn’t get to pick the week he paid me back. Unless he wanted me to hand the graph to our boss? He didn’t. I had plenty of time to study that week.
Aced the finals.”
12. Jack My Stuff? Trying Studying With A Broken Laptop
“Back in my first year of college, I used to live in a residence on campus with 3 other dudes.
Two of them were cool (shout out to Bdawg and Al) but the third named David had a nasty habit of taking things that weren’t his and mysteriously forgetting that the objects had fallen into his possession.
Of the items he had stolen and were subsequently found in his room included food/snacks, notebooks, vapes, and earbuds (albeit cheap ones).
We’d all complained to our RA, but since they were such small items, we were told that we should just have a “house meeting” and talk about it with David to have the problem fixed.
We had two of those, where he claimed: “it all looks so similar, how am I supposed to know which is mine?”. Considering that we all kept our crap in our rooms this was obviously bs but the RA (residence assistant) said unless it was something major, campus police wouldn’t launch an official investigation.
So we instituted a masking tape policy and marked EVERYTHING, but lo and behold he still continued his petty theft.
Knowing nothing would happen unless I took action, I planned my revenge. I shelled out around $80 for a USB device that once plugged into an unsecured USB port, fried the computer by building a charge and dispersing it into the port, pretty much destroying the CPU among other parts.
Now obviously I wasn’t going to plant this anywhere, but I had to make it seem like this was a tool and not some sort of set-up.
So I’d roped Bdawg and Al in on my plan and installed this software called Device Lock, which protects USB ports from being used without express permission from the user on all of our devices (also just in case the butthole tried to plug it into our laptops).
I even went as far as taping my name to this silicon time bomb.
With them roped in, the last thing to do was wait and see if David had learned his lesson.
It took all of 3 days, but expectedly David did not learn his lesson. I was at the library when this happened, but David had decided that this USB would be the perfect addition to his collection of stolen wares, so he went into my room and took it.
Big mistake. I got a Snapchat from Bdawg that David was going postal and I needed to get back asap. I high-tailed it and when I got near our residence, I could physically hear David swearing and yelling from the hallway.
When I got inside, he was cussing/screaming that he was gonna sue me for “purposely trying to damage his laptop” by “booby-trapping a USB.”
Admittedly I should have held my composure better, but I laughed in that mofo’s face.
I told him that the USB was clearly labeled with my name on my desk in my room and I was using it to test whether my computer ports were secured from devices such as this.
Screaming ensued from him, after which our RA showed up (heard that crap fest from down the hall) and asked what the heck was happening. I stayed quiet to let David attempt to lie his way out of this, but holy crap, the dummy kept to his story.
After explaining my side, the RA said we are both going to campus police as this was pretty serious (cue me thinking I just messed up my whole future for a stupid act of revenge).
When we got there and explained our stories, campus police had none of David’s crap. They told him that 1. He cannot sue me since this was not a trap, but a security tool that was within my own living space, of which he had no right entering to steal from, and 2.
He was being relocated to the crappy single residences on the other side of campus, and if they caught wind of this again he was getting banned for life from res as well as receiving a Non-Academic offense (a nice little chat with the Dean about his misconduct).
His tone immediately flipped to crying and saying he had all his exam notes on there, it was stress that was causing him to do this, and he had paid to live in the nicer dormitory-style housing, but they basically told him “tough crap – this is your one and final warning.”
The three of us enjoyed the rest of the semester with an extra bedroom for storage space (AND PONG) which was definitely a win.
As for David, I’ve only ever seen him in the cafeteria/library on occasion, sitting there studying… without his laptop.”
11. Really Hate These Peppers With A Passion? We'll Give Ya A Big Bag Full Of Them, Pal!
No offense, but who could hate pepperoncinis? They’re the best!
“Back in my college days, I worked as your typical friendly neighborhood delivery guy for a popular pizza chain.
I enjoyed it pretty well, the tips were good for the most part and I could work fewer hours and make more than most of my friends.
Now with the job, of course, I deal with quite a lot of different people, but mostly the worst to deal with were the people who didn’t tip or people who would try to take advantage of “the system.” (You know the type, eat half their pizza, only to miraculously realize that the order was not up to their “standards” and demand a refund) -nothing that bad or that hard to deal with.
Now a little back story.
At this particular pizza chain it is standard practice to include pepperoncini (yellow-green pickled hot pepper) in the box with your freshly baked pizza.
So about 30 minutes before the end of my shift, I get routed on a delivery to a decent neighborhood. I’m familiar with the area so it doesn’t take me long to find the house. The order was simple: two large pepperoni pies.
I walk up to the house and knock on the door.
I am greeted by the customer Mr. Ignoramus in a rather tepid manner. He takes the first pizza from me, opens it, and just sits there and stares.
I can visibly see his face darken to a shade of crimson as an expression of what can only be described as epileptic rage crosses his face.
“I TELL THEM, PEOPLE, EVERY TIME I ORDER MY PIZZA I DON’T WANT THE DAMN PEPPER!”
I give him a blank stare.
“I HATE THE PEPPER! HOW HARD IS IT TO REALIZE THAT? I DONT WANT IT, HERE..(He the proceeds to take the pepperoncini out of the box and places it in my hand)-I DONT WANT THIS FREAKING CRAP – YOU TAKE IT BACK.”
He snatches the second box and take the second pepper out and throws it at me, then slams the door.
-I’m in pure shock and disbelief, wondering what in the DSM-5 I just witnessed.
I get back in my car and head back to the store. I hand my tips and receipts to my manager for counting, and I head to the back to do dishes.
This is where it gets good!
While back there I grab one of the plastic bags we use to carry 2 liters of soda when someone orders them and take advantage of my distracted manager. I quickly fill the bag to the BRIM with pepperoncini and place it outside via the back door.
Once I finish the dishes and collect my tips, I go outside, retrieve my bag of peppery goodness, and get into my car.
It’s about 10:00 PM at this point.
Under the cover of nightfall, I return to Mr. Ignaramus’s house, and quickly run out, and proceed to scatter hundreds of pepperoncini all over his front porch, sidewalk, and lawn. It was a moment I had never been more absolutely certain of in my entire life! I run back to the car and drive home.
I would have paid good to see this clown’s reaction. Unfortunately, I had a drill weekend that weekend for the national guard.
When I returned, my manager could hardly contain his laughter. On his desk were plastic sandwich bags of the peppers and a note with the total count (yes this goober had nothing better to do than pick up all of the peppers and count them).
He asked me if I knew where they came from.
”No idea.” He gave me a grin of knowing better, laughed to himself and said, “I’m sorry to do this but I’m gonna have to let you go at the end of the week.”
”I completely understand.”
He thought it was hilarious, as did my co-workers. I regret absolutely nothing, and to this day when I order pizza from that chain, and I tell people I am the “pepper guy” they recognize me with much laughter and excitement. I apparently became somewhat of a legend.”
10. Try To Weasel Out Of Paying Right? I'll Find You A Decade Later
“My MIL is a pretty well-off woman. She owns a large number of rental properties and her and her husband have a huge house located just outside NYC. Its got an indoor pool, sauna, elevators etc., and is worth well into the 7 figures being only five minutes from downtown Manhattan. Sadly her husband passed away and she remarried and moved out of state. She put the house up for rent shortly after.
A broker approached her with two prospective tenants.
The tenants were music producers and had some legit acts they worked with. One of them was the “business” guy and the other was the “talent.” The “talent” I’ll call Ben. The two were partners in the beginning and the business guy made sure the rent was paid on time. He was legit and did not screw around. They used the house as a place for artists to chill out and work on their music.
After a couple of years, biz guy and Ben had some sort of falling out and biz guy left and Ben stuck around.
At first, he continued to pay the rent on time but after a few months, it kept getting later and later. By itself, not the worst thing. Owning real estate,uit comes with the territory. But he started getting aggressive/racist as MIL kept insisting that she needed to be paid. MIL is not a mean person and values politeness and manners above all else.
Finally, MIL had enough and had him evicted.
After the eviction, they went through the house and assessed over $100k in damage. Cigg burns in the carpet, stains on the wall, pool filters and plumbing damage etc. She took him to court, won, and had a lien placed against all his property. Ben was dead broke at this point aside from his home and she just didn’t see the point in trying to get blood from a stone so she just moved on.
Fast forward about fifteen years…
MIL receives a notice in the mail that the bank is foreclosing on Bens’s home.
Because she had a lien placed on all his assets, the bank was asking a judge to dismiss her lien so that they could collect what they were owed from the sale of the home. MIL was obviously going to contest this. But then she got clever.
She approached the bank and basically said, “look, sell me the house at fair market value less what I’m owed and you’ll save on foreclosure costs, brokers, lawyers etc.
I have dough on hand and it’s a win-win for everyone.” Bank agreed and she purchased the house for almost 25% below market value. Mind you that 25% was moolah she was owed anyway, but still, she didn’t think she would ever see it again.
Of course, given all of Ben’s jerk behavior, she wasn’t going to just take the house without having him who was going to take it. So she found out the day they were moving out and “stopped by.” Ben had a bit of difficulty placing her (it had been over a decade since they last spoke), but once he realized who she was he basically cussed her out. She never said a word, just smiled.
She has since rented out his home to a lovely family with no issues.”
9. Entitled Brats Would Refuse To Get Out Of The Road, But An Airhorn Seemed To Help
“I’m an 8th grader at a not-so-great middle school. Most of the kids at my middle school curse at their teachers, talk about crass stuff, and skip class.
After school, I usually walk to a daycare close by to meet my mom. After she picks me up, we drive down this side street on the side of the daycare.
Every day when we drive down the side street, there are always a bunch of kids walking in the middle of the street.
Cars would almost hit them, but they didn’t care. Whenever a car honked at them or yelled at them to get out of the road, the kids would just flick the driver off and yell profanities at them. It was always the same group of kids that did this.
My mom asked them why they were being so stupid one day after seeing them walking/biking in the road multiple times, and they just called her a Karen and told her to go scrooge herself.
It didn’t bother my mom. It just showed the amount of disrespect those kids had towards adults. They’d almost been hit by cars dozens of times, and they treated it like a joke.
The last straw was when my mom had to slam on her breaks because a kid rode right in front of her on his bike. He didn’t even apologize. He just laughed at her and continued talking with his friends.
He also threatened to slap my glasses off my face.
That’s when my mom and I hatched a plan. We ordered an airhorn off Amazon, and once it came, we decided to teach the punks a lesson.
The air horn came, and my day at school went by really slow. I couldn’t wait to scare the crap out of those brats!
Finally, the day ended. I walked to the daycare, and we waited until the kids walked all the way down the side street.
I held the air horn in my hand as my mom drove towards the kids. We slowed down when we were only a few feet away from their precious ears.
I rolled my window down and the ear-piercing horn blasted through the street. You could tell that it scared them. They were so angry. Instead of laughing like they usually did, they just yelled at us. I responded back by laughing out the window.
A lesson hopefully well taught. Hopefully, I’ll never have to use Mr. Horn again, but I’ll be ready if the time ever comes.”
8. Try To Take As Much As You Can During The Divorce? I'll Pay Off Your Attorney
“My wife of seven years had me served with divorce papers at my office. She’d been in a downward spiral and was out of control. Not only had she been sleeping around with a list of people, but she’d been spending moolah at an alarming rate, forged my name on bank loan documents, and set up house with one man she’d been seeing. She decided that she was going to come after the 50% interest I had in my family’s company.
I’d been given 33% prior to marriage and inherited another 17% when my mother died.
She’d racked up tens of thousands of dollars in debt, much of which I had no idea about, and as a final act, rented a U-Haul in my name to use to move out of our house and then failed to return it on time… nice…
She hired an attorney known in Dallas for doing high-profile divorces and I had to hire a better one in kind.
This was 20+ years ago, and his rate was $350 an hour. His legal assistant was over $200 an hour, so I hired a personal secretary for 1.5 years and she assisted him and me (and his legal assistant) in creating boxes of documentation to refute all her crazy assertions.
When I was served with papers, I was smart enough not to open them, and called an attorney friend.
She suggested that prior to opening the papers that I move all the coin left in our joint accounts and shut down all the credit cards.
I did this immediately, and THEN opened the papers which included a restraining order that then told me that, as of reading the documents, I could not make any changes in finances, including my salary. I had multiple witnesses to attest to what time I opened the envelope.
We went to mediation and I won on all fronts, as her accusations were INSANE and refutable. Thankfully, the only real asset that we had was my interest in the family business, as I was able to prove that our home had all kinds of structural issues and was not worth what she claimed. As the family business was property prior to marriage and the rest I inherited, her claim was denied.
After everything was said and done, I owed her around $45,000 (I can’t recall the exact amount, but it wasn’t any more than this), as I’d paid off my 50% on all shared credit cards, bought her 6 months of car insurance and packed up what crap she’d not been able to take the day she moved and rented a storage unit and paid 90 days of rent on it, and then sent her a certified letter as to where it was.
We were to meet at her attorney’s office a few days after the mediation; she failed to show up on time, which was normal for her as she had an “everyone can wait for me” attitude… Her attorney was beside himself… and was LIVID. Here we are in this very upscale law firm, and she’s gotten around $45,000 in the mediation… She told them there was HUGE moolah involved, and they were set to get a percentage.
An hour into the wait, he blurted out, “I hate this WITCH”… which caused me to smile, but I had to remind him that, while I totally understood and agreed, he was representing her… His response was to inform me how much she owed his firm and that they feared that she was going to scrooge them out of their fee.
HERE’S THE GOOD PART…
I looked at him and asked him if he’d like me to make the check out for the amount I owed her to his firm, so I could leave.
He asked, “Would you do that?” at which point I’m stupefied… I told him flat out that anything I could do to get him 100% paid and stop her from getting a dime was fine by me.
He accepted. I wrote the check, he disappeared and came back with a check for the balance. She called him telling him she was on her way, so I waited.
I was able to be there when she arrived, told her that I’d made a check out to her attorney, and that I was leaving.
I had enough time to get to my car and make it to the front of the building to see her standing on the sidewalk bawling her eyes out.
In 20 years, her life doesn’t appear to have been all that prosperous, but she’s still married to the guy she was seeing.
He turned out to be a major underachiever and has gotten in trouble with the IRS for attempting to refuse to pay taxes.
My life on the other hand came out GREAT! Remarried, successful beyond my wildest dreams, parlayed the family business into a much bigger business opportunity and doing very well.
She would have come out so much better off if she’d not forced me to spend over $100,000 in legal fees… oh well… as they say, “Pigs get fat, hogs go to slaughter…””
Another User Comments:
“How are these people capable of being so messed up? You sound like a reasonable guy, and she is in blotto-land.
I am glad it worked out for you. She is probably still watching soap operas and has no idea she is one of the kookier characters in them. She must be into the couch loafer and makes him sandwiches of baloney on white bread, no mayo, and her mind revolves around when some stupid TV show comes on. She is just stupid! Some people are!
Funny about the IRS.
The people who fear them the most usually are hiding assets. They belong together! When I was married to an IRS scammer (an X), I watched Wheel of Fortune to keep sane. Once I found 48K in one of his jackets and was blown away. It was so obvious he was hiding coin. I could have taken it, BUT I just didn’t feel “right” about it. They eventually caught up with him, and he is on a payment plan, or they take it out of his over-the-counter job. She probably pays his back debt too. I am so glad you got rid of your Lulu.
Aren’t people funny?” Stephanie Levine
7. Cut Down Our Beloved Tree? We'll Destroy Your Driveway
“Our house is old. It is really old. It’s older than the town; it’s older than Confederation. The house was originally built by a merchant from the area like 200 years ago. It’s old. With its age comes a very big property line, and apart from a couple adjustments here and there to account for infrastructure and housing development, it’s basically unchanged from a hundred years ago.
It rarely ever comes up here, but in any dispute relating to property lines, the official town plan takes precedent; and our property line crosses over into our neighbors’ property.
This will be important later.
And now for the two major players in this tale: Our butthole neighbor, who we will call… Lumpy. He’s just the worst; he ran an illegal chop-shop in his backyard and seemed to be extremely afraid of trees.
He also always took a two-week long vacation in summer, and it was always at the end of July – this part is also important later. The other one is my dad. At the time he was in Government Oversight, but before that, he was in the Department of Justice, and his major responsibilities included training Crown attorneys.
This included the Attorneys’s General. In the pecking order, Dad was actually pretty low, but the Crown knew and respected him, and they were keenly aware that Dad knew the law inside and out; if there was anything even remotely resembling a legal dispute, Dad was almost always in the right with his argument.
Now we begin our tale:
The Slight: The line between our yard and Lumpy’s was pretty clear: our side was grass, protestant lilies, shrubs, and trees; his was a gravel driveway.
Before the incident, there was a large Manitoba maple tree growing there. It was very old, but grew in such a way that it blocked just enough sunlight to have a pleasant level of light going through the window.
We had no intentions of ever removing it – maybe trim it a little if it got too close to the windows.
However – some lower branches were sagging onto Lumpy’s driveway, so he asked if he could cut down some of the lower branches so that his car wouldn’t get damaged when he drove in and out.
It was a fair enough request, and he did ask permission first, so we told him to get a landscaper and a quote because we sure as heck weren’t going to let Lumpy do it, and we’re okay paying for that.
A couple of days later we were all on a day trip somewhere, and when we got back, Lumpy comes over and tells us not to worry about the landscaper because he “took care of it.” Red flags were waving at that statement.
So we went and checked the tree – the jerk took the entire tree down. Then, to add insult to injury, he painted the stump with some sort of weird grey stuff.
Don’t know what it was, but it had to have been toxic as heck because nothing ever grew on that stump again – not even fungi.
So we’re understandably livid, but unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about it because there’s no proof. So now we’ve got a stump that was once a beautiful tree, a smug neighbor, and seemingly no course of action to take.
Dad didn’t accept that scenario, and he had a plan.
The Plan: As I said earlier, Dad knew the law inside and out – so he began to plan things out. He made a few phone calls to the town’s civil architect, a couple of inspectors, the local landscaper Lumpy was going to get that quote from, and a contractor. He visited city hall and got a copy of the official town plan – which, remember, is the final word on property lines.
He had everything arranged, and now he began to wait.
The Revenge: Like clockwork, Lumpy went on vacation, and the plan was enacted. Over the course of two weeks, we expanded. We rebuilt our fence to new dimensions; re-arranged the shrubs; dug up the gravel driveway and put fresh dirt and grass over it; and planted a weeping willow in a spot where, as it grew, would always hang, and shed, into Lumpy’s yard.
With the expanded fence and shrubbery, Lumpy’s driveway was a small strip of pavement, maybe half a meter wide, the fence placed an old, dying maple and a hawthorn on our side, but because of how the two trees grew, most of it was on Lumpy’s side.
The key point is that the placement of the trunk dictates whose property it’s on, so it’s our tree that he can’t touch, no matter how annoying or destructive it is.
With the new dimensions, the chop-shop he was running was now on our side of the fence – but because it was illegal, it was just scrap metal as far as the law was concerned. So we sold it to a local scrapyard.
By the time Lumpy came back, our yard had expanded almost three meters into “his” yard, and waiting for him was Dad, the civil architect, and a lawyer with a stack of documents outlining, in full detail, that what they did was 100% legal, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
Aftermath: Lumpy apparently tried to press charges, something along the lines of trespassing, or destruction of property, or something ridiculous like that. I had moved out of town at the time, so I don’t know for sure what happened, but I like to think the judge just threw the case out. Like I said, everything was above board and completely legal.
What I DO know he did was tear up part of his lawn and put in a new driveway – he still had room for it, but it also cut his lawn in half, and he had to pay to have the sidewalk adjusted into a ramp.
Also because the town was paying attention now, he had to have it done properly, with like, asphalt, and stuff, instead of gravel-like before. He’s also apparently planning to move out and rent the property to others.”
6. Won't Pay Rent Or Move Out? We'll Find A Way To Get Rid Of You
Anything to get rid of this jerk.
“This is a story about what my friend KP did to help his buddy get rid of a roommate who just wouldn’t move out.
What you have to understand is, KP is the sort of guy who will put far more effort into a scam than honest work would ever take. He lives for the flim-flam. In grade school, he had every puke ray and remote control fart box they sold.
We spent our teenage years driving around to fast food restaurants and telling the manager that they got our order wrong in order to weasel some free food, or disconnecting the odometer on his mom’s scooter so we could joyride undetected.
KP’s family was wealthy but that didn’t matter. His car’s plates were always counterfeit, he was the guy who would hook up your cable, he ran a side business replicating “of age” stamps that all the local bars used, he ran a high-schooler speakeasy in his spare bedroom, he forged a dealer’s license to buy his RV wholesale, and to this day every time he walks into a restaurant, he goes right over to the server’s counter and grabs someone else’s chicken fingers and brings them to the table.
Nobody said these stories had to involve ethical people.
He dropped out of college first semester to go to one of those get-rich-quick seminars in Vegas and actually got it rich with one of those legal scams. You know, the bounced-check mini-lein one. So needless to say he doesn’t have to work and has actually spent his time pursuing one grift or another, from diamond cutting to inventing a new kind of lawnmower.
They never go anywhere because his interest dries up quicker than the thousand dollars worth of deceased fish in his saltwater aquarium.
I wouldn’t be surprised if right now he was soaking the labels off of some wine bottles, or selling some counterfeit calamari. He lives for the flim-flam. But he’s also a volunteer firefighter, and that plays a small role.
His buddy, Shlemazel, got into a year-long lease for a one-bedroom apartment.
Shortly after that, he and his chick got pretty serious, and they decided to buy a house. He sublet his apartment to a guy who I’ll call the Guy On Our Couch (GOOCH).
Gooch didn’t have a job and never paid rent. Ever. Shlemazel begged and pleaded and threatened. Nope- Gooch didn’t budge. He didn’t have a job and rarely left the house.
Just smoked all day and played video games.
Shlemazel was living with his girl and trying to apply for loans. Unpaid rent would look bad on his credit. He appealed to the landlord to initiate an eviction, but the landlord said “Your problem- screw you, pay me.” A few months went by and he’s paying this guy’s rent and getting a lot of empty promises and getting nowhere.
So he calls KP.
This is the sort of phone call KP lives for.
He springs into action. The first thing he does is buy one of those pre-made websites that he sets up like a fake exterminator company. He gets them a 1-800 number and routes it to Shlemazel’s phone. Then he goes to Home Depot and buys Tyvek suits, masks, roach traps, and some of those little wand sprayers that exterminators use. He enlists the help of a friend, Mensch.
Then he rents a U-haul.
He grabs a toy he has called a Thermal Imaging Camera, or TIC, that firefighters use to find sources of heat in thick smoke. It looks like a very official piece of equipment.
Then they suit up and knock on Gooch’s door. “Annual Bug Insecticide!” they say.
Gooch comes to the door in a thick haze of smoke, eyes squinty. “Huh?”
“Annual bug insecticide!” they say.
“Have you lived here a year?” (They knew he hadn’t).
“Yep, every year we gotta spray your place. Here’s our card, you can call the office if you want.”
It helped a little that, being a filthy stoner, Gooch did have a roach problem. So he lets them in and they start spraying the corners and scanning the walls with the TIC. “Yep, you can see their tracks everywhere.
You got roaches in here.”
At this point, Mensch is taking long strips of roach traps and ripping them off the strip, and frisbeeing them into the corners.
But he’s got gloves on and he’s having trouble tearing them. Gooch is getting suspicious- these guys are exterminators and this guy can’t tear a roach trap off of a strip? In a stroke of genius, Mensch exclaims,
“Ahh, I hate when they give me the blue ones!” and throws the strip down.
They convince Gooch that he must vacate the apartment for 24 hours. Go stay with a friend. Oh, you have a cat? Well, the cat can’t stay. You gotta take it.
So as soon as the coast is clear the operation begins. They back the u-haul up to the door, and flag down a passing big guy.
“Hey, you wanna make fifty bucks helping us move?” Then they proceed to move all of Gooch’s stuff into the u-haul.
A guy like that, what does he have? Some dirty sheets on a futon mattress, a TV, a slab of canned beans and ramen packs. A litterbox that hasn’t been changed since the Nixon administration.
When that’s done, Shlemazel, who has been manning the phones, sweeps in with a digital camera and takes pictures of the empty apartment. He’s scheduled an appointment with a locksmith, who arrives and changes the locks.
They all head to a storage facility with the u-haul and unload Gooch’s stuff into a locker. Shlemazel takes a picture of that, too. Schlemazel goes to Kinko’s and prints out the digital pictures of the empty apartment and the full storage unit along with a sign.
Gooch returns to the apartment the next day to find a sign on the door that says, “Your stuff has all been moved into storage.
Meet me at the storage unit at this place and time with your back rent to get your stuff back.” On the door is a picture of the empty apartment, and a full locker. His keys don’t work.
At the meeting time, Gooch shows up with the cops. He’s called and told them that someone has stolen all of his stuff and is extorting him.
KP explains the real situation to the police and says that they may be interested in certain items among Gooch’s stuff that resemble heavily used paraphernalia.
The cops, realizing exactly what has gone down, shake their heads. They know they can’t prove that the contraband is Gooch’s. They say KP can’t extort the back rent this way. Then they issue Gooch a summons for filing a false police report.
Shlemazel never got his back rent, but he did get his sublettor out.”
5. Looks Like You're Going To Have To Move Back In With Mommy And Daddy
Since you want to act like an immature child, you can go back home to your parents and start being one.
“Had a roommate years ago that was OK at first, then turned into the biggest leech/slacker after almost 2 years living together.
Didn’t clean up, wouldn’t take out trash or do dishes, ate all the food and wouldn’t buy more groceries or pay half the bill when I bought more, the usual bullcrap.
I endured the lease for another few months before I found out he was stealing from me – moolah, personal items, and later I found out he was taking my backup DVDs and copying data to his PC. So I made a plan to get moved out – found a nice one-bedroom place closer to work, got in touch with family/friends to help, and waited until he went out of town with his family for a week to get moved.
Fun fact: All the furniture was mine, either bought by me or given as gifts by family. Couches, coffee/end tables, dining room table/chairs, entertainment center…you name it, none was his. When I left I took all that, plus emptied the fridge/pantry out, packed up all the dishes/silverware (also mine), emptied my bedroom except my old mattress with box spring and old sheets, and packed up all the electronics that were mine (TV, Bluray, stereo, blender, griddle, etc.).
Since he’d been stealing from me, I used DBAN to do a full wipe on his desktop and laptop hard drives as the “scrooge you” icing on the cake.
The cable was in my name only since he didn’t want to put his name on, so that got transferred to my new place. I took my name off the utility bill and forwarded my mail, updated all the passwords on my online accounts, and got situated within 3-4 days. Changed my cell number, only gave it to people I wanted to have it, and moved on with my life. I got second-hand info from friends that he ended up having to move back with his parents because he couldn’t afford the place on his own, and couldn’t find a roommate either (nobody including our friends wanted to live with him).”
4. Don't Think He Forgot Your Little Affair Decades Ago
““Best” is a word to be careful with, at least in my experience. And my thinking is mostly forward, although to be sure, there is plenty to remember, and to the question, not all of it is pleasant.
Many years ago, a woman was messing around behind my back. We were two young hicks purportedly in love. Her sophistication came from being members of the local “quality” in our section of Appalachia, the sort of people God blessed with moolah, while my sophistication came from fairly prosperous grandparents whose associations with Appalachia were buying/selling timber and vacation homes.
Their daughter married my father and so became my mother.
My paternal ancestors were farmers. After he got back from WWII dad worked for the B&O Railroad. In sum, our family was not regarded as among the “quality” on our mountain, while my girl was. We planned to be married. Her influential father proposed to get me into law school as an arm’s length legacy at the University of Virginia.
In any event, with no notice to me, the woman who expressed her love for me early and often began an affair with a much older man, a fairly close friend of her father’s.
Strange as it may seem, it made me mad – and it put me off. After a trusted friend brought her deception to my attention, the minute it was clearly true my feelings for her evaporated.
Odd but true.
Because she was hot as a firecracker with a Hollywood body, I managed my feelings, stayed mum, and went along for the benefits.
There came a night her father took us out to dinner (her parents were divorced). Then her father asked nobody in particular if we had made plans (a roundabout way about asking if we had set a date).
She smiled and said something like, ‘We’re still thinking, but it should be around the time Bill graduates.’
Her father turned to me…
I said something very, very close to, “I guess the date will be at some point after she stops messing around with (name of father’s friend).”
The look on her father’s face was even better than the look on her face.
More comedy ensued. It was great. And one upshot was her father stopped paying her college costs and living costs, which resulted in a court case that lasted a while.
Fast forward thirty-five or so years.
At a club, one of my friends said some friends of his were joining us for dinner.
I get to the table and see the same woman from events above, a little more porky than my memory but very recognizable, and her ‘mini me’ man, both of the people who had used family connections to get government jobs that maintained some semblance of respectability while I came and went in the private sector and had prospered.
My friend knew we had a romantic past but did not know much about how we split.
He said something like, “Bill you remember (name), and this is her partner (name). Didn’t you see (name) in college?”
I was laughing inside as I said, “Yes, we did see each other for a couple of years I believe.” She was looking up in a friendly way that seemed to imply what’s done is done and all good men get over it.
And then I asked, “I never did hear if you got the taste of (her father’s friend) out of your mouth? My last memory of you is (father’s friend) bragging in a bar how much you liked hooking up with him.”
As it turned out, we did not dine together that evening.
Sometimes it seems like there might be a God. That was one of those times.”
3. Tour Manager Thinks He Knows So Much More Than His Technical Staff? Lose Your Job
“So this happened quite a few years ago.
I used to work as a senior technician for a large entertainment venue (around 2,000 standing capacity). Most of the time we would have private events etc, but this particular day a very well-known comedian was booked to do an hour at the venue.
Before the show, I was expected to meet with his tour manager, discuss his needs, set up stuff, etc.
He arrives and immediately sets the tone.
Personally I think they thought they were “too big” to play our venue, but they clearly didn’t know what they got into.
“Dave won’t use any of your crappy mics, he tours with his own sound system.”
“Sure, when is it getting here?”
“I’ve got it with me,” the manager said in the most condescending tone ever. He proceeded to pull out a self-contained speaker system, no bigger than a suitcase.
There was no way it was going to fill the first two rows of tables, never mind the rest of the venue, which would be at capacity that night.
“No problem, I can give you a tie line so you can use our speakers.”
“That’s not acceptable. Dave will only use our speakers and mic.”
To cut a long story short, I spent about 15 minutes arguing with the guy who was belligerent and refused to acknowledge that his crappy system on its own wouldn’t fill the venue, and there was no way I could let them do it without support from us.
I explained he would have full control over the sound, my gear was there just to amplify it, I wouldn’t need to touch the desk.
This still wasn’t good enough for him and he threatened to pull Dave from the show. (This guy was very aggressive and condescending. At a few points, he tried to claim I didn’t know what I was doing, and that I shouldn’t be employed by the company as I was clueless, no matter how much I explained the science, etc.
He tried to scare me into doing what he wanted by threatening to pull the show. There was no need for this, it was him being stubborn and trying to pull power thinking I would back down and let him cause serious complaints for the venue because of his poor tech knowledge.)
He eventually backed down when I told him fine, I’d call the venue manager and explain the situation.
This way, I’d get a night off and he wouldn’t get paid. I’d much rather that than hundreds of complaints and refunds. He backed down and we set up for the show. But he was still a jerk and the act was no better. They clearly thought they were better than us and it showed. The act even walked around backstage in his boxers into different people’s dressing rooms without knocking etc.
Between them they both managed to annoy everyone.
I had enough.
The tour manager had set up a little sound desk at the side of the stage for him to use for “Dave’s” microphone.
He was standing there throughout the show “mixing his mic.” Where he put himself meant he couldn’t hear how it sounded but could be seen by everyone. My lighting OP and I were at the back of the room a few hundred feet away and hatched our plan.
The first few minutes of the show were fine until the tour manager moved away from his desk to listen.
As he walked away for some strange reason Dave’s mic would get feedback. He would run back to the desk, try to correct it, but it would solve itself. A couple of minutes later he would walk away and it would start to get that horrible feedback again.
Nothing that the audience would notice too much, but Dave and his tour manager certainly did.
The tour manager was puzzled. He couldn’t understand why this was happening and Dave was getting more and more irate, glaring at his manager throughout the act.
What they didn’t know was that I was watching the manager, and every time he stepped away I turned up the high frequencies on my desk causing the feedback.
As he got to the desk I would correct it and get rid of the feedback myself.
Rinse and repeat.
He got so annoyed he came to the back of the venue, barged into our control box and looked at my desk, which of course was set naturally as we had discussed.
“Have you touched your desk?”
“No mate… actually I did once. Seemed like you were struggling with feedback so I took a bit of the top out.”
He walked away sheepishly back to his desk, about halfway there the mic started feeding back again, this time quite aggressively.
He had to run the last 50 foot or so which only drew more attention to him, especially from Dave the comedian.
On his way out the venue, I heard the tour manager being chewed out by Dave, about how incompetent he was.
A few years later I meet Dave at another venue I’m working at. Turns out he’s a decent enough guy. Didn’t mention the revenge I did on the tour manager but told him about the gig. Turns out it was one of the last times he used that manager, one of the reasons being how bad that gig was…”
2. Roughhousing On The Playground
“When I was in elementary school our playground had an old set of monkey bars that were away from the newer jungle gyms.
Not many people cared for it because it was just four log posts with metal rods. I loved it though and spent many recesses before sitting on top of it with my best friend.
One day I was at the monkey bars as usual.
A few other kids were there as well, one of them was a girl I considered my friend.
She was with another boy who decided it would be funny to push people. People asked them to stop and they would just laugh and do it again. I was mad that my friend was pushing me even when I asked her to stop. I wasn’t physically hurt, but my feelings were.
Growing up I wasn’t usually confrontational with others. Half of me was upset, but the other half just wanted to fit in and thought if that’s how they want to play, then I’ll do it too.
I went up behind the boy and pushed him. He fell but was okay. Instead of laughing, he was angry at me. That’s when it changed from trying to fit into getting my “revenge.” It wasn’t fair that they could push others but didn’t like to be pushed themselves. I was going to stick up for myself and show them both what it felt like.
Next was the girl.
That’s where things went horribly wrong. I pushed her just like I did the boy. She fell a lot harder than I thought she would, but unlike the boy she didn’t get up.
She cried and cried but wouldn’t get up. What happened next is a blur. Teachers ran over and surrounded her. We were told to stay back.
Another teacher took my class to her room. She tried to distract us by reading a story but that didn’t cover up the sounds of the ambulance.
I could hear the kids whispering, trying to find out what happened. I felt like everybody was talking about me. I wanted to tell them it was an accident. I mean for things to happen this way. Instead, I just sat there quietly, full of guilt, wondering what was going to happen next.
When I went home that day my mother asked me how school was. That’s the first time I ever lied to her.
To this day I don’t know if the school ever called her to let her know what happened.
Later that week we made “get well soon” cards.
It was February and I had special heart-shaped confetti that I glued onto mine. When someone asked if they could use them too I told them no. Mine had to be extra special. She has to know that I’m sorry and didn’t mean it.
What felt like an eternity later, she finally returned to school.
Everybody wanted to talk to her to find out what happened. She told them how she broke her neck and spend time in the hospital. When I couldn’t avoid her anymore she told me that I was going to pay for what happened and her parents were going to sue me.
So screw that. Screw nobody else intervening when she was pushing other kids.
Screw sitting in a room wondering if she was going to be okay.
Screw me feeling like I had to lie to my mother about school that day. Screw using my favorite heart confetti for her get-well card. Kids can be mean and accidents happen.
The monkey bars are now long gone and now that girl and I talk about which kind of apple juice we give our own kids. The incident hasn’t been brought up since elementary school and we have grown up and moved on. She didn’t deserve to have her neck broken and I didn’t deserve live in guilt over an accident.”
1. Be Dishonest Behind Your Partner's Back? Here's Your New Life
“My girl of 5 years at the time and I were going through a rough patch.
I had just entered my final year of medical school and was eternally busy. Even though we lived together, we never really spent time together anymore. Prior to that, we spent practically all of our free time together; nearly all of our friends had moved off to separate colleges, and we didn’t have time to visit them.
Because of the sudden lack of free time, she got very lonely and joined IMVU and Second Life and other similar things.
She would tell me all about the conversations she had with these people, and at the time I was happy because it meant I could spend more time on my studies and I wouldn’t feel bad about being unable to spend time doing things with her.
One day she told me she got into roleplaying. At first, I was a little weirded out, but she assured me that it was entirely innocent and platonic, she even invited me to watch. I could tell she was really excited and having a good time, so I pushed aside my feelings because I still felt like I was wronging her.
One day, she told me about this guy she met online.
He was funny and smart and I would like talking to him etc. She and he became best friends very fast. She found out he lived pretty close, about 30 min away.
They exchanged phone numbers and they would text all the time. I didn’t think too much of it, because she had my very deepest trust, and honestly I didn’t have time to think anything about it.
I have ADD so keeping a focus on my schoolwork even with medication is still hard as heck.
This went on for a few months. Eventually, she started changing, although it was so slow I didn’t notice. She stopped telling me about what went on online, she was never more than an arm’s reach from her phone, and she changed her passwords on all of her devices.
I was so afraid of losing her, I didn’t push anything or ask about why she was changing. I figured it was all my fault because I was unable to spend time with her. This continued until it was practically the norm. We’d wake up, eat breakfast, I’d go off to class and she’d go off to work, we’d come home, I’d study and she would text him and chat online, we’d eat dinner, usually in front of our laptops while I was studying, and we’d go to sleep.
One day though, I decided I needed to change for her benefit. I talked with my doctor and got my prescription changed.
I was able to focus much better and as such, we were actually able to do things again! She was ecstatic, and our relationship improved 5 fold. The major downside was that my desire was practically annihilated, but she assured me that wasn’t a problem.
Everything was going great until the revelation.
One day, while studying, my laptop crapped out on me. I asked if I could use hers, and although she was hesitant, she let me use her laptop, although she never gave me the password. Even though this was normal at this point, I could still tell something was off.
Despite this, I was too focused on my work to care.
Right as I was finishing up, a Skype message comes up. It was her friend from online, the one she constantly texted. I realized at that moment that I never heard about what happened between them anymore; in fact, I’d completely forgotten about him. I opened up the chat window and started scrolling up. What I saw freaking floored me. Before she came back, quickly installed a RAT and I downloaded main.db (the Skype chat logs) and gave her laptop back like nothing happened.
She didn’t notice a thing.
Later on, I opened her chat logs, and to this day I wish I hadn’t.
I wish I just broke up with her then, but my curiosity got the better of me.
For months they had been sending explicit messages to each other. They’d webcammed for hours and the messages I saw… she said things to him she’d never said to me. She called him her master.
There were dozens of pictures sent. When he got mad at her she begged for his forgiveness. I discovered she had started paying for his internet and phone bills because she couldn’t stand to be without talking to him.
And it wasn’t just hot messages. They also sent truly heartfelt messages to one another.
Love was tossed about frequently. She said the only reason she hadn’t left me is that I gave her whatever she wanted.
What I felt at that moment is still the worst I had ever experienced.
I was instantly nauseated, my vision narrowed, my heart started pounding, and my blood ran cold. Anyone who has been in this situation knows the feeling. It’s comparable to hearing a loved one has been severely injured or killed.
For about two or three weeks I was in a deep depression. Here she was, sending him all these messages, but she seemed so happy with me! And what’s more, she was the only one I had in my life at the time.
All my other friends had fallen by the wayside in favor of her. I had no idea what I was going to do. One night though, something just snapped. I wasn’t going to stand for this, and she NEEDED to pay for what happened.
I developed a multi-step plan for revenge. I lost something that night, and since then I no longer trust anyone else, nor do I really feel strongly about anything anymore.
Using the data I got from the RAT/keylogger, I accessed her Skype account and started sabotaging their relationship. I would act as her; I acted belligerent, scheduled for webcamming sessions and not show up, told him not to text her phone because I was getting suspicious etc.
Luckily, he was the type to get angry easily. Furthermore, he knew nearly all of her close online friends, oftentimes better than she did.
One day she came to me, tears in her eyes, and told me that all of her friends had, for some reason, started hating her.
She was crying because she was all alone, but I assured her that we still had each other. Now, all of our free time was spent together again. We even started meeting our old friends again. Our relationship grew ever stronger, or so she thought.
I also started lifting weights. Now if any of you have gone to r/fitness, you know that to gain muscle you need to eat.
A lot. Luckily, I did the bulk of the cooking in the kitchen. I started cooking high-calorie meals, and she ate whatever I gave to her. Whereas we both ate around 2K calories a day before, now we ate 3.5K calories per day.
I gained a lot of muscle, where she just gained a lot of fat.
After 9 months, I was in better shape than I’d ever been, and she was in the worst shape of her life. I reassured her that I still loved her for who she was, though, and she seemed content with it. After she had gained around 40 pounds, I bought anti-smoking patches, and I applied them to her in her sleep and took them off before she woke up.
This literally got her addicted to me, as whenever I was away for a few days I would get texts and calls where she seemed like she was on the verge of breaking down.
Because of her weight gain, she found it difficult to do her job. She would always come home dead tired and in pain.
I helpfully suggested to her that she quit her job; after all, I could easily support the both of us on my residency salary.
She took that suggestion, and took it fast; she walked out of her job the very next day. I was actually surprised to hear that she quit, but apparently, she had been wanting to for a while, and she knew that my future doctor’s salary would be more than enough to live on.
Now over a year had passed since I learned she was being unfaithful to me.
At this point, she was out of a job, very overweight, and still friendless. I, although also friendless, was in great shape and was building good relationships at my residency. We had also grown closer than ever before.
She was dropping hints about a ring, and I thought it was the perfect way to finalize my revenge. We went shopping for a wedding ring, and I made sure to get the ring with the 60-day return policy.
I proposed to her later that week. I was able to convince her to sign a prenuptial, making sure that we all got our own stuff and the ring would get returned, by withholding the nicotine patches and putting her through withdrawal, thus weakening her resolve.
Her parents were overjoyed, as they loved me like a son at this point. My own parents were quite happy as well, although I got the sense my dad knew something was going on.
Other than that, nobody suspected a thing.
After a month of being engaged, I “just so happened to come across her old Skype logs.” I confronted her about it and she started breaking down. I instantly broke off the engagement, ignoring her threats of taking her own life. I “regretfully” told her parents about what she had done. At first, they didn’t believe me, until I showed them the logs, and they were horrified.
They apologized for their daughter’s actions, saying she wasn’t brought up this way, and that she would no longer be welcome in their house. Our friends quickly learned on social media, and they universally rejected her. It helped that I acted heartbroken and depressed; although I suppose it wasn’t really acting, just a delayed response.
At this point, she was now homeless, friendless, jobless, without family, in poor physical shape, and addicted to nicotine.
I stopped talking to her, but from what I can tell she got on Social Security to make ends meet. This all happened about 2 years ago. Last I heard, she got arrested for charges.
I am a practicing physician, and have plenty of close friends, although nobody intimate. I don’t think I ever will again, the blow was just too hard on me.
I don’t regret a single thing I did.”
“I hope you bought a white cat and a swivel chair because this is about as textbook villian-y as you can get.” Shinjura