The following is how my mom got revenge on her then Brother-in-law. Aka my step-dad's brother.

My mom is a traditional woman from Minnesota. By traditional I mean she is very proud of her ability to cook good food and enjoyed feeding her family homemade meals.

Among, other things as well she is reluctant to suffer ill-mannered or outright ungrateful people. Especially as it pertains to her cooking and the people who have been guests of weekly Sunday dinners that she would make without fail. Don't get me wrong. She was always willing to take pointers, advice and such input from those who had eaten. She would usually agree that there was another way to make whatever dish was being discussed. And, truth be told I heard only one person lodge a complaint and it was a BLATENT attempt to hurt my mother's feelings, intimidate her and teach her that it wasn't her place to be in Men's conversation.

She was a relentless critic of her cooking. She was the hardest critic she had. Personally, I still to this day never had anything that she cooked or baked that was bad because she didn't know how to make it right. But, I realize also that I am bias.

To her credit, she would remake things that didnt turn out to her liking or upon realizing there was a mistake somewhere before she would serve it on her table. She made almost everything from scratch. Which means in short that she spent 6 hours every Sunday cooking, baking and such for everything to be something she could be proud to serve her family and her guests.

Her new husband saw the large family meal (there were 3 siblings plus me at home then, 6 people eating at least 4 side dishes and a main entre, salad, and a pie or cake. Again, all from scratch) as reason to NEED to invite his brother, his brother's wife and family of 3 children to Sunday dinners. My mom hesitated but, only momentarily. She never turned anyone away. Not only did the guy show up with his whole family in a Chevette (read as: smaller then a VW bug and less power then 2 hampsters on a treadmill) but the kids were dirty and so was he. Greasy dirty like maybe they didn't have running water or access to a bar of soap. His wife, to her credit was visibly embarrassed by the condition of her family. But, as my mom said to me later that first night, “That doesnt make them bad people”. “I wont turn anyone away hungry”. She lived up to that. Over the course of the next year there wasn't a Sunday that went by that they were not in attendance at our table. There were many cases of highly questionable statements made at the dinner table after Grace was said and everyone dug into the amazing treats, typical fare of freshly baked bread and rolls, and the seasonal fresh food she was renowned for making so well. Often times the statements (invariably coming from the father of three worst children I can remember having to entertain) would make me drop a fork out of surprise. Followed by a slow head-turn to see if and how my mother was reacting. My step-dad regularly (if not always) cut off his brother's ghastly condemnations of my mother before he could get them all the way out of his mouth. Presumably, he was doing this to clear more room for the vast amount of food he was shoving in there. My mother smiled patiently, waved off his childish behavior and said, “Some people are unable to be gracious” when I asked why she would accept the way this buffoon talked at the table. “It could be worse. Think of how Nancy (his wife) must feel”.

My step-dad and his brother would retire to the living room after the meal. Typically to watch football or just have inane convesations about how stupid women were in general. Jeff had married a Nancy a woman lightly less intelligent then himself. He used this fact to reinforce his belief that all women are inferior. On the other hand, my step-dad had married a woman with an IQ roughly twice his and had a hard time holding his own in any regards where intelligence was a factor. Again, his brother used my step-dad's lack of intelligence as reinforcement of his own superiority. The whole belief was a thinly disguised lack of real or actual intelligence. I was 10 or 11 at the time. He was not impressive except for his ability to manipulate my step-dad like a marionette doll. Grotesque. But, impressively so.

One Sunday after dinner my mom walks into the living room and things went bad. My step-dad's brother (Jeff) insulted my mom's cooking. Not just that he felt it was not suited for a dog or a pig to eat but, if that was what she thought was good he knew an outhouse where she could eat to her fill of similar quality food. As I said before it was an obvious attempt to get my mother to react badly. She blankly looked at him and said that no matter what he thought of the quality of her cooking his attendance wasn't welcome for another meal. And, curtly added that if he were so smart then how did it take over 50 meals to figure out that it was so bad?

In no uncertain terms she told him that he was welcome to go find somewhere else to mooch a meal for 5 people for free. Do not come back.

He turned more colors of red and purple then I had or have to this day seen on anyone. But, she was right. And, more importantly he was wrong.

After much heated debate between her and my step-dad later that night (much of which was him screaming at her about imaginary nonsense) she caved and said Jeff and his Family could come back and were welcome for Sunday dinner.

She explained the following experience she had the next morning on multiple occasions,

“On my way to work around 8am. I was driving down the i-17 freeway. A big truck in front of me swerved VERY HARD and a couple of 50 lb bags of onions, the big white ones, fell off the back of the truck. I knew an opportunity when I saw it. I pulled over to the shoulder IMMEDIATELY”.

She went on to explain that she very carefully went out into freeway traffic and returned to her car with not one but both 50lb bags.

She then put them into her car and drove “like a bat out of hell” to the employee parking lot of Gilbert Engineering where Jeff worked. She found his little piece of Chevette car. And, as was customary at that time in Phoenix, Arizona found his windows rolled down. She proceeded to pull the entire back seat bottom bench piece out completely and placed the two bags under the rear seating positions where the bench cushion foam rubber is the least thick and there is space in between that and the steel body of the car. She carefully made certain that all the seatbelt buckles were as they should be and replaced the bench section. She said she was amazed they fit. I asked her once if she was worried she might get caught. She replied that there was nothing to 'catch’ her doing. And, at 8:20am on Monday everyone was inside working. No one would be leaving or arriving.

So, the next week was pretty uneventful. I as everyone other then my mom was unaware of the gift she had given Jeff. But, on that Sunday as they left I remember my mom going over to say something to Nancy who was sitting in the passenger seat of that clown car. Jeff's wife asked her, “Karren, do you smell that”? My mom sniffed the air. Clearly smelled a faint pungent odor and said, “Smell what”?

“Nevermind” Nancy said. They drove away.

Before two more Sundays would pass I could actually smell them coming before the 3 stroke engine could get them within visible distance. It became commonplace to see them pulling up with all windows down and each of the four luckiest of them holding their head out the window. There was always one kid in the back who was unlucky enough to not get a window seat.

It isn't as if Jeff didn't LOOK for the source of the smell. He had gone through it with a fine tooth comb. The problem was that he never considered looking under the back seat. I mean, honestly, who would?

I was present to hear him bellyache to my step-dad regularly,

“Where do you think this terrible smell is COMING from’?

There were several ideas. Maybe cheap gasoline? Maybe this, maybe that?

This went on for at least 6 months. Jeff was way too cheap to buy a different car. His was unacceptable as a trade-in now and that meant he would have to pay the whole cost of the next car. Wasn't going to happen. All of this transpired through the course of a very standard Phoenix Springtime. Continued throughout summer, followed by an autumn. If you are not familiar with the summer weather in Arizona specifically in Phoenix I can sum it up:

Does it get over 112°?

Everyday. At least until 6 a.m

After that 112° wouldn't be back until well after 7pm or 8pm.

It's the desert. It is comparable to an oven. And, temperatures ROCKET up from sunrise to sunset. Only taking a break (sometimes) late at night to cool down by 5 or maybe 7 degrees.

So, those two bags of onions are baked and fried on the hot metal of the car body every single day for hours as the schlub is working. He leaves work daily in a freshly cooked rotten onion car that looks like a large kids toy. Squeezes his fat body into it and has to drive home with his head out the window the whole way. Probably ate a few bugs that way. But eating bugs a much better option the stink inside that car.

I still roll with uncontrollable laughter when I remember the four heads out the windows driving up at unsafe high speeds (as they were very anxious to get out of that car) and the 5 clowns tumbling out so fast you might think it was on fire.

I won't tell you how it ended. Just know that in my recollection it was ongoing for at LEAST a year. It did end eventually. I will say that. And, not because Jeff was smart enough to look under the back seat. Nope.

The original question was about revenge. And, that is the BEST revenge I ever saw exacted.