People Share Their Small-Dose Of Revenge Stories

“Back in college, one of my roommates was sort of known to “borrow” things and they somehow never made it back to the owner. Me and my roommate are, and still are, good friends. But one day, he pushed me too far.

I would always let him use my cologne before we would go out because who cares? It’s just cologne. But I had 1 specific cologne that was my favorite, and apparently, his and his partner’s favorite.

So one day, I come home and realize my favorite cologne is gone! And I knew there was one culprit. I called him to ask if he took it and he was honest with me and said yes; he brought it with him while he went to visit his partner’s parents about 3 hours away and PROMISED I would have my cologne back. Well, I had experienced this “promise” enough to know that if I didn’t do anything, he would have “forgotten” the cologne and I would never see (or smell it) again.

So what did I do to make sure? Before I got off the phone with him I said, “Ok, but just to make sure I get it back, I’m taking some of your valuables out of your room and holding them hostage,” to which he was not happy but I was shaking with excitement.

I then proceeded to take just about everything out of his room. I took his laptop, tv, pillows, hats, shoes, Beats headphones, etc.

and took a picture of everything locked in the trunk of my car, so he really got the message that I was serious.

Surprisingly, when he got back he tried to play the, “Dude, I forgot it, but I promise I’ll give it back” routine. Not a chance, buddy. That stuff is staying locked in my car until that cologne is back on my shelf. He claimed he left it at the parents’ house 3 hours away, but somehow within 15 minutes, I had my cologne back.

I knew that would be his trick, but you can’t fool me that easily. And even if it was there, well, I guess he has to hop in the car for 6 hours unless he wants to sleep without pillows or can’t do any homework since I had his laptop. Not my problem!

And just to be even more petty, all I did was unlock my car and he had to put all his stuff back, just so I know he got the message loud and clear.”

He really doesn’t like pink…

“This happened in the early 90s.

I was living in my first apartment and working a crummy fast-food job. One Monday, I realized I forgot to wash any of my uniforms over the weekend with just enough time to get it done before I had to leave for my shift. The laundry room was deserted, and most of the machines were available because my shift started at 1 PM. It was a trashy complex, so ordinarily, I stayed and watched my clothes, but I figured no one would bother to steal KFC uniforms, so I walked to my unit to get a book.

When I got back 5 minutes later, someone had pulled all my wet uniforms out of the washing machine and dumped them on the disgusting floor then put a load of men’s hospital scrubs in instead, stealing my 75 cents and soap. My first impulse was to reverse what the jacka** did and confront him, but there was no guarantee he’d return before I had to leave for work. Instead, I wrung out my soapy laundry and carted it back home while fuming.

I rinsed out a single shirt and pair of pants then headed back to the laundry room to dry them …and brought along a special gift for Hospital D*uche.

I haven’t seen anyone wearing white scrubs in a long time, but this was nearly 30 years ago and that’s what color HD’s were. One of my store’s managers gave the crew dollar store Christmas stockings with candy in them the previous year, and I still had mine in a drawer.

They were incredibly cheaply made and such an incandescently loud red they almost glowed. One of my coworker’s partners cluelessly tossed her stocking into a load of socks, turning the whole lot bright pink. Her joke at the time was that all his socks in the load became her socks because he refused to wear them anymore.

Everyone reading this figured out paragraphs ago exactly what I did with that stocking. A single polyester fast food uniform dries very quickly, so I already had it out and in a garbage bag before the wash cycle hit spin.

I sat reading my book while praying to the sky HD would arrive before I had to leave, which he did shortly after the cycle ended. I pretended to read as he opened the lid and started cursing while removing pink garment after pink garment from the machine.

Halfway through unloading, he got my attention and asked if I’d seen anyone around that machine. I told him I hadn’t but that I’d only been there a few minutes.

I asked him why – was something wrong? He pointed to the Barbie pile and said, “This!” I asked him what was wrong with his wife’s clothes and he said no, they were his. I affected being slightly taken aback and asked why he went with that color, to which he angrily replied that he hadn’t and they were white.

Having a friendly person innocently rubbing his situation in was making him madder by the second, so I told him there might have been something red left in the bottom of the machine by the last user and offered sympathy.

He grunted in reply and returned to pulling scrubs out. A couple of seconds later, he found the now faded and blotchy stocking and completely blew his stack. He yelled, “NOW I KNOW WHAT F*CKING HAPPENED” and launched into a raging tirade about what he was going to do to ‘that f*cking f*cker.’

I expressed dismay at it being deliberate sabotage and left him furiously throwing scrubs into a dryer while I walked out shaking my head that someone could do something so low.

The complex had a laundry room for each cluster of buildings and my place was equidistant from two of them. I switched rooms and never saw the guy again, which is a shame because I’d have killed to see him walking or driving around in one of his beautiful new outfits.

Years later, someone told me he screwed himself by drying the scrubs immediately instead of rewashing them in cold water because a rewash would have faded them to a more gender-neutral salmon color. I don’t know if that’s true, but I hope it is and that his partner called him an idiot later for unnecessarily locking the Barbie in.”

“So this happened during my third year of my undergraduate. I went to a small but respected out of province university. By small, I mean the campus only had a couple of buildings, not including the dorms, but one thing we did have was a Tim Horton’s in one of the main buildings in a common area (because, Canada). It was always crowded in the morning and right at 12 because everyone wanted to get some coffee and a breakfast sandwich before class, so most of us learned to just wait until the next class period began to grab something.

At the end of the day, nearing 6:00 when they closed, however, was a different story. By then, no one wanted breakfast food, so there was rarely a line, though the selection had been significantly reduced by then. Whatever they had on hand, that was what you could order. No fresh bagels or donuts were going in the oven. This was fine by me. I had a class that got out at 5:30 and the next bus wouldn’t come until 6:00 so I would just grab a plain bagel (because there were always plain bagels) and wait.

This day, however, was different. Because the theater department was holding a rehearsal for the yearly musical, there was a line when I got out of class. You win some you lose some. I got in line and waited.

Two people got in line behind me. Theater kids. You know the kind. Pretentious and loud, yelling over each other, and laughing obnoxiously. Just being overly obnoxious. Normally I would just try and tune them out except, since it was a small uni, I knew these guys.

They were always like this.

Anyway, they get behind me, and within a minute, I already feel a headache coming on. They’re going on and on about how there are two iced cinnamon rolls left, one for each of them, and how they’re going to enjoy munching them down. The girl (they were a boy/girl pair) makes a loud, vulgar comment about the icing looking like something…else and licks her lips in a suggestive way to her friend.

Everyone was looking at them. Everyone looked uncomfortable. But they didn’t care and no one wanted to say anything.

I was directly ahead of them in line. The professor ahead of me moved to the side to wait for his coffee. I approached the register, grabbed a bottle of diet coke, and promptly asked for the last two cinnamon rolls. I paid, they bagged them up, and since I didn’t have to wait for a hot beverage, decided to leave and wait for the bus outside. I had to walk past them to leave, and the look of pure shock on their faces is something I’ll never forget.”

“It may seem small and petty, but do you really want to smell rotting food during the summertime? No thank you!

“After living with my ex for almost a year, I found out that they had been cheating on me with numerous people and in OUR BED no less.

Obviously, we broke up and I decided to move out.

Before I did leave, however, I cut open the mattress, filled it with a cheese and charcuterie board, and very carefully sewed it back up. (It was the height of summer too.)

Was it petty? Yep. Was I proud? A little.

Enjoy the infestation, you cheating cockroach!”

“My crib-midget has evolved into a min-human, and my mini-human is now in an adult male body which is, unfortunately, still outfitted with a teenage brain. Don’t worry though, he knows everything! I myself have a late-30s model body, but my teenage brain is coming along well. That said, my loving wife is still able to maintain her sanity with 2.5 boys and .5 male adults in the house. However, the house was too small, and we needed more leg room.

We decided to move on up!

The new house is everything we wanted. There is ample room for the growing family. The boys would conquer the upstairs and even have their own bathroom to grow “science experiments.” They occasionally fail to brush their teeth, but you can most certainly count on them to p*ss in/on everything except the toilet. Cake, my 11-year-old mini-human shares my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and keeps his room in working order. Kelly, my 15-year-old Man-Child genius? Well, just don’t touch that sock under his bed.

Typical boy sh*t, I suppose.

My wife and I now had a backyard. We had a two-car garage to store her Christmas and Halloween decorations. The neighborhood is gorgeous, and I can literally walk to the clubhouse and play a round of golf. The cul-de-sac we live on is dominated by currently serving or retired military families. Everyone was extremely welcoming at the Home Owners Association (HOA), and the neighbors were all friendly. Well, at least for the moment!

I have read about neighbor horror stories.

I have seen them on television. I never in a million years thought I would live next to “them.” I am a gunfighter by trade. Believe it or not, I don’t like war. I like my job, but I don’t enjoy the carnage of war. I am a realist though. I would totally cast my ballot for world peace, but I know it only takes one a**hole to ruin it for everyone. My immediate neighbors became those a**holes.

Enter the entitled parents: Kevin and Karen. They seemed nice at first. They were both really helpful, especially Kevin. Kevin had served in the Air Force, and Karen was a stay-at-home mother. They enlightened me regarding the neighborhood, the quality of the area schools, and told me the tips and tricks to avoid any hassle with the HOA. F*cking great, right?

Coronavirus (COVID19) Zombie Apocalypse

The onset of COVID19 forced the school district to cancel the remainder of the school year, so the boys didn’t turn into zombies.

However, the mass hysteria allowed my humanoids to become semi-professional Fortnite gamers, who smelled like ball funk and survived on soda and Zebra Cakes. They were quickly becoming chubby-bunnies. I, being neighborly, informed Kevin and Karen that I would be in the market for a portable basketball hoop to combat childhood obesity and Type II Diabetes.

Side Note: I remember sh*t. It can be quite literally a matter of life or death in my occupation, so I remember things vividly!

OP: Pleasantries, some other words, “I am thinking about getting a basketball hoop for the boys.”

Karen: That’s great.

It’s so good to have young children in the neighborhood again.

Kevin: You know you can’t put it in the street right? It is against HOA rules. (Kevin is a rules guy!)

OP: Well-aware. I will be putting it on the back pad.

Karen: That’s great. If the ball ever goes over the fence, just tell them to come get it.

Awesome! It was a positive interaction, and they had no issue. Onward to Walmart!

My children are well-behaved. They may act like little sh*t heads to each other and inside the house, but they are both kind and courteous to others.

Despite Karen’s instructions, I told them to knock on the door if the ball ever goes over the fence. So they did.

First Bounce-Over

My Door: Knock. Knock. Knock.

OP: Hey Kevin. How can I help you?

Kevin: (Annoyed) The ball went over the fence.

OP: Did the boys knock and ask to get it?

Kevin: Yes. I just wanted to let you know.

I spoke to my wife afterward. “That was odd,” was all I could think. Is the guy going to let me know each time the ball goes over the fence? Maybe I should knock on his door? “Hey Kevin.

Just wanted to let you know that your car is parked in the driveway.” This process quickly became a routine for Kevin; Kevin became a self-licking ice cream cone. Kevin came over six times over the course of about three months. My wife began keeping tallies because it was odd and, but somewhat comical. Then sh*t started to get real.

Cake came running in the house scared. He had tears in his eyes, and he was continually reiterating, “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Nobody has accused me of being “Worlds Best Dad,” so I was wondering if he did in fact do something wrong.

I forgo waterboarding Cake, this time, and ask what he is talking about. Cake stated, “Karen is recording me.” What? I look outside and sure as sh*t, I see Karen, at the fence, and pointing her cellphone at me as if it was a loaded gun. I think, “Well, f*ck my t*ts” because I know my wife is going to lose her sh*t. She did!

My wife is dainty, but she quickly turned into a 4’11” Muhammad Ali.

Man, it took every f*cking ounce of verbal reasoning for me to stop her from physically rearranging Karen’s face meat. In addition to remembering things for work, I have to be well-read regarding the laws that govern me as an American and the local laws. I knew Karen’s tactic to scare and record Cake was immoral and unethical, but it was perfectly legal. This didn’t sit well with my wife though. I reminded the wife that I have a doctorate in revenge from F*ckery University (FU), and this would not go unanswered.

I can be a pr*ck too, but I am a methodical pr*ck.

I did my best to erect makeshift barriers as a temporary solution. It was not perfect, but at least it showed that we were doing everything in our power to prevent balls from going over the fence. I also submitted plans for a permanent structure to the HOA. I was going to build a hanging herb garden wall, but it required approval before construction could start.

The typical approval timeline was two weeks, but in addition to sh*tting on Earth, COVID19 also sh*t on the approval process. I was in limbo. Tragically, another basketball fell victim to the senseless violence. It was the ninth basketball in approximately eight months. The kids were terrified to ask for their basketball back, and it wasn’t even worth the hassle anymore. That didn’t stop Kevin though.

Ninth Bounce-Over

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Ken: OP HOME?

Wife: Yes, but he injured his back.

How can I help you?

Ken: Get OP please. (I should mention that Kevin is outwardly sexist and is not a fan of “coloreds”.)

Wife: Kevin, OP, can’t even walk right now. How can I help you?

Ken: The basketball went over the fence again. It needs to stop. They need to stop playing basketball. (He was now telling my wife how to parent. Good luck buddy!)

Wife: I am sorry the ball went over the fence. We continue to tell the children to be careful, but I am not going to tell them they can’t play basketball in their own yard.

Ken: You’ll tell your boys to stop playing. If the ball comes over the fence again, we are calling the cops! Tell your boys to stay out of our yard. They’re trespassing!

Wife: If you want to call the cops then you go ahead and do it. However, the boys DO NOT go in your yard at all anymore.

I was losing my sh*t in the bedroom. I could hear the conversation, but I physically could not make the front door.

I managed to slide off the bed and began my Army crawl to the door, but I was late. My wife was fuming and I was p*ssed and pathetically crawling on the floor. Yay back injuries! We had no intention of starting a war, but the boys were doing nothing wrong. We had informed Kevin we were getting a hoop, and they had zero issues with it. What the f*ck was going on?

Tenth Bounce-Over

The cops are called! The OP CITY Police Department (PD) sent two cruisers.

The children may be 11 and 15, but all be damned if they don’t go down without a fight. One cruiser was not going to suffice, you’d better send two for my miscreants. I just sat in my garage man-cave and watch it all play out. The cops go to the neighbors’ house first. They are there for more than an hour and I can only assume we are being painted as horrible neighbors. Oh well! It is now pitch dark outside and I was startled by the time an officer approaches.

Officer John Kimble: Hello? Sir!

OP: Holy f*ck! You scared the sh*t out of me!

Officer Kimble: Sorry, hi, I am Officer Kimble with OP CITY PD. How are you doing this evening?

OP: Typically I would say fine, but I don’t typically have a cop in my garage.

Officer Kimble: I understand. The reason we are here is because the neighbors called about trespassing. Now, they said nobody went in their yard today, but they want you to understand they will press charges next time.

I was baffled. I did my best to maintain my composure, but I am certain my face was screaming, “Are you f*cking serious?” Officer Kimble then pointed at his body camera and mouthed, “Recording” and then gave me a “thumbs up” gesture. I immediately seized the opportunity to f*ck with him. Sorry, it’s in my nature.

OP: Do you want another beer? You can’t just drink one!

Officer Kimble: (Laughing) WHAT? I didn’t have a beer with you.

OP: (Laughing as well) I’m kidding, and we are fully aware of their intent to press charges. I will be sure to do my best to prepare my boys for the rigors of prison life too. I think jail will be good for them too, may even toughen them up a bit!

Officer Kimble: (Laughing) Okay Sir. I just want to ensure that you are aware. Ideally, we would like to see neighbors talk things like this out and not call the cops.

Unfortunately, this is what it’s come to. I just want to ensure you are aware.

OP: Tracking!

Officer Kimble: You have a good evening Sir.

OP: Thanks.

Officer Kimble then walked back to his patrol car. He didn’t leave though. I assume he was just finishing mundane paperwork, but he was there for at least 20-minutes. Then, much to my surprise, he returned and was a completely different officer.

Officer Kimble: Hey man!

OP: Back for that beer?

Officer Kimble: (Laughing) NO! Sorry man! I have to play the game for the body cam.

OP: I hear you. I occasionally wear one at work, but it only cuts back on my cussing. People still get shot!

Officer Kimble: You Army?

OP: Yup!

Officer Kimble: Cool. What do you do?

OP: Shoot fist, shoot often, and have my story straight before the cops arrive!

Officer Kimble: (Laughing) I figure as much after looking at all your stuff here. I just wanted to talk to you without the camera. They really seem eager to press charges if your children are caught in their yard.

OP: (Laughing) My wife and I have concluded that.

Officer Kimble: That lady is bat sh*t crazy. My God! She demanded we arrest your children tonight!

OP: Tonight?

Officer Kimble: Yes! She said they trespassed before, and she wanted to press charges now.

OP: (More laughing) I am sorry you have to deal with this, brother. I really am. I can ensure you that they have never gone into their yard without permission. Not once. They are terrified of her.

She taunts them from the other side of the fence and records them. Seriously, they are scared of her. We now chalk the balls up as a lose.

Officer Kimble: I believe you. There is something not right with that lady. She said the basketball wakes her son up, and she will not hesitate pressing charges. I told her we would do our duty, but I don’t think the magistrate will not view the situation kindly if we arrest two children for playing basketball.

She clearly does not care though. I just wanted to chat with you and without the body cam. I can’t exactly call her crazy while it is running.

Officer John Kimble stayed for another hour. He was impressed with the collection of war memorabilia and the setup of my garage man-cave. He was specifically intrigued with my Nintendo and working copy of Mike Tyson Punch-Out, among other classics. Yes, it’s certainly f*cking cool, but it has little to do with the story.

SH*T, MET FAN!

My wife was mowing the grass, and I was currently doing sh*t I never thought would be a priority of mine: planting a new flowerbed. Kevin and Karen had just returned from another Chick-fil-A run. Then the unthinkable happened. Kevin exited the car and immediately approached me, and he was angry.

Kevin: Your boys went into my yard and got a ball today. They may think we didn’t notice, but we did. You need to tell those boys to stay out of my yard or…

OP: Wait a f*cking minute! I don’t tolerate people who lie, cheat, or steal, and you are lying right now.

Kevin: Your boys were…

OP: We were at an all-day soccer tournament in DIFFERENT STATE. We have only been home for a couple of hours. They have not played any basketball since we have been home. You’re lying!

Kevin: Well, we are sick of them getting balls from our yard without permission.

OP: Look Kevin, I get it! However, you fail to recall when your wife said the boys were more than welcome to go in the yard and…

I didn’t even get to finish when I heard the screech of Karen. I know my writing style is “different” to say the least. I wish I was better. I do not have the words to accurately articulate the sound Karen made, but I will do my best. It was like the Tyrannosaurus from Jurassic Park making love to a nuclear explosion during a tornado but way f*cking louder. The only thing that honestly makes this worse, and I f*cking kid you not, is that she is a dead ringer for Carole Baskin (Tiger King).

Not “Maybe a little,” but more “Holy f*ck, Carole Baskin is your neighbor” type of resemblance.

Karen: I NEVER SAID THAT. I WOULD NEVER SAY THAT.

She screamed at the top of her lungs a mere inches from my face. I could smell the Meow Mix bellow from her scream-factory. Meanwhile, Kevin pulled a f*cking Houdini and vanished. Kevin is a passive-aggressive a**hole and direct confrontation scares him off.

OP: Yes. You did.

Karen: I NEVER SAID THAT. YOU’RE WRONG.

OP: Whatever. It’s not even worth it.

Karen: I AM SO SICK OF YOUR HEATHENS GOING IN MY YARD. YOUR HEATHENS BETTER NOT GO IN MY YARD AGAIN OR I WILL HAVE THEM ARRESTED. I KNOW THE LAW.

The, “I know the law statement” really rubbed me wrong. I was about to open my mouth and respond by my wife was on her like stink on sh*t, which led me to believe Karen is louder than a lawnmower.

My wife was still seething about Karen recording the humans.

Wife: They don’t go in your yard, and they are good children. They are not heathens! You better STOP RECORDING MY CHILDREN.

Karen: Oh shut up. You guys are white trash. Your children play in the street and run around the neighborhood like criminals. They broke my mulch too. (Yes. She said they broke the mulch.) Everybody knows you’re trash. Just. Stupid. White. Trash.

I am now thinking, “Oh f*ck” and semi-worried about Karen’s future health as an active participant in living humans.

I think my wife wanted to expire Karen’s shelf-life.

Wife: Excuse me? My children never play in the street, you’re recording them, and…

Karen: Just shut up! YOU’RE STUPID. YOU’RE JUST PLAIN STUPID. I CAN RECORD THEM IF I WANT. NO WONDER YOU DON’T HAVE JOBS.

Wife: I HAVE THREE ADVANCED DEGREES. WE ARE WORKING FROM HOME. WE ARE NOT…

Karen: You are! YOU’RE TRASHY AND STUPID, AND BOTH YOUR CHILDREN ARE STUPID.

I had enough. There was no point in arguing either.

Mark Twain stated to “never argue with an idiot. They will drag you down to their level and beat you with experience.” Mark is correct, and Karen was trying to drag us down. Well, I don’t know why, but I remember something that Kevin discussed with me when we first moved in: the f*cking trees!

They have a large maple tree, and they have a juniper tree. Kevin always told me they were “in the process” of contracting a company to the crown and lift the maple tree.

Furthermore, they were going to get the juniper tree off my fence. Dear Reader, I know the law too. I can legally trim anything that goes over my property line. Now all those pointless conversations were making sense. It was my time to join this exciting game called pettiness!

OP: Karen. You have until Sunday to get your juniper off my fence.

Karen: Shut up. I told you we were going to get it handled this fall.

OP: It’s June.

You have until Sunday.

Karen: Or what?

I allow my wife to rejoin the conversation, and I retreat to the garage. Then I grab my clippers and prune a good couple inches of the juniper tree and lay them at her feet. Cue T-Rex f*cking a volcano voice!

Karen: WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? I TOLD YOU IT WILL BE DONE THIS FALL.

OP: You have until Saturday now.

Karen: You are dumb too. Just like your wife, aren’t you?

My intelligence may have been debatable, but I suppose it was time to repeat the process?!? I now return with about two feet of tree and place it at her feet.

I am like Mo-mo-McF*cko of f*ck-f*ck lady!

OP: You have until Friday!

Karen: You better not touch my tree again. I will call the cops and have you thrown in jail tonight. You’re so dumb, aren’t you? Now I see where your children get it from.

OP: I know the law too Karen. I will be back in a minute with some more of your juniper tree!

Karen: KEVIN. KEVIN. KEVIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNN!

I again return to the tree. I now have another two feet of juniper tree to place at her feet.

The more she screams, the smaller her tree becomes. It was an enjoyable game of cause and effect. Meanwhile, I see Kevin and Kevin Jr running like Usain Bolt to secure their tree with tow straps.

Karen: I hope you’re happy. You are terrible people! You are both terrible parents, and your children are heathens. I am sick of ball bouncing and waking my son up too. You people need to move. You’re just horrible parents. HORRIBLE.

(Screaming louder) HORRIBLE PARENTS.

Dear Reader, I had enough. I was at critical mass; I was going to explode. Karen continued to yell at my wife, and I was zoning out. It was comical to watch Kevin and Kevin Jr secure the tree to their porch in order to get it off the fence. Once complete, they quickly made their way back to the one-sided screaming party.

Karen: Horrible parents. Look with they did to my poor tree.

Kevin: I think we should call the cops dear.

Karen: HORRIBLE PARENTS! I feel sorry for your kids and…

OP: Just shut the f*ck up! I raked up 21 bags of leaves this past fall. Twenty-One. Funny, because we don’t have a tree in our backyard. I pulled an additional bags worth of leaves and branches from my gutter. Not from “my tree” either. It was from your tree. You know what Kevin? I didn’t b*tch. I didn’t knock on your door and complain.

Kevin: Yeah, and?

OP: We live in a suburbia. This sh*t happens. They are kids; kids f*cking play outside! I don’t want the ball in your yard either. You accuse them of being in your yard. You also accuse them of “BREAKING MULCH.” How in the f*ck do you break mulch? Are you f*cking serious? Really?

Karen: Yes really. Maybe you should learn how to parent your horrible children.

OP JUST F*CKING LOST IT (WAIT FOR THE SURPRISE!)

OP: Know what? That’s the last time you question me about my parenting.

My children are going to grow up and be productive members of our society. I find it comical that you have the audacity to question my parenting seeing how you have a (WAIT FOR IT) a 49-year-old son living at your house for the past nine years. I assume it was because of the divorce and the bankruptcy he filed nine years ago? My children are waking your child up? Your child is a jobless 49-year-old man living at home with mom and dad.

Is he working on a startup? Prestige Worldwide maybe? Boats and hos!

Karen: (F*CKING BAFFLED) How do you know any of that? DO YOU GO SNOOPING THROUGH OUR MAIL TOO?

OP: I am good at what I do, and I found everything online. I know you are 69 and lost your license due to reckless endangerment charge in 2017. I know Kevin Jr has 5 different moving violations and one DUI. I also know he was fired from his grounds-crew job with the HOA.

I know your husband is 72 and wears the same f*cking shirt every day, so I can only assume that laundry is not a priority. I know your phone numbers and email accounts. I know a lot of sh*t about you. YOUR CHILD IS 49 AND LIVES AT HOME. MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE MORE WORRIED ABOUT YOUR PARENTING AND LESS ABOUT MINE! We can have a civil relationship or we can have a war. Just remember this though, I AM GOING TO F*CKING OUTLIVE YOU!

They stormed into the house.

They were not happy or impressed with my ability to figure sh*t out. It was not over for me though. They f*cked with the wrong f*ckhead. They were unaware of the actions I took to keep the peace. For example, I never let the boys play basketball while they were outside eating dinner. I didn’t let them play before nine or after seven. I tried. But they would play blare country music and enjoy the gorgeous weather and eat a meal.

I never b*tch about Garth Brooks on volume 100 while I watched the national news. I was teleworking, and I took f*ckery up as a part-time job now.

I have wrestled since I was four years old. I was never much of a basketball guy. I am now though! Karen and Kevin had just sat down to enjoy their meal. I don’t have to spy either. I can easily see them out my french doors as I watch the national news.

I patiently waited for the sloth-speed f*ckheads to get their outside dinner setting perfectly situated. I could hear Tim McGraw playing when I opened my french doors. I like music too, so I figured I would get my groove and play basketball.

OP: Alexa (Amazon) play B*tches Ain’t Sh*t by Dr. Dre.

Alexa: Bleep and Bleep by Dr. Dre.

OP: Alexa. Volume 10

I have a new fondness for rap music and the game of basketball. This didn’t stop Karen from recording my “heathens” on a daily basis.

I know what I was about to do was petty, but I had zero f*cks to give at that point. I had one last f*ck you. It was my final card to play, an Uno Reverse Card of sorts!

My neighbors, across the street, and my family have bonded. He had a tree removed last week, and I had an epiphany. How much would it cost to trim a large maple tree that overhangs on my property? I am not talking a couple of branches either but more like one half of a more than the 100-foot tree.

I approached the tree removal company and offered them a sizeable chunk of change and informed them of my delicate problem. They said, “Any friend of MY NEIGHBOR is a friend of theirs.” Pro bono!

They move their large equipment over to my backyard and take their time getting ready. Guess who came running out of the house? No. Not Brad Pitt. F*ck. Get your sh*t together Reader. Karen and Kevin came running out.

Kevin: Hey buddy! (Buddy.

Not f*ckhead. Not a horrible parent. Buddy!)

OP: What can I do for you?

Kevin: What are they doing here?

OP: Oh. Them (points)?

Kevin: Yeah. What are they doing?

OP: Oh. Well, they are going to trim the tree?

Kevin: Just trim?

OP: Yup. Just a little trim!

Karen: You know that tree was a gift from our daughter right? We don’t want anything drastic. It has been with us for over forty years now.

Kevin: Yeah. It was a gift from our daughter.

How much are you thinking about trimming?

OP: Well. Just so you’re aware, you understand that I can legally trim anything that overhangs my property? I have approval from my lawyer and the HOA to trim it. Frankly, I care as much about your tree as you do my children’s privacy; I could f*cking care less!

Kevin: How much are you talking about trimming then?

OP: My property line is here (I point) and it extends up (I point up) to space.

I am going to trim every single branch that encroaches my property. So, probably about 1/3 of your tree. It’s gonna look really f*cking funny when I am done. Oh well.

Karen started to cry. It was a really, really ugly cry. There was no more rage left in her. She was defeated. Kevin was defeated as well. This was not my desire. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care if she cried, but it was not my intent.

OP: Or YOU CAN STOP RECORDING MY F*CKING CHILDREN.

Karen: (Looking like snot-nosed Carole Baskin) If I stop recording?

OP: Look. We don’t have to like each other, because I certainly don’t f*cking like you guys. My boys never go in your yard. Ever. I don’t give sh*t if you keep the other basketballs, but I will be damned if you f*cking record them ever again. If you do, I will cut your tree down without warning.

Kevin: (P*SSED) Thanks bud.

OP: No worries, friend. I am just trying to be neighborly. Just remember. I am dead serious about the tree, and I am pretty certain I will outlive you.

Dear Reader, I know I am a pr*ck. I know we were both in the wrong at times. I draw the line when a 69-year-old woman sees fit to torment my kids. We have only had one problem since these events occurred. Kevin Jr’s car sat in the same spot for nine months.

I have submitted over 20 home improvement requests to the HOA, and I am now friends with the wonderful ladies that work there. They periodically inspect neighborhoods and noticed the registration on Jr’s vehicle was two years outdated and had it towed. Karen accused me of having towed. We had another colorful conversation, but it ended there. Kevin Jr. is still jobless to this day. I assume he has managed to erect a bunk bed in his childhood bedroom. He has “so much more room for activities.” Just make sure you don’t touch his drum set!”

He’s never going to trust their refreshments again.

“This is a regular revenge story that took place many years ago involving me and my best friend, Heather. That’s her real name because she’s cool and she doesn’t care.

I gotta set the scene and give some backstory. We’re extremely close. Our families are close, too. Heather has known me since my first literal breath. Our mothers were best friends in high school, and Heather was only two years old when I was born.

So of course, when I got bigger, we hung out. That graduated to a countless number of sleepovers and taking family vacations together.

Anyway, to the story – It was springtime in Minnesota. Snow was on the ground. I spent my spring break week at Heather’s house every year, and for this year in particular, her break was actually scheduled the following week after mine. And if I remember correctly, her parents allowed her to take two weeks off of school because spring break was kind of our “friendship tradition”
…and you don’t f with tradition, boys.

My parents usually went on vacation without me, anyway. And Heather’s parents worked full time, but things were pretty laid back at her place, so we could do whatever we wanted without a parental supervision. The only “adult” in the house during this time was her older brother. If we needed something or had a problem, we had to go to him. But, HE was the problem…

Being as young as we were, any money that we had was scraped up couch change, or it was given to us by our parents.

My mom would send me spending money for the week and I would blow it on movies and candy within the first day. If we wanted snacks or pop for the remaining time I was spending there, Heather and I had to walk about 2 miles (there, AND back) to the gas station. Heather lived in the country – Everyone knew everyone, so we were able to take shortcuts through backyards in an attempt to avoid the massive amount of wind, snow, and slush on the roads.

When we’d get back from our long walk, we would put our pop in the fridge, go downstairs and relax. We call soda “pop” here, by the way. But This is where our frustrations began. Our snacks & pop repeatedly went missing from the fridge shortly after our return. Shortly as in almost immediately. Since her brother was the only other person in the house, we knew it was him or one of his friends.

We came back from the store one day and actually caught Jim in the act, so we confronted him, (her brother’s name was Jim, and that’s his real name because f*ck him, lol).

We explained to him how annoying it was for him to constantly take our drinks without asking. We even offered to pick up some for him, but this wasn’t good enough. He laughed in our faces. He didn’t care. He’d say things like, “What are you going to do about it?” as he guzzled down our drinks literally right in front of us. Oh, Jim, you gluttonous a**, you really shouldn’t have said that…

You kind of get the idea where this is going, right? Maybe you don’t.

Here’s The Revenge.

We walked to the gas station the very next morning with a plan to mess with Jim, but if it was going to be executed properly, we had to take our time and do it right.

We bought a big bottle of grape Shasta. (Google it if you don’t know what it is.) The reason why we picked Grape is because it was a lot darker in color than all of the other flavors, and we knew Shasta was Jim’s favorite and that he would not be able to resist stealing it from us.

So, we got back to Heather’s, we cracked that sucker open and we both took a big swig. Only half of the bottle was left to maintain it’s fizzy-ness, so we proceeded to add the following ingredients: One raw egg without the yolk, a pinch of salt, pepper, sugar, brown sugar, flour, and other various seasonings, our spit, Coca-Cola, along with a couple of squirts of mustard, ketchup, and pretty much whatever we could find in her kitchen.

The end result was disgusting. We took special care to make sure that the bottle didn’t appear to be too full. We twisted that cap as hard as we could so it seemed like a fresh pop when opened, shook it up nice and good, put it back in the fridge, sat at the table, and waited.

Not even ten minutes after our mission was complete, Jim walks in the door, goes straight to the fridge, grabs the Shasta, and takes a fat gulp without a second thought.

But I TELL YOU WHAT MATE, he sure thought twice after that!

All I can remember is Jim doing a large spit-take, gagging, and throwing up all over the kitchen floor. He proclaimed, “WHAT THE F*CK?” and we just sat there. We were overjoyed at the sight of our success, and he never stole from us again.”

“At the University of Iowa, there is a large fundraiser called “Dance Marathon” where college students sponsor a child who had cancer and dance for 24 hours. The party can get fairly crazy, and the families who come to join the dancers can be pretty cool.

However, last year, I noticed a new family who had 2 kids, one who looked to be about 10 and one who looked to be about 5. The mom seemed a little self-centered from what I could tell (always budging through lines for her kids and such), but the dad was a whole ‘nother story.

He was very large and had a mildly inappropriate t-shirt that looked straight out of a strip club. He was constantly budging and pushing through the crowds, and he was constantly yelling at people for “getting in his way” or being “too close to him.” At one point, he sat at the table down one row from my family and saved the entire table (which was meant for the college students) for the 4 of them.

He started hoarding all the food and candy for his kids and even walked over to other tables and stole food.

Later during the night, the junk food and such was really getting to my stomach, so I rushed to the bathroom. I opened the door, immediately hearing someone talking very loudly. I immediately recognized it as being him. He had his phone on speaker, and I could tell it was him calling about something to do with his insurance.

From what I could hear, the person on the phone was being very polite and was taking their time. Meanwhile, this big d*uche was sitting on the toilet screaming at them. I then realized now was the time to take my revenge for everyone he had been inconveniencing.

I let it rip.

I had the longest, loudest sh*t I’ve ever had in a public restroom. The man started to get nervous as the insurance person was asking for him to move somewhere private.

I could hear how embarrassed he was. I then loudly groaned and said out loud, “They really need to put more air freshener in this bathroom.” The man immediately said to the phone, “I’ll call you back,” but before he hung up, I flushed, washed my hands, and instead of using the paper towels, used two of the jet dryers for both my hands to make as much noise as possible. As I left the bathroom, I heard the ding from when you hang up a call, and I walked away with a smirk on my face. I have never felt so accomplished.

I told a few of my fellow dancers, and they all thought it was hilarious since they noticed him being rude too. I didn’t see the man for the rest of the night.”

“I’ve worked in live theater for my entire professional career. For the most part, I’ve specialized in video, which is a pretty niche thing. Not a lot of people that are drawn to live theatrical performance are at all interested in video.

I was working at a large regional theater company as a video engineer. Said company got lucky enough to be the place where a show destined for Broadway would originate. This show has received a decent amount of fame, not like Hamilton, but you’d probably have heard the name if I said it here.

The show had a lot of video. Like a lot. Specifically, it had around 30 flatscreen TVs that were part of the set. They’d fly up and down, move across the stage, and display all sorts of content. We brought in a Broadway designer and his team of assistants to produce all the content. I worked most closely with the video engineer attached to the project, an NYC-based guy, we’ll call him Chad.

It was a big show for my team.

The scope was completely out of our usual wheelhouse, but we had a lot of talent on our side. All of us put in some insane hours. Me and one other person had a couple of >100 hour weeks during the build and load-in. I in particular didn’t get a day off for around a month, I think 29 days. It was a big show and we were all exhausted.

Once we were in technical rehearsals, the large part of my job was over.

Most of the time, I was expected to be on-site in case anything went wrong. In general, I’m totally fine with this. It’s part of the job.

We got to a Wednesday night, right at the end of that 29 day period. I realized I literally didn’t have a clean pair of underwear to wear the next day. I talked to my boss at the theater company (local), and his boss (also local), and they gave me the ok to go home to do my laundry.

I’d be back the next day at 8 am.

I went to let Chad know what the plan was. I explained that I needed to do laundry and that I hadn’t had a day off in a month. He sighed, exhibiting extreme annoyance and disappointment, and said:

“I just want you to want to be here.”

Well, f*ck you too Chad. Seriously. He knew how hard I had been working. He knew how much I had been there. He knew there wasn’t anything for me to do that evening.

He knew that if there was a technical problem, he was more qualified than I to address it. He knew all of those things and didn’t care.

That was the moment any ambition I had to work on Broadway died. I had put my heart and soul into that show (and had a relationship fall apart as a result), and he wanted me to WANT to be there?

Sidenote: Theater people can be really toxic about this kind of thing.

If you aren’t there every waking hour, people will turn their noses up at you. It’s the one thing I hate about theater, that there’s this cultish sense of a required level of devotion, that if someone treats it as a job and not a calling, they don’t deserve to be there, which is bullsh*t on many levels. That said, if anyone is in the condition I was in: the hours and the lack of days off, usually they’ll be escorted out of the building by their coworkers and have their keys taken away until they get some rest.

Theater people can be cultish, but they do care about one another. Chad’s actions were on a whole different level.

There was no immediate reprisal. We got through the technical rehearsals, and the show opened. Then it closed and moved on to NYC for an off-broadway run before it got to Broadway and received much critical acclaim.

The revenge story comes with the move to off-Broadway. See, I was the person responsible for boxing up all those TVs to send to New York City.

This particular model of TV has a big rocker switch on the back, a master power switch. Knowing Chad, I knew that wouldn’t be something that he’d check. So, I went ahead and flipped them all off, packed up the tvs, and sent them on their way.

A friend of mine worked on the production in New York. Apparently, Chad got his crew to hang all the TVs and fly them up into position without checking anything. Apparently, Chad then spent a couple of DAYS trying to turn them on, with remotes, with network control, even getting on an electric lift and hitting the power button (separate from the rocker). Nothing worked. Huh.

Apparently, when he found out the problem, he was rather frustrated. Apparently, he had been putting in some long days and hadn’t had a day off in a while.

Well Chad, I just want you to want to be there.”

“Over the past 3-4 years, I’d been getting these random calls from guys asking for the names of various women. Asking for Jennifer, Jenn, Sue, Susan, Marie, Maria, Lynn, etc. These random guy calls would be very infrequently apart, sometimes a few weeks, others spanning 6 months before another would occur.

Last year, a persistent guy asking for ‘Jennifer’ (different name from the previous random calls) called several times, refusing to believe he was stiffed.

He couldn’t understand that this was the wrong number as this girl he met wouldn’t do that to him.

The conversation turned from me being very annoyed to realizing that some chick had given him this number, on purpose. My number. Realization dawned on me that this [wrong number] shtick had been going on for years now.

Months go by and another random dude calling for another chick that obviously wasn’t me. I almost hang up but remembered the previous dude and asked, ‘Hey, whoah… sorry to ask. Who gave you this number?’ ‘Uhh, huh? Ohh, this brunette down over by [Local City Nearby].’ He was p*ssed that he got stiffed a possible hook up but was cool about answering some questions about said girl’s description.

Her features didn’t ring a bell and I knew that it wasn’t a friend playing a prank.

Yet another few months later, and another guy calls my number asking for a yet another female. This time, when I asked for a description of who this chick was, it was close to that of someone I had briefly seen each other. A particular facial feature under her left ear gave it away.

Introducing Sarah who I met on a site.

She and I saw each other for years. It didn’t work out. We went on several pleasant dinners, trips to the beach, etc. But we had no chemistry together.

Sarah broke it up only AFTER an expensive night out at a steak house and an entertainment-filled week of Amusement Parks and a night at the Improv. Her words exactly, ‘Yeah, I felt that you and I weren’t connecting. It’s been this way for a few weeks now.’ Wow, she basically used me for a nice dinner and entertainment for over a week.

I told her off in the frustration of it all and may or may not have told her she was a gold digger. Hindsight is 20/20, I shouldn’t have done it. P*ssed or not, it was wrong and I probably deserved a bit of what she did afterward.

But this was now 4 years later… give it a rest! Her form of karma revenge was to give the loser guys she met MY PHONE number? Ok, I admit, it was ingeniously petty.

So I was 99% certain it was her, but I had long since removed her phone number from my contacts and she and I shared no social circle. I received one more call from a random guy asking for another random female (he didn’t want to answer my questions) and this set me into revenge mode. I ended up finding her old emails from 4 years back and the number she had given me was disconnected.

Reversing a google search on her email brought up several recent social media pages. Won’t bore you all with the details but after many pages of public entries, one of her reply posts listed her new phone number. A fake sales confirmation call from my buddy’s phone confirmed it was Sarah’s new number. Bingo!

Fast Forward to this last New Years Day, I got yet ANOTHER random guy calling and he got the bad news he had the wrong number, but he was in luck. I DID feel obliged to give him ‘Sarah’s’ new corrected cell number as it was the only polite thing to do.

I even encouraged him to give her a call that day, as I was just the old guy friend of hers who shared phone lines. I had her old phone number and she probably just made a mistake. [wink wink]”

Oh, the horror… (Seriously, doughnuts are the shizzle.)

“So in my city, there is a pub that’s attached to a doughnut shop that serves the best doughnuts in the city (which always causes a long line). Because it’s attached to a pub, it doesn’t close shop until 9 PM as there is a solid flow of business rolling in.

Anyway, my partner and I get a serious hankering for some snacks so we decide to head to the doughnut shop and arrive out around 8:30 PM by car.

Now, there are only three parallel parking spots a little up the street from the place, and they are all 15-minute spots which are usually full. We see up the street that, count our lucky stars, a spot is free! My partner pulls a little ahead of the car in front of the spot, turns on her indicator, and begins backing into a parking spot when this little white Vespa driving behind us whips into the spot.

I roll down our window and call out to the driver “Scuse me, we were just backing in.” The driver seems to be a pretty univ student who shrugs her shoulders and calls out to me “sorry, first come first serve!” while she and her friend share a good laugh.

My partner suggests we just get doughnuts another time, and I tell her she can drop me off here, I’ll buy the doughnuts since I know what she likes, and she can loop around.

She agrees, and I pop out of the car, pass the little white Vespa where the girls are still gathering their things, and head to the shop.

As always, the line is super long for doughnuts and since this is the last batch, the doughnuts are slim pickings. The girls are behind me looking at the 5 or so different flavors that are left, talking about which ones are best and which they haven’t had yet. I hear one of them jokingly mention “thank god we got a parking spot” and they burst out laughing.

I get to the front of the line, and when asked for my order, request two dozen doughnuts, which is every last one remaining. The girls behind me didn’t listen to what I ordered, but eyebrows of confusion started to form on their faces and they slowly saw each doughnut loaded into the boxes and their options dwindle.

One of them (the driver) in desperation asked the baker who was loading them in “What, you’re not even gonna save a few for us though?” to which I turned around and said, “Sorry, first come first serve.” She honestly looked like she just simultaneously solved a movie mystery and sh*t her pants, it’s difficult to put into words but truly an expression I can never forget.

Best doughnuts I ever tasted (and enjoyed by the rest of my office the next morning).”

A little background: I have ADHD and have had lifelong insomnia caused by that. I have to take a few doses of melatonin to sleep. Along with that, if I don’t get 8 hours of consecutive sleep, I’m absolutely exhausted. My whole family knows this as me and my brother are the same way. Along with having trouble falling asleep, we both struggle with staying asleep. If we are woken up by anything for any reason, we are extremely likely to not be able to fall asleep until about 3-4 hours later, unless, of course, we take a few melatonin pills.

Depending on the time and situation, that’s not an option with school or work or general plans we will need to be awake for.

My dad is a narcissist and won’t leave me alone, tons of control issues, etc. I’m working on moving out. Thankfully, though, he’s also painfully awkward and doesn’t even want to know if I hold hands with someone. He’s religious, but once I came out, he decided to not be as homophobic, I guess, as he hasn’t had an issue with “the Gays” since.

I’m also a lesbian in a relationship with another lesbian, which relates to the naughty toys I like to use. I should also mention I am 18 and have a babyface, so people never really assume I’d even consider entering a s*x store, especially not my overly religious, narcissist father.

I work 5 pm-1 am most nights, getting home around 1:30-2, while my dad leaves the house for his job at 7:15 on the dot and arrives back home between 6 and 8 pm every day.

This wouldn’t be a problem! If it weren’t for the fact that every morning, without fail, he for some reason decides he has to wake me up. At first, I locked my door. The next morning, he was still in my room, yelling at me and shaking me awake, at 6:30. Why, you ask? To ask me if I work that day. I told him yes. The conversation continued in a circle, with him asking me the same question about 3 times.

I wasn’t able to sleep after that. The same thing happened the day after that. And after that. Repeat.

So obviously locking my door won’t work. Fine, I’ll ask him to please not wake me up. Nope, that doesn’t work, as it triggers a yelling fit and him not only shaking me awake the next morning but banging on my door and slamming it, etc.

At this point, it has been about 5 weeks, with about 80-85% of the days I go with only 3-4 hours of sleep.

It f*cking sucks. My only source of relief is my partner’s house, and I can’t stay the night there every night.

Here comes naughty toys, collar, and chain. Usually, they take refuge in either my nightstand or closet, out of sight considering my dad’s unwillingness to accept my need for privacy. To be honest, me and my partner don’t even use all of these too often. The thing that gets the most use is probably the lube, and even then, we don’t always need it.

The collar and chain hasn’t been used once, lmao.

Well, the other day, we decided to bring out one of the toys. It ended up being left out on my nightstand. This is a hot pink, thick toy that my partner got for herself. About 8 inches long so not obnoxious but not tiny. I was exhausted, and after she left, she ended up passing out nearly immediately.

There’s no way you could possibly miss it if you’re going to try and wake me up as it is right next to my head.

So, anyway, the other day this happened at 6:30, right on schedule.

Dad: (banging on door, yelling) Mossymosaic!!!! WAKE UP!!!!!! HELLO???? (proceeds to bang on door)

Me: (was woken up within the first few punches my dad made to my poor, sad, hollow wooden door.) (has completely forgotten about the items of sexual intent right next to her, too tired to care anyway)

Dad: (enters room, yelling at me and asking me if I work today, again, for no reason; he knows I work, sees the d*ldo)

Dad:

Dad:

Dad: (actively confused, leaves room and doesn’t bother me again.)

Me: ??????

Later that day, I had a conversation with my partner about it, and she laughed her a** off, explaining how my dad most definitely saw an 8-inch hot pink toy right next to me, and he was too awkward to deal with it.

I figured she was probably right.

So, after that, I went home and collected the few naughty things I had, organized my nightstand, and left them on it for that night.

Honestly, I don’t know if I needed to leave out the extra toys. I don’t care. I did it anyway. He hasn’t come into my room ONCE that I’m aware of. He hasn’t woken me up, at least directly, since. My body is still used to being woken up at 6:30, but the past three nights, it’s ever so slowly getting to where I can sleep in later.

I am still so, so tired. But oh my God. I can sleep now. If he starts up again, maybe I’ll ask one of my straight friends for a condom and just leave it on a plate next to my nightstand.”

Another User Comments:

“Mount one on the outside of your door like a door knocker, Refuse entry unless the door knocker is used,” pomery

He got a taste of his own medicine or more like a whiff of his own wind.

“A few years ago, I used to work as active duty in the USAF in the Security Forces squadron. Basically, military police. A typical workday would have me spend 12 hours checking ID’s at the front gate, patrolling the base, or being put in a non-moving post in the middle of nowhere in which you would spend most of the time contemplating your life choices.

The last one is where our story takes place.

At the time, we were combining two different workgroups (night and day shift) to build up our manpower for the week because we were expecting some important people to fly into our base. Also, all this was happening in the middle of January, so the average temp outside was around “too f@#$ing cold.”

I was tasked with being posted on the flight line in a truck with two other airmen.

One of the guys I was partnering up with, we’ll call him Nate, was from my group so I already knew him. The other guy, we’ll call him Jimmy, was from the other group. I didn’t know much about the guy, so I asked around about him.

The best way to describe him in one word would be “cornhusker.” Jimmy was what you would call a good-old Midwestern boy. A good guy honestly and a decent coworker.

However, he had this one particular quirk that could quickly get on your nerves. Jimmy was well known for farting and never apologizing for it! I would have understood if he had some kind of medical stomach issue or digestion problems. But nope, Jimmy was healthy as a horse and just loved ripping a** at his fullest potential.

Oh, and his justification for never apologizing for it was also priceless. Jimmy was well known for saying “What?! Farting is as natural as breathing.

You want me to apologize for breathing too!?” every time. Hearing this kind of rubbed me the wrong way and so was Nate, so I decided to prepare in case he tried to pull this stunt with us. I told Nate what I had planned and his reaction said it all.

Nate: Dear God, I hope it won’t have to come to this.

Me: It’ll hurt me more than it will hurt him.

On the first day of us working together, it didn’t take long before s!#t started to go down.

Nate and Jimmy were sitting up front in the truck and I was sitting in the back seat. After about two hours of just us talking and trying to stay warm, Jimmy did exactly what we were warned he would do. Jimmy not only let out a fart that made me question if he was medically clear to serve our country, but he didn’t apologize or even roll down his window. This of course led to us reacting appropriately.

Nate (while rolling down his window): Dude what the hell!! Are you dying?!

Me (while trying to cover my face because I can’t roll down my window): Bro, you can apologize or at the very least commit Seppuku for this dishonor!

And, of course, Jimmy gave his trademark excuse.

Jimmy: What?! Farting is as natural as breathing. You want me to apologize for breathing too!?

Me: Dishonor on you, your family, and your cow!

This ticked me off and so I decided to immediately take action and initiated plan F.

Without Jimmy seeing, I took out a box of pure high fiber breakfast protein bars from my gear bag that I got from the commissary right before work. I don’t remember how many there were in the box, 6 or 8; I just know that I ate them all in like 20 min. 1 hour later, I began to feel the inner demons working their way though my intestines, so I start a conversation with Nate to give him the codeword to let him know that things were about to get bad.

Me: Yo dude, any plans this break?

Nate: No, not really, you?

Me: I was thinking about re-watching the Last Airbender movie.

Once Nate heard our code word “Airbender” and the fact that I mentioned that movie, he knew it was time to leave. Nate then excused himself to go read some “important” government emails (YouTube) in the building we were closest to and that he would be gone for a bit.

Side Note: Our post had a specific rule we had to follow.

There had to be two people at the truck at all times. One person can leave for however long to go to the bathroom, smoke, get food, or whatever. But until that one person comes back, nobody else can leave. Now back to the story.

At this point, Nate had been gone for about 5 minutes, Jimmy was chillin’ in the front seat, and I was in the back getting ready to exercise the horror that raged inside me.

I gave myself my last rights, and one minute later, it happened. I let out the most aggressive and physically demanding fart you could ever expect a 160 lbs. Filipino to be able to do. Jimmy’s initial reaction was surprisingly positive.

Jimmy: D*mn boy, where I’m from we call that a tree bender! HA!

But then 3 seconds later, the smell hit. Jimmy began to gag and franticly started to roll down his window and stick his head out the truck.

Jimmy: Good Lord, what died and decided to haunt your a**!!??

I just laughed a little and started to text Nate everything that was happening. After about another minute, the smell began to dissipate and Jimmy brings his head back in from the freezing cold. Once Jimmy was done rolling up this window, I once again let loose another and even bigger fart. Pretty sure I made the truck vibrate. And once again, the smell forced Jimmy’s head out of the truck.

Jimmy: Ok seriously, what the hell?!

At that moment, I just decided to just sit back and let karma take the wheel and gave back to him his famous catchphrase.

Me: What?! Farting is as natural as breathing. You want me to apologize for breathing too!?

This started a vicious cycle that lasted over half an hour. Every time the smell would begin to die down, and Jimmy thought it was safe enough to stop sticking his head out the window, my butt would just lion roar again and reclaim the land.

It got to the point that Jimmy just had enough and decided to just get out of the truck.

Jimmy (While stepping out of the truck): Nope! That’s it! Can’t handle it! My eyes are burning! Your messed up cuz this isn’t natural!

Me (In a stereotypical Boston accent): Hey, you mind? I’m breathing back here! One hundred percent O’natural!

Jimmy got out and because of the rule we had to follow, he couldn’t leave the area or go inside the closest building with Nate.

All Jimmy could do was stand outside the truck in the cold until my lower intestines decided it was done, which was about another 2.5 hours. And don’t worry, we all had some decent cold-weather gear.

When it was all said and done, we all worked the rest of the night and week without any more incidences. I don’t know if he went back to his old ways when he went back to night shift, I just know he didn’t pull any more stunts like that with us. Because of that, I like to think he learned his lesson.

I hope you all enjoyed reading this and if you know what exact laws I broke in the Geneva Convention, please let me know because I pretty sure I violated a few of them. Thank you, and I’ll end this by simply saying.

“Respect is a two-way street.””

“I had been in a job for a couple of years. It started out ok but over time went downhill. My immediate boss left, the head of sales and marketing, and the president of the company didn’t replace him for an entire year. He simply ignored or berated the sales and marketing (me) teams. His expectations were ludicrous. It’s like he was expecting a house to be built, painted, and looking gorgeous when the flooring hadn’t been completely laid yet nor were there walls.

I did the best I could with no help and no one to work with closely who knew the industry.

I hung in hoping it would turn around eventually, but I was not happy. When the president finally did replace the head of sales, he was a real arrogant a**hole. Then he hired a woman who was just like him and was supposed to be my boss. She was younger than me, had less experience, and was condescending from the first day we met.

She wanted me to tell her literally every day what was on my agenda and allow her to prioritize for me. That behavior wasn’t going to fly with me. I’m not a child that needs that kind of supervision. I started looking for another job and didn’t go along with her program easily or willingly. She tried to get me to teach her my job so she could kick me out taking my knowledge with her, but I refused.

Thankfully, my ex-boss pulled me into an opportunity working with him at his new company, but the interview process took time. I kept my mouth shut waiting to be let go so I could file unemployment in between jobs if needed. I watched her manipulate the new HR girl into thinking she was in the right and somehow I was in the wrong while I’m the one being ganged up on. I put up with her and the new head of sales become increasingly nasty with me, manipulating my words and the situation.

I just kept my mouth closed.

The day I was let go, she was acting so arrogant. She put on a fake, “I’ll give you a reference if you need it.” I put on a fake, “Oh, that’s too bad; I thought we were doing much better getting along.” The whole time she thought she was getting away with her charade and was inwardly gleeful she thought she was ruining my life and running the show. The very next day, she got a text from me.

“I knew who you are from the start. I saw what you were up to the entire time. I knew your intentions to learn from me and push me out. I knew every time you lied to me. I saw how you sucked up to [HR girl] to manipulate her. I saw your joy to get me in trouble with [head of sales] by misinterpreting my words to him. I’m so grateful that I’m a good person who wants to lift people up to help them succeed, instead of competing with others and pushing them down, trying to hurt people’s lives and careers for selfish gain.

That’s why I will always be a successful person and what you do will eventually catch up to you. God sees our hearts as easily as we see faces. I don’t need your games. I don’t want your reference. I have another job lined up with people who are real, kind, honest, truly want to serve others and each other. Goodbye.”

Then three months later, a follow up:

“Thank you for being the catalyst for God’s AMAZING BLESSING that he had ready and waiting for me with my new job! I’m making a LOT more money in my new job, well over 6 figures, with a LOT less stress! I work from home EVERY DAY and I’m loving it! Everyone I work with is genuinely KIND and DECENT. The average tenure at the company is a DECADE or more because the company is so stable. I couldn’t be HAPPIER!”

God, that was petty as f*ck and felt AMAZING.”

“Neighbor 1 backed into my car and drove off.

Neighbor 2 saw it happened and wrote down the time and license plate. He told me that not only did the naughty neighbor see it, he even went out to check out the damage before driving off.

I filed a claim at my insurance company, putting the good neighbor as a witness and posting pictures of not only the damages on my car but also the damages on the naughty neighbor’s car.

In less than 5 minutes, I am getting an email from my insurance saying that they agreed that it was the naughty neighbor’s fault, and my doorbell rings.
The naughty neighbor wants to say hello and talk about damages. He has a lot of excuses and talks about him looking at my car and seeing no damage (lie, the good neighbor saw him just shake his head and drive away).

Next day is a Saturday, so I decide to take a proper look at my car.

The scratches in the paint turned out to be just dirt – he hit my metal door with his plastic bumper, so all the damage is to his car.
I try to get the dent out myself and I get it done in like 30 minutes. I know where to look and I have a hard time finding the dent, so I’m pretty happy with the result.

I call insurance. Turns out we have the same company. I tell them that there is no need for driving to the shop, as I got the damages taken care of myself.

Insurance lady looks over the case, looks at the pictures. She’s pretty impressed by the number of dents and scratches on the naughty neighbor’s car and she talks about him obviously not being able to drive. She then tells me that they’ll delete the case from my insurance – so it won’t count as damage on my profile.
But as for the neighbor, they’ll still get him to pay his deductible ($800), they’ll put the damage on his permanent record, and they’ll put him in a higher risk class (ie, his insurance will cost him more).

Lesson learned: Be honest if you make a dent in a car… Don’t run.. Especially when it’s your neighbor’s car in your own parking lot, in broad daylight..”

“In the late 90s, I worked for a major retail store that was well known for its “Open, Open, Open” commercials. I was hired for seasonal work and quickly learned how to run every department and quickly was working solo in many of the departments.

Well the particular day in question, I was assigned to their shoe department. It was 20 minutes to closing and the customer walks in with 4 kids all under the age of 5.

I had just finished cleaning up the department and when she just left her kids to run wild while she looked for shoes in peace. I was seeing red.

Her kids are in tattered shoes and their outfits aren’t much better while Over Entitled Mom is in really nice clothing and is wearing what I knew to be a $200 pair of shoes. Also, there is no way I’m staying late to clean up after her kids.

I was a nanny to large families and foster families before moving to the state I currently live in so I’m really good with kids. To top it off, at the time I’m 19 years old, and well I’m an extremely sarcastic, petty person. Cue my revenge.

I go gather the kids as soon as she’s out of sight and in my sweetest nanny way ask them if they want new shoes today? All 4 kids’ eyes light up and they are so excited that the nice lady said they get new shoes.

Well, I measure their feet and take them over to where the children’s shoes are. I let them pick shoes they want and not only make sure they fit but put the pairs of shoes on the kids.

As she stayed after closing, we had closed the metal doors to the mall, so she’s locked inside the store. She comes out with a $90 pair of shoes for her to see her kids all smiling holding shoe boxes and wearing shoes.

Over Entitled Mom starts telling the kids they didn’t come to get “them” shoes but that mommy needed new shoes. Cue the kids starting to bawl. The manager comes and the Over Entitled Mom starts getting uppity about how I needed to be fired for watching her kids while she ignored them and helping them find new shoes.

The manager takes the shoeboxes from the kids and looks at their old shoes and then looks at Over Entitled Mom with a are you f*cking serious look on her face.

She says well I’ve been watching security footage and noticed you left the kids without supervision as soon as you entered the store. Then she asks Over Entitled Mom if she would like to purchase the kids’ new shoes or if she would like us to call CPS and report her for negligence as we have all the proof needed to have her kids taken by CPS.

Over Entitled Mom turns red and throws the shoes she was going to buy back towards the women’s department and curtly told me to ring the kid’s shoes up.

She paid and stormed out (without a receipt… so no returns) with the kids who are all super happy that they got new shoes.

The next part I found out later when I ran into the manager shopping.

Over Entitled Mom came back to the store several months later. Apparently, the manager couldn’t get the situation off her mind and she called CPS on Over Entitled Mom. Over Entitled Mom had paid with a check so the manager had Over Entitled Mom’s name and address and asked for a wellness check on the kids.

CPS in the end took the kids. Over Entitled Mom returned to the store to confront me for her losing her “meal ticket” as she lost her welfare checks when she lost the kids. Apparently, she caused such a scene that the police were called. Over Entitled Mom was arrested, permanently lost the kids, and the manager was in the process of trying to adopt all 4 kids when we spoke last.

I lost contact with the manager after the store closed.

The mall was torn down and a much nicer commerce/residential open-air mall was rebuilt. The company closed the chain store down and now only has the cheaper store associated with red circles that the manager didn’t go work for.”

Another User Comments:

“Everyone complaining about “that’s not how CPS works” is forgetting that this story takes place in the 90s. My mother was a social worker for DYFS (the New Jersey equivalent of CPS) in the mid-’90s before the initiatives to keep families together (and place within families) were pushed so strongly.

The piece about CPS is actually quite believable from a 90’s point of view. Of course, they wouldn’t take the kids over sh*tty shoes. I don’t want to think about the negligence they suffered to make CPS pull them from that awful mother.

Also “in the end,” CPS took the kids, meaning this didn’t all happen in one day. The social worker probably went to the house for a wellness check, saw whatever horrors were there, then got a court order (required) and pulled them from the house.” J3ebrules

“Short back story/history. We are in city limits, but due to zoning BS, we’re literally on the other side of the city line. Plus, when the house was built, it was before the city is what it is now so not connected to city water but plenty of water filters. Old house, blah blah. In the 10 years that I have resided here with my family, we have gone through 5-6 coffee pots because someone can’t seem to maintain them.

So we have a standard Mr. Coffee pot with a removable filter part. Words fail me, meh.

Leave the coffee pot to be infested, watch as I take away your brew! (LONG)
Nasty pot with stains.

I grew up with coffee, grandparents were coffee drinkers, parents are, and now so am I. However, I consider myself SOMEWHAT of a coffee snob, as in I won’t drink just any coffee. Certain flavors of certain brands and sometimes holiday flavors, but I always make sure that those who use the coffee pot more than I do always have their coffee stocked and I have my own flavor if I don’t want to use the standard that everyone else uses.

So we’ve had this for 2 years now. FIL uses it daily as it’s programmable to the timer and starts for whenever you need it.
The thing is, FIL does not do standard care for this thing; this is the 5th coffee pot we have had to buy since I moved here to be with my husband. WHY? Because before me and before his work changed, he would get his coffee at work. I came in, his work schedule changed, and to help, I bought a coffee maker.

Foolish me. It REALLY hurts because one year I was gifted this coffee maker it didn’t last a year because he let it go to pot by not taking care of it. (Even though I tried to prevent that.)

ANYWHO, TO THE POINT. For those who don’t know standard maintenance on this like you would most appliances means cleaning the pot, rinsing out the water tank, etc.
FIL has NEVER done that….this is important because we have gone through 2 incidents where we had to fight off bugs.

WE STILL HAVE THEM because he refuses to clean this thing and leaves a mess all over the counter. In all my attempts to either just suck it up and clean it, ask him to since he uses it the most. Nope, no go.
FINE. So this last week, I took the machine -sans pot and filter- outside on the back porch doused it with bug spray and left it outside somewhat covered so the remaining b*stards can come out to die.

Except…I left it there for him to find with an actual small pile of them around for him to see; this held them inside…gross.

But the best revenge. I made him watch me as I thoroughly cleaned out, sanitized, and rinsed the coffee pot that got ALLLLL the residue off, SHOCKER RIGHT! During this, I had my husband help me so that my father in law would understand, “Ok, I know you aren’t stupid, and this isn’t an insult, but this is how we clean this.” I also had my husband there to help keep FIL from doing anything for this next part.

This is when I made him watch as I took said now clean Mr Coffee out to the outside trash bin and dumped it. OH, YOU BET FIL was p*ssed. I just cleaned it why throw it out!?!?! KEEP IN MIND I kept the pot and the removable filter tray.
Because this is what happens when you don’t take the time to clean your appliances. The pot gets nasty and roaches infest it and make it their breeding ground.

The last time I had to clean this the thing was so gross and had so much SLUDGE caked in the water tank that they just took it over. For the last 2 years, I have not touched this machine except to clean it and I made my own coffee with powder base. Yeah, the coffee snob gave up having good coffee because you let this thing go to sh*t.

My husband had to hold dad back because, yeah, I broke his machine. Well, sir, you cost me 4 good coffee machines, one of which was a very nice Black and Decker coffee maker which was a GIFT!

Fret not, he can use the now clean coffee pot and filter tray to make his own coffee. I even have a tea kettle to help boil water faster, haha! Merry Christmas, FIL.”

“When I was hired for the job which I currently work, I was hired to work on Tuesday through Saturday from 2 PM to 10 PM.

This had been my schedule for months, never changing (as I was verbally told that this was my set schedule, I even clarified this because I had to arrange childcare). For example, one week I was accidentally left off the schedule entirely and was told to just work my normal schedule.

Around Thanksgiving time, we closed down for a week. The company policy is that you have to work your last scheduled shift before the break and your first scheduled shift after in order to get your holiday pay. On the Monday following Thanksgiving (remember I’m normally off on Mondays), I got a call saying I was scheduled to work and that because I didn’t come in I wouldn’t get my holiday pay.

This kind of p*ssed me off because I had been told I would work Tuesday-Saturday and thus had only arranged childcare those days, so I couldn’t come in that day if I wanted to.

The exact phrase I was told over the phone was “It is your responsibility to check the schedule every week because we don’t have set schedules.”

Fast forward to this week. While checking the schedule, I noticed that my schedule is the same as normal with the exception that I am off the schedule on Saturday. So, I decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth and just take the 3 day weekend and don’t mention to my boss that she left me off.

So Saturday (which I normally would work), I don’t go in since I’m not scheduled. I got a call from work and didn’t answer (no voicemail left). Then I receive a text from my boss saying that my schedule “never changes” and it will be a no call/no show on my attendance record for not coming in to work. I reply that I am not on the schedule and so I’m not required to come in, as it is my responsibility to check the schedule every week because we don’t have set schedules.

I received no further reply and am looking forward to seeing how work goes on Tuesday.

Forgot to mention this, but I took a picture of the schedule to make sure that I can prove I was off on the schedule in case my boss tries to write me up. And in case you don’t feel like looking through all the comments, I do have a new job lined up and am just waiting for my start day before I quit this one.”

The Follow-up:
“Before work today, I had a follow-up interview yesterday for the new job I mentioned.

I was offered the position I wanted and was told I can start as soon as I want.

I came into work today intending to work the shift today before leaving as it’s the last day of the pay period.

When I got to work today, I clocked in and didn’t see any managers or anything, so I started working. After 15 minutes or so, my boss came out and asked, “the803project, you really couldn’t come in on Saturday?” Obviously, they knew the answer and I said no.

They then asked me what I was doing that I couldn’t work my usual shift; I replied that it wasn’t their concern what I do on a day I’m not at work.

They simply nodded quietly and walked away.

About an hour later, the boss came over and asked to see me for a minute. I go to their office and there is a manager (they are above me and lower than the boss) sitting in there as well.

A condensed version of the discussion: Boss has a write-up and gives me a spiel about the attendance policy and said I have to get written up for a no call/no show. I refused to sign the write-up, as I wasn’t scheduled, so I couldn’t NC/NS a shift is not scheduled for. The manager seemed a little confused (I don’t think they were told that the boss didn’t put me on the schedule and that’s why I didn’t show up), so I pull the picture up of the schedule on my phone and show it to the manager, who then agrees with me that it isn’t an NC/NS.

Boss said I know what my normal schedule is as a full-time employee and so I should have clarified that it wasn’t a mistake. I said it wasn’t my responsibility to double-check the schedule they put out and reminded them that I was told my responsibility was to check the schedule every week because we don’t have set schedules. Boss said something about “for future reference…” about working my normal schedule and I said okay and asked if I could go now. I debated whether or not to stay the rest of the shift before deciding to go ahead and leave, so I wrote and signed (and documented) a note saying I was quitting effective immediately and I left it on the boss’ desk and told a manager on my way to the time clock.

This is the first and only time I’ve quit without giving two weeks’ notice.”

“This revenge is so petty.

Throwback a decade, I was in sixth form (16-18 years for my American friends) and working at McDonald’s on weekends for extra cash.

At 10:30 am, we changed from the breakfast menu to the main menu, and there was typically a few minutes of blind panic where there was a slightly longer wait for food.

10:20 am and in comes this meathead who still looks half p*ssed up from the previous night and orders 3 mayo chickens.

I inform him we will only be able to start cooking them at 10:30 as fryers are in use for breakfast items for another 10 minutes.

He says okay and pays his $3.87 and waits at a table. Worth saying at this point it’s a HEAVING Saturday morning, the first one after payday.

Not even 5 minutes later, he comes up to me and says/shouts in a thick Scouse accent.

“Oi! What you doing giving him his food before mine? I’ve been waiting here way longer.”

I inform him that the customer had ordered off the breakfast menu, which we had ready to hand out.

He looks p*ssed off but nods at me.

10:30 on the dot (when I told him the chicken would be put down), he barges past other customers in the queue and gets up in my face almost shouting now.

“Where the f*ck are my mayo chickens? You’re taking the f*cking p*ss now.” I tell him his food is being cooked, to stop swearing at me, and that it’ll be literally two minutes.

He continues, “This isn’t f*cking good enough.

No wonder you work at Mc-F*cking-Donald’s when you can’t even cook a chicken burger.” (This sentence in Scouse was hilarious.)

I tell him to stop shouting and wait in line or I’ll cancel his order and refuse service.

He just says, “F*cks sake” and audibly mutters ‘c*nt’ under his breath.

At this point, I see 3 mayo chickens come sliding down the chute. And I just leave them.

I left them there for an extra 5-6 minutes until I knew they’d go a bit more lukewarm while I started serving another customer. He tried to kick off, but I think he soon realized the more he did so, the longer he’d be waiting.”

Another User Comments:

“They say revenge is best served cold, but I guess in this case, lukewarm will do just fine too.” PurpleMuddyGirl

It’s gonna cost you in more than one way.

“So this is back in high school about 10 years ago (yikes!). The way my high school worked was that you’d have the same homeroom with the same people all four years (i.e., people from your own grade only).

Unfortunately for me, the guys in the class were all your typical high school d-bags. There was this one guy who was the most annoying that we’ll call Dick because that was his name and obviously fit him perfectly (side note: Dick, if you read this, you sucked then, and I’m sure you suck now.)

Anyways, Dick would never do his homework and would always pester me to “help him out” by letting him copy it.

After a while, I gave in but would charge him $1 a time to copy it. This would happen three or so times a week, so it was a profitable little venture, and since we were in separate periods from another (still the same homework) combined with it always being multiple-choice, I never really had to risk being caught.

So fast forward to the end of senior year, I’ve probably made around $350 from this. So now we’re getting to the last week of class, and he’s barely going to pass the year (my homework could help only so much, and by that year, I only was in one class with him, since by that point, I was doing AP classes and other electives).

I know he can’t afford to f*ck up anymore, so when he comes to me for assumedly the last time I drop the bomb so to speak, “It’ll be $20 this time.” He, of course, is p*ssed. “WTF, man. It’s always been $1. What are you doing?” “Well, that’s Capitalism, baby, supply and demand so on. Do you want them or not?” He’s p*ssed off but reluctantly does so.

Just to be safe, I change a few answers on mine (getting a much lower grade on it, but it was one homework assignment in a class I had a B in, so I could take the hit).

Since our assignments were handed back the next day, even if he ratted me out, they couldn’t prove it. I suppose other students in the room could have backed him up but I was a good student who never had detention, had a good relationship with the principal, and they were all degenerates, so who would they have believed?

After graduation, I never saw Dick again, but I still have the several video games he essentially bought for me, so I always have a smile on my face when I play them.”