When I was in high school there was a bully who preyed on weak kids, including mentally challenged kids. He was the worst of the worst, an irredeemable, nasty person.

My friends and I strongly disliked him. We were on the wrestling team. We could have caught him in a corner and given him a biblical beatdown, but we were also all scholarship kids at a Catholic school whose administration would most definitely strip us of our scholarships and kick us out given sufficient reason.

Back to the bully at hand. We went to Taco Bell after school one day before wrestling practice (counterproductive, I know) and for some reason took dozens of hot sauce packets with us when we left.

After practice we went back into the school to get our bags out of our lockers. It was after 6 p.m., it was dark out, and the hallways were utterly quiet. We decided it would be delightful to open the hot sauce packets and squeeze the sauce through the ventilation slits in the bully’s locker.

We went upstairs early the next morning “to witness the festivities,” as one of my friends put it.

(My high school wasn’t as cool as The Breakfast Club’s Shermer High School. We didn’t have Jeff Spicoli-esque characters, and we didn’t have girls either, so no one bothered to moderate their behavior and kids acted like barbarians. It was like a damn prison.)

The bully opened his locker. Confusion flashed across his face.

“Yo! Dey put…dey put…” he reached a finger in, scooped up a glob of hot sauce on his index finger, sniffed it, recoiled momentarily, then licked it like the idiot he was. “Yo, dis…hot sauce! Dey put hot sauce on my shit, yo! Dem ni—as put hot sauce! Hot sauce on my shit, yo! All over my books and my sweater and shit, yo!” (Keep in mind the bully was white, in a school that was 1/3 black, 1/3 white and 1/3 Hispanic. To this day I’m surprised no one beat his ass for using the n-word. Another horrid quality of his.)

Yet he was such a dumbass that he didn’t put two and two together, and at lunch that day he continued to torment others, including a kid who had serious mental issues and was one of his favorite targets.

I should also note here that he occasionally messed with a kid who had Down Syndrome. As far as bullies go, he was the worst. Pure evil.

So we sauced him again, and left a note this time so there was no ambiguity about why he was suffering misfortune. It read: “You are a f—ing d-ck. You can continue being a d-ck and we will continue to sauce the shit out of you, or you can cease all d-ckish activities and we will leave you alone. The choice is yours. Just be glad it’s hot sauce for now, and not special sauce.” (Use your imagination.)

We signed the note “The Flying Saucers.”

The next morning played out much like the first, except with more incrimination.

“Doze ni—as sauced me again, yo! What dis? Yo, dey wrote a note, yo! Yo, what dis Flying Saucers, yo?”

The living indictment of the American education system played at Sherlock Holmes for about 20 minutes, accusing several of his many enemies, but he didn’t have the foggiest who’d sauced him.

He moved his locker and continued being a bully. We took note and sauced him again.

He moved his locker a second time and thought he was being clever by covering the vents from inside with heavy paper and electrical tape. Moron. We cut the paper with a butterfly knife and squeezed so much hot sauce inside that huge globs of it had dribbled out and dried by the next morning.

(“Da sauce, yo. Why dem n—as put dat sauce in my lockah, yo? Imma kill dem guys, yo!”)

We were not as careful as we should have been. One of the school counselors, a Brother Tom, noticed us snickering when the bully discovered his third or fourth surprise.

“You boys didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?” he asked us discreetly one day.

We didn’t even bother denying it. Brother Tom told us to be careful but didn’t rat us out. I’m sure he hated this kid too. Adults generally know who the bullies are, even if the bullies are careful to do their nasty work when no authorities are around to witness it. Perhaps he would have given us up if it had been more than just hot sauce. I don’t know.

I don’t remember how many saucings it took, but the bully eventually learned to moderate his behavior, because really, how many times can you go to your parents and ask for money to replace sets of books and school sweaters that have been drenched in hot sauce by nameless vigilantes because of your own actions as a bully?

How do you even explain that to your parents? “Well, you see, it’s like this, mom. I’m a huge asshole and I pick on kids with Down Syndrome and autism. Everyone hates me. So someone has been, uh, pouring hot sauce in my locker and ruining my books and clothes. Can I have $180 to buy new ones?”

The dean of students even gave him detention for not wearing his school sweater, despite the fact that he had a good excuse, because he was such a legendary asshole. No one liked him. Not the teachers, not the faculty, not the students.

The Flying Saucers were called upon to mete out justice a few more times. We fancied ourselves members of some sort of secret high school society a la The Chocolate War, but vigilantes who were a force for good rather than evil or driven by selfish motivations.

A bit dramatic, sure, but it was fun. May the sauce be with you!

(“Hot sauce, yo!”)

I owned a home that had a pretty little meadow (about 1–1/2 acres). The front portion was planted in native grasses that grew to about 1 ft tall. Then there was a bigger section of native wild flowers. Then there was our garden (surrounded by a deer fence). The upper portion of the meadow was lined with poplar trees.

One night one of our local yahoo teenagers decided it would be fun to do donuts in our meadow.

The next day I dropped a poplar tree (about 10 inch diameter) across the upper part of the meadow and carefully limbed it. I hid it in the grass as well as I could. We worked our tails off to recover as much of the garden as we could.

Sure enough a couple of weeks later, they were back. Except their pickup hit an unexpected obstacle that ruined the front end and it got stuck when it bounced over the tree trunk. When I woke up and saw what I had caught, I got a logging chain and padlocks and locked my “catch” to the tree trunk. Soon there were irate teenager that wanted their pickup back. My shotgun, German Shepherd and I disagreed with that idea. An irate father showed up and demanded I release my catch. I will be glad to release it when the upper and middle parts of the meadow are restored and I am compensated for all the vegetables that were ruined. That didn’t seem fair to him, so he left and came back with a sheriff’s deputy. The deputy listened to both sides of the story, told dad and son that what I wanted sounded reasonable. He then proceeded to inform me (in front of them) the process for claiming my catch and obtaining a clear title. He also told me what the impound fee was at the local impound lot, reminding me that the fee should be declared as income on my taxes. I was warned that if I dropped another tree across the truck, I was responsible for cleaning up any soil contamination. If that was what I chose to do, I should properly drain all the fluids from my “yard art.”

The kids started work the next day. When everything was repaired and they agreed to pay $200 per month until the next planting season, I released my catch.

I was doing laundry at my apartment. Money was tight and a dryer was 75 cents. Quarters were hard to get on weekends as no one wanted to give change.

I had just put my wet clothes in the apartment laundry room dryer inserted the money and started it.

The laundry room was right next to my apartment.

I went out after 15 min to check on my other dryer and I saw all of my wet clothes laying in the dirt outside the laundry room.

My dryer was running with someone elses clothes.

I was beyond angry. Now all of my work clothes were wet and muddy.

Back in my apartment my friends son had left a box of assorted broken crayons.

I threw them in the stolen dryer and started it back up.

I was able to hang my clothes all over my apartment overnight to get them dry.

After the crayon trick, no one ever messed with my laundry again.

I learned this trick from being a kid with crayons in my pants pocket when mom went to do the wash.

Note: Several people have mentioned that I am a bad person because I ruined the dryer in question. I actually went out later with cleaning supplies to clean up the potential mess. There was no wax in the dryer, just crayon wrappers in the lint screen. Apparently the wax just stuck to the dryer pirate’s clothes.

I haven’t done it yet, but I am considering it.

Today I received a payment into my bank account that with a little research, turned out to be a Child Support Payment from my ex who has NEVER paid a penny of court ordered child support.

I will be 70 in a couple of months, I have a $140,000+ back support judgement (a case brought by my ex in an effort to get his back payments wiped out and which backfired on him) dating back to the early 2000’s. I have been collecting my pension for the past five years. My ex (younger than me by 4 years) started collecting his this month. For decades in order to avoid paying child support my ex has worked ‘off the books’ and then 15 years ago married a millionaire. Now that he is collecting his Old Age Pension as of this month, which does not need to be applied for in Canada, but is automatically started when you turn 65 unless you request otherwise, the gov’t now has an ‘income source’ for him that they can garnish for back child support. As far as I can calculate, I’m getting and will continue to get every month until I/he die(s), at least half of his Old Age Pension. I can’t stop laughing. I was a good ex wife. I never harassed him, interfered in his life or kept him from his kids … he did that all by himself.

The point is, I am now, in my unfettered old age with the attitude of “I really don’t care what you think, I’m happy with who I am” considering sending him an email that says:

Hi Bob,

Thanks for the child support payment. Your pensions loss is my pensions gain, and I can now (thanks to what will be ongoing payments) upgrade my medicinal cannabis.

Me

He will literally blow a gasket! His addiction to cannabis was one of the reasons I kicked him out. I have nothing against people using it, but not at the cost of food and shelter for your kids.

It would be the first and only time I’ve ever done anything for revenge on anyone. I wonder if I’ll have the nerve?

UPDATE: Well I did it. Here’s the message I sent late last night when it was past midnight his time and I was too tired to rethink my impulse:

“I finally got a Child Support Payment, so thought Father's Day was a good time to let you know your responsibility to your sons is finally paying off!”

It just may ruin his Father’s Day, but frankly I don’t care. And surprisingly, I don’t feel bad about it at all!

Update#2: He messaged me back and I quote: “What the f**k are you on about? You are too old to be getting Child Support.”

I messaged him back and I quote: “Pension payments are out (mail/bank deposit) by the 27th of this month. Let me know if you think yours is a little short………….I can explain. ROFL”

He has not responded. But he will when he sees his Pension Payment! I can hardly wait. This revenge thing is really rather fun!

Update #3: Message from the ex: “You effing cow! Way to ruin my birthday. I don’t even have enough money now to treat myself. You won’t get another dime. I’ll make sure of that”

My response: “I would say sorry but I’m too mellow on some premium ‘medicine’ to bother. So thanks. Will think of you next month when I have your funds to replenish my supply.”

Ex response: “I hope you choke on it”.

I didn’t carry on the conversation. He was SO steamed and I really was feeling SO mellow, so I just turned my phone off and went back to enjoying the sunset.

Thanks for the upvotes folks. I’m glad you all enjoyed my latest life drama in some way. Have a great weekend!

I pulled this on my husband, soon to be ex. We had been married for 15 years. I had just given birth to our second child. I knew he wasn’t happy about out first child and he let it be known he didn’t want the second. Everything was fine until we had kids, then he started doing his own thing and treating me horribly. I was sick with worry, trying to work, and was taking care of the home and children alone.

One day, I got a call from a guy who told me that he had a Private Investigator follow his wife and my husband. He had proof of their affair and his evidence fit. I believed him. After a long talk, he said that he wanted to save his marriage and asked what he could do to break them up.

I told him -“Simple! My soon to be -ex ( I knew I was done at this point) is a big coward. You just need to call him and scare him.” He said.”I can do better than that.”

This guy was a building contractor. He loaded a bunch of his biggest guys on his crew in his truck and they were waiting to catch my -ex at his favorite hang out. He flew home that night-frightened out of his wits. First time we had seen him before 9 PM since the baby was born.
He wanted all the doors and windows shut that night. The next morning, he woke up to all the blinds and windows opened. I had pulled his truck out of the garage and into the front yard so my son could ride his trike. This really put him in a panic! He also wanted the phone off the hook, but somehow it was hung back up. He jumped every time it rang. I actually got my sister to call and hang up several times.

The contractor called to thank me and asked if he could do anything to help me. I had one favor to ask. He said with pleasure.

When we went to divorce court, my attorney presented all of the evidence collected by the private investigator.
My ex had no idea this was coming and his attorney sat down and put his hands over his eyes.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Sometime around 2000, I was waiting tables in a fairly nice Italian restaurant.

One slow afternoon, a couple came in with their two kids. Perfectly nice family, and since they were the only table in the joint, they got my full attention. We even had some small chit-chat.

Everything with this experience was absolutely normal. After they paid and left, I picked up the check and saw they gave me quite a nice tip.

They also had filled out a comment card and left it on the table. On this 4x6 card, they managed to leave a laundry list of complaints:

• The food was horrible and took an hour to get
• The music was deafening
• The sweet tea was not sweet (this was the only true item, since we did not serve sweet tea)
• The server was drunk and probably on drugs
• The server smelled like a sewer
• The server insulted the wife and kids
• The server tried to over charge/scam them

I assume they were just out for a free meal or something. If so, I couldn't care less except for the complaints against me. Those could cost me my job!

So, I took their comment card - which included their home address, phone number and email - home with me. Three months later, I entered their email into every porn site I could find … and most of those weren't the “vanilla” variety.

Not my finest hour, I admit.

I used to work in a warehouse picking orders for stores and we had a mixed race lady who was forever trying to get colleagues to do work she had been assigned and was very manipulative. My friend could see right through her and refused point blank as he had his own work to do as did we all. Well she didn't like that at all and had a right go at him for not giving in to her demands. Well to cut a long story short a few days later my friend was called into the Managers office and was informed that the lady In question had accused him of making racist remarks and despite his denials an investigation took place and she was very plausible. Even though a few of us gave evidence to say we didn't believe for one minute he would ever be racist it didn't look good as the company were very wary of racism and he ended up losing his job as he couldn't prove he hadn't said the things he was accused of. We were all gutted for him and I will never forget the smirk on her face when she was told they had fired him and a few days later she admitted to a colleague she thought she could trust that she had lied but she let it slip one day while we were having lunch. Evil cow. Fast forward a few months and the lying cow had called in to work one Friday as she was very ill and confined to bed. A couple of us went out on the Friday night and who should we see in one of the pubs partying and dancing was evil cow. We couldn't get our phones out to take pictures quickly enough and all got a few lovely pictures of her even singing on the karaoke. These were quickly sent to the Managers phone and when she came back to work on the Wednesday having recovered from her illness she was called straight into the Managers office, shown the pictures and fired on the spot. We watched her come out of the office in tears and everyone waved and shouted bye bye, see ya later. It felt so satisfying and my friend who had been fired ended up with a better paid job so happy days.

I didn’t really do it for revenge but oh ,did it get nasty. During my divorce, I got a notice from my insurance company, that because of the accident I was in, I would be surcharged. What?!

It was a large surcharge and I actually got the notice before I heard anything about an accident.

I called the insurance company to tell them it was a mistake, that I hadn’t been in an accident.

“Oh yes, on Tues(date). In (my ex-husband’s car).”

I told the insurance rep that we were getting a divorce and I hadn’t driven his car in months. Finally, the insurance company(or police department-I had to call them too) found out that his girlfriend had been driving and got in the accident. She didn’t have her license and said she was me.

I was outraged and the revenge part was that I told them that ______(girlfriend’s name) was still an inexperienced driver (had a license for <6 yrs) which is a big surcharge in my state. The insurance company refused to cover the accident and charged her with fraud.

My girlfriend of six months (and friend for years) was sweet, good-natured, very religious, and very, very affectionate. Until, that is, she told me that she had secretly met a well-paid lawyer, they were now engaged, and she didn’t think it was right to continue our relationship.

This was not the first time I had been monkey-branched like that, nor was it the last. Girls saw me coming — I was thoughtful, meant well, and wanted a family, but writers just aren’t paid very well, so I was the universal security blanket to be dropped like a stone when something better and more exciting came along.

Our co-workers knew nothing of our relationship and she tried to pretend that it never happened. But as she showed off her new engagement ring at work, I asked her, “Are your birth marks still there? Last time I looked, you had three large oval-shaped birthmarks on your butt — that must have been only a week ago.”

She turned red.

“And are you still interested in (certain things straight people do in private)?”

She quit a few days later, but it hardly mattered — she had a rich fiance whom she met while I was paying for dates and had a fancy wedding.

I’m sure that female chauvinists will scream about this, about how evil I was for outing a two-timing hussy, but turn around the sexes and those complaints should disappear. This attitude is sexist in the extreme.

No one has a right to cheat in a relationship or pretend to be serious, lie the whole time, and expect the other person to remain silent about it.

UPDATE: Thanks everyone, for the nearly six thousand upvotes and (can you belive it) well over one hundred and thirty thousand views!

UPDATE: Twelve thousand upvotes and over a quarter million views! I am blown away.

I am not proud of this. It happened over two decades ago. I was young and didn’t know better.

Once upon a time, I lived next-door to a middle-aged woman whom I shall call Juanita. My house was old and needed significant remodeling. Juanita was informed of the projects and notified of the time the work might cause noise or inconvenience to her. Despite my courtesy, Juanita would complain to anyone who would listen. She frequently filed nuisance complaints with the city. When she did, the work was halted off and on to address her complaints.

The final straw was when she rushed to the city to stop the construction work when my house was completely roofless. As my attorney was working with her and the city, a storm came. The temporary roof coverage didn’t hold, and the entire house was flooded. Everything inside was ruined.

I was livid. Juanita must pay.

I thought of various ways to take revenge. Slashing tires and egging her windows were for amateurs. I needed something inventive. Then I recalled how much she prided herself as a conservative Christian.

I went to a bookstore and darted to the periodicals. I noted the adult section and took out subscription cards from a few of the nastiest pornographic magazines on the shelf. When I got home, I filled out the subscription cards with Juanita’s name, address, and phone number.

For the next several months, Juanita’s mailbox was flooded with filthy adult magazines. Although I was certain she’d eventually figure out a way to cancel the subscriptions, the mail ads and spam calls from the porn industry would continue for years as her address and phone number now belonged to the industry database.

Like I said, not proud of it.

Photo by Brian Wangenheim on Unsplash

A friend of mine (really!) was selling her house and her neighbor wanted to buy it for his elderly mother. He offered 25% below market and my friend respectfully declined. Her real estate agent told her that the neighbor was telling prospective buyers about the snakes, rats, and mold in, and around, the house. None of this was true.

At the advice of her friend (not me), she collected dozens of the magazine inserts for subscriptions and filled them out, checking the “bill me later” box on each one. He ended up with a full mailbox for weeks with magazines ranging from Playboy to Boy’s Life.

She never was able to see the outcome, but he must have spent hours on the phone cancelling those subscriptions.

It wasn’t nasty, per se, but it stopped the thievery:

When I was in high school in the early 80s, we lived in an old farm house on a working farm. We didn’t own the barns or the fields, but we were surrounded by cornstalks that mostly hid the house from the road, and the driveway was a good half-mile of dirt.

The farm house did not have a furnace. We had a ginormous cast iron wood stove in the living room. Much of our summers were spent investing a great deal of labor in chainsawing trees in the woods, loading the pickup with firewood, bringing it home to split with an ax and stacking it to dry in storage until we had enough to last through the winter. It was a lot of hot sweaty dirty physical labor and two healthy teenagers hated the chore. My brother and I could think of much better ways to spend our summer vacation.

Our neighbors across the street were alcoholics living on assistance in a shack without indoor plumbing. They had gotten to the point at which cutting firewood was too much work that interfered with Miller Time, so instead they took to sneaking to our house two or three nights a week to help themselves to loads of our firewood. They took enough each time that the theft was noticeable immediately.

We drilled small holes in a dozen logs and packed them full of gunpowder. We were careful to use a warning amount, not a dangerous amount. Distributed them throughout our woodpile and waited. Sure enough, one night several of the boobytraps were stolen.

The explosion blew the metal chimney off the roof of the shack across the street. Not only did the firewood thefts stop, but some firewood reappeared in our woodshed. And suddenly the alcoholics could again afford the gasoline to run their own chainsaw.

Ed wasn't the best manager, so when he disappeared on vacation to Hawaii right in the middle of a month long outage for 10 days I shouldn't have been surprised.

But when he returned all happy faced and tanned, and then tried pumping Sunshine up our asses to get us to work faster to get the plant back on line after we had been working 12 to 14 hour days for the last three weeks without any time off, I had all I could do to hold back my comments, when he tried the go team go bullshit on me.

The following week bad news, the plant outage has been extended, they found a problem with in the generator, I volunteered for the night shift.

One evening while walking through the basement, I noticed a foot long fish on the floor, the operation crew was flushing pipes, so I grabbed it and wrapped it up in some plastic.

I got a electrician buddy to watch out as I made my way into Ed's office, I hid the fish in a old file cabinet in his office.

Flash forward a week and I'm back on days, Ed's office smells so bad the secretary's won't go near it, soon the entire office smells and everyone working there blames Ed. He ends up purchasing all new furniture, even new carpet. But keeps moving that old file cabinet back into his office.

Finally a janitor figured out where the smell was really coming from and the old file cabinet was moved..

There was a investigation into the incident, now called “ Fishgate “ had I let out I was responsible, no doubt it would have cost me my job, there were lots of suspects, I was questioned twice, but each time walked out of his office laughing. He's gone now to wherever bad management goes and I still laugh about it from time to time. Cheers

People from trailer park behind the strip mall I was a super for kept cutting the chain link fence to crawl thru instead of walking another 100 feet to the gate. Got tired of the repairs. Local hardware store carried a caulking tube product called “Bird-B-Gone”. a sticky, smelly clear crap that repelled birds. Some chain link fence was looking like something from Ghost busters, dripping sticky slime. Problem solved, sort of. They then leaned a ladder against a block wall so they could climb over. Told the owner of that property to “F off”. I knew him well. With his permission a bought another tube of bird snot and applied to top of wall. He said he was there when they climbed up, stuck hands in stinky snot and spent 20 minutes trying to clean it off their hands. Problem solved.

It was a party. He was hassling a girl and calling her boyfriend “scraggly Jesus”.

Fifty kilo (110 lbs.) me asked him to stop. Hundred kilo he, lifted me under the armpits and pinned me against the wall while lecturing me on minding my own business in front of 50 or 60 partygoers.

A few of his friends told him to stop, and he did.

I left the party.

Three days later, I saw him get out of an open convertible in the parking lot and leave it open.

My eyes happened upon the poison ivy growing along the fence.

Knowing my tolerance was high (after many severe and very itchy cases), I tore off a dozen leaves and rubbed them all over his steering wheel and seat before tossing them away at the fence again.

I then went back into work and washed my hands thoroughly.

I had a light case on my hands.

He spent three weeks looking very pink (from the medication) and very unhappy and never able to figure out why the poison ivy kept spreading to new areas.

Back in the 1990s, after 15 years of working as a hairstylist, I had enough money to open my own salon. I opened a small salon in the West Village in NYC. Almost every morning when I opened the salon at 9:30 there was a big pile of dog shit right in front of my shop. So many people in the neighborhood owned dogs so it would be impossible to know who it was. One morning I had reason to arrive at 7 AM. From a distance I recognized the man and his very large dog. He lived in the building next to my salon. I did not confront him. I waited till he left and then I went in to open my salon. My mind was working on how I can get revenge as I was doing what had become the daily routine of cleaning the sidewalk of a huge pile of dog shit. I had decided what I would do. Later that day I had a client who lived in the same building as him. I told her what had been going on. She was not surprised. She told me that he was not well liked in the building. There were constant problems with him and other tenants and the co-op board. She gave me his full name and she had his telephone number too. the next day I came early again. I saw him from about half a block away doing what he usually does. As soon as he went upstairs with the dog I made a sign. I Attached it to a dowel. I stuck the dowel right in the big pile of the sign sticking out on top. The sign written in black marker read, “This was left by the courtesy of”…then under that his full name, his address, apartment number, and his telephone number. The back of the sign said, “Try this again and I will leave this package in front of your apartment door”. Since I didn't have to open the salon till 9:30 I went out to get breakfast. When I returned the sign was gone and the sidewalk was cleaned. My friend who had helped me with this that lived in the building said she looked out the window and saw him cleaning the sidewalk while I was at breakfast.

Many years ago when I had the newspaper delivered (before internet news websites), I noticed my newspaper would get stolen about 3 times a week, especially the Sunday newspaper as it was the thickest one of the week and had the comics in it. As I paid to have my newspaper delivered to my lawn I was getting fed up with it being stolen. I had my suspicions about the thief being my next door neighbor as the husband was a tight fisted cheap bastard about spending money. This man unrolled two ply toilet paper to turn it into two separate rolls thinking it made more for his money. Lol. If I had confronted him about stealing the paper he would have just lied. Anyway, I made a plan to stop my newspaper thief. And it was literally a nasty one. As the newspapers were delivered very early in the morning, I decided to set my alarm for 4am early the next Sunday morning. I knew that Sunday paper was the most prized paper. I kept watch out my front door holding a nice cup of tea. At around 5am the paper boy rode by on his bike and tossed my fat Sunday newspaper in its plastic clear bag onto my lawn. I opened my front door and snuck out on my porch. I looked around to see if anyone was around. Nope no one around, and the neighbor's house was dark, meaning they were still asleep. I walked to my newspaper, picked it up and brought it into the house. I opened it and took out the comics which was my favorite section. I put it on the table. I spread several pages of the newspaper open on the floor. I went into the kitchen and put on a pair of latex gloves, went and picked up my cat's litter box and poop scooper and carried them to the hall floor next to the newspaper pages I had spread open. I had purposely not cleaned out the cat's litter box just so he would produce enough turds for my nasty plan. I picked up the poop scooper and dug into the litter box and found the three biggest and juiciest cat turds I could find. I placed them in three different newspaper pages. I closed other newspaper pages over the turds and pressed down on them as much as I could to flatten the turds. I made sure to place some loose turds in there so when he took my stolen newspaper out of the plastic bag the loose turds would fall out. He he. I carefully rolled the newspaper up again and placed it carefully back into its clear plastic bag. It took me about 30 mins to do all of this. I then took the newspaper outside, and looking around to make sure no one was around, and after checking the neighbor's house was still dark, I tossed the newspaper back onto my front lawn in the general area the paper boy usually throws it. I took my smirking ass back into the house. I then cleaned out my cat's litter box completely, much to his delight. I swear if I had left it dirty any longer he would have committed mutiny on me and then start dropping turds places he knows not to. I was tired after all this so I went back to bed for a couple of hours. I woke up later in the morning and went to look outside. The newspaper was stolen just as I knew it would be. However, after that Sunday, my newspaper was there on my lawn like a faithful friend every single day, including the fat Sunday newspaper. Guess he learned his lesson. A disgusting stinky one at that. Lol. Well, you want to take the good things I have, you get the bad things with it LMAO. Anyway, that morning after doing my nasty surprise, I made another nice cup of English tea (my favorite), sat down with my comic section of the newspaper, and enjoyed my nice hot cup of tea reading the comics, with the biggest grin on my face.

Forty years ago my wife and I bought our first home. There was no lawn in the front, so we slaved away at reconditioning the soil and planting grass seed because we couldn't afford sod. Every night after work I was out there carefully watering the lawn until a couple of weeks had gone by and little blades of grass had sprouted. Then one night I come home to find numerous bicycle tracks all through the newly sprouted grass. I was furious. So I set about my nasty revenge. I took a piece of plywood about 30 X 90 cm and proceeded to pound nails in a nice grid, spaced about 2 cm apart. Then I buried it next to the sidewalk. If the culprits tried again the next day, I'd destroy their tires.

My wife asked what I'd been doing, and I told her. She was horrified. “What if they fall off their bikes and land on the nails?”

I couldn't get the image of an impaled 10-year-old out of my mind, so I sheepishly went back outside and retrieved my death plank. So I never got my revenge, but it was certainly the nastiest revenge I ever conceived!

In my work. At a government environment I had a young man who's came from a very poor family and he would bring a sandwich to work every day. I put him in a warehouse and there was a spot on the warehouse wire where he could sit a sandwich up there and for 2 days in a row it disappeared. The workman in the other end of the warehouse would steal his sandwich so I told him the next day just bring two slices of bread and I had him go into the men's room and defecate on one slice and put the other slice on top of it and we wrapped it up as if it were a nice sandwich. We put it up there where he normally did and the next day at lunch time that day at lunch time it disappeared. I often thought I wonder who what the guy thought who bit into that sandwich, but I thought that was good punishment for somebody stealing this poor boy's sandwich I then found him a more secure place to put the sandwich from then on. In fact, each of those days when it disappeared, I bought him a hamburger from the local deli place there so he didn't go with that lunch. But I sure hope them fellers had a good time of that sandwich

Many years ago, the front of my house was grassed, surrounded by a hedge. Being on the North side, neither grew well , so the hedge was pulled out and gravel was poured over the grass to create an off-street parking area.

The weight of the cars pushed the gravel down, so I laid coloured concrete slabs in lines for the cars to drive onto.

A year later, on a Sunday morning, I noticed two of the slabs were missing.

Strange.

Luckily I'd bought more than I needed, so I laid two slabs down to replace the missing ones and got on with my life.

Next Sunday morning, the two new slabs were gone.

Dammit!

I used my last two spares to fill the gaps, and decided to wait up to catch whoever was responsible on the following Saturday.

I couldn't do it. I fell asleep sometime after midnight, and wouldn't you know it, two more slabs were gone!

Dammit!

At this time, I was working in a metal decorating plant, where sheets of lightweight steel were inked before being pressed into tea caddies, biscuit tins and other decorated items. The chief engineer had been experimenting with different types of exotic grease, because the standard stuff was degraded by the heat of the metal, the ink, or the strong UV light used to cure the ink.

What he'd chosen was the thickest, darkest, stickiest, and foulest stuff imaginable. It stuck to everything it touched, and the purple colour stained unprotected skin worse than a nightclub entry stamp.

I borrowed about 2 pounds of this foul substance and applied it generously (about half an inch thick) to the edges of the slabs closest to the edge of my property, using gloves of course.

Once the sun went down, the dark edges appeared to be shadows, and were completely innocuous.

.

Sunday morning dawned, and my ‘lubricated’ slabs were out of place, but they hadn't been taken. Half a pound of the carefully-applied grease was missing from the slab’s edges, and dark, sticky handprints were visible everywhere, from the pavement, to the kerb, and even on the road surface.

None of my slabs were ever stolen again, although I coated several each weekend until I ran out of grease a few weeks later.

I often wondered how long it took for the stains to fade from the thief's hands.

A guy I had been seeing had beaten me. A new experience for me, and one I definitely did not intend to repeat. When I immediately dumped him he left messages threatening to beat me again if I didn't stop telling mutual friends about it. Didn't stop me, but it seriously raised the threat level from him.

We were both involved in the local ballroom dancing community. To reduce the immediate threat I switched to a dance studio he never attended. Two weeks later, he showed up at a class while I was there: to avoid him I begged them to let me leave through the office, something normally forbidden. When I explained why, they made it clear that he would not be welcome there again. Whew! A safe place! It would be safe later, anyway, but not that night.

I walked out into the cold night air, shaking almost as badly as the night I fled his home, half-naked and bruised. I wasn't as much afraid as really, really angry. Fuming. Furious. Enraged. I was trying to keep things low-key and relatively civilized, and he'd managed to intrude on one of my major passions and joys--dancing.

He had bought a brand new shit-brown Buick a few months earlier, and it was parked right next to my car in the parking lot the studio shared with the convenience store next door. Without even really thinking, I went into the store and bought a couple of big tubes of Super Glue. I went back out and Super Glued his every single individual door lock. I really squirted it in good--no half measures here! I glued the trunk lock. I glued his gas cap lock, and the gas cap threads as well. I glued his windows right up under the gaskets, all the way around. I glued down his windshield wipers. I unscrewed the air caps on each tire, glued the valves, then replaced the caps with a little glob of glue on the threads. I glued the hood latch. I squeezed the little bit of Super Glue remaining into the door gaskets. Then I got into my car and went home.

It was assuredly mean, evil, ill-intentioned…pick your word and I'm sure it applies. People speak of remorse and shame for such actions…but, my dear friends, I have rarely had such a satisfying experience, and I hope the joy I felt that night stays with me forever.

EDITED TO ADD: Many people have commented on woman-against-man violence, implying a double standard. Briefly: violence is to be avoided. It's wrong, ok? Doesn't matter who hit whom; it's still wrong. Domestic violence is a betrayal of trust on the most basic level. If a man had written this same post under the same circumstances, I, for one, would have given as much approval as I have received.

Don't know about the nastiest, but certainly one of the more cunning. And effective.

In the mid-90s, some fax spammer had decided my home number was worth a punt. Unfortunately, it was a voice number. That didn't stop their machine redialling it constantly. All. Day. I came home to find my answerphone maxed out and full of fax shrieks, and their machine still trying to call.

I needed that line for dial-up internet too. I was sore pissed off.

They may have picked the wrong geek.

As it happens, my modem, of course, could also be used for fax. So I let one of their fax transmissions through to my computer, and made careful note of its contents. I even used 1471 to check the caller ID matched the phone number on the fax.

Most faxes in those days were sent using actual fax machines, not computer modems. Fax machines often containing thermal printers and long rolls of thermal paper.

So, now their machine had at last successfully delivered their spam and stopped calling me, late in the evening I sent them a fax, using my modem. A very, very long fax. Consisting of solid black pages, with “F*CK OFF!” in 3″ high white text.

The thing about fax transmissions is that they use compression. An almost entirely black page with small amounts of white text compresses very well indeed. Which means I can send many pages, very fast. As fast as the receiving machine can print them.

After about 500 pages had been sent, I ended the call.

The following morning, I received a call from them, begging me not to do it again. Turns out, the thermal head had mostly burnt out by about 100 pages in. There were enough pixels still working to make the rest of the thermal roll, now puddled on the floor, useless. Their machine was so thoroughly borked, in fact, that it was cheaper for them to buy a new one than repair it, and until they did they weren't going to be receiving any new fax orders.

They were given to understand that if I caught them faxing unsolicited spam again, to anyone, my vengeance would be apocalyptic.

(Fax) message received and understood.

A man once gave me a very hard time. He was a friend, and I will not specify my relationship to him much further, but essentially I helped him and his family a lot, and greatly improved their standard of living. Yet in spite of my kindness, he still turned against me.

I got myself involved in a major conflict, and this man I helped so much sided with my worst enemy. He did his best to slander me, and to destroy my name. For a while, he was quite successful. But he made the fatal mistake of forgetting I knew him well, and I knew his weaknesses, his habits, his hangouts…

At some point I knew he was going to go see his most misbehaved cousin in his nations’ capital, and I knew he would do drugs there and likely be in the company of hookers. I knew the location where they usually hid out, and I tipped off the police…

They caught my friend-turned-enemy snorting cocaine off a girls’ backside. The girl was fourteen… never thought he was that twisted, I mean he was already in his late forties at this point, but boy was he more fucked up than I could have imagined… His cousin was lucky to be out of the room at the time, and wisely never returned when he saw the guy being escorted out of the premises…

Now he’s behind bars. He didn’t have a clue for the longest time, I mean I didn’t actually frame him for anything, but I did tip the police off and got him there. I visited him to tell him, to his face, that it was me. He completely lost his shit.

It was great.

DISCLAIMER

This is a story one of my Uber passengers shared with me and it’s worth sharing.

The Story

Basically, this guy worked at a bank for a few years and had a good reputation with his coworkers and customers. Until one day, a new manager came into his branch. They didn’t get along at all and there was a lot of tension. In a shitty turn of events, the manager ends up firing this guy after learning he was giving some customers free checking accounts and waiving the fees. It was a petty, power move.

So the guy is out of a job, BUT he still has knowledge of the inner workings of the bank. No, he doesn’t rob the place. He does something even more diabolical and hilarious…

You see, a feature of this bank was their safe deposit boxes. One could purchase one for a reasonable fee. Now there are two key benefits to a safe deposit box.

1. Only the owner has legal right to access the box.
2. If the box isn’t accessed by the owner for many years, the bank can access the box. (I honestly forget the amount of years. Maybe it’s until death or something.

With that in mind, the dude proceeds to purchase some raw fish and some eggs from the nearest store. He buys the box and puts said groceries in the box and he hasn’t opened it since.

A-MAZING

He said he went into the bank two weeks after and his ex coworkers complained of the smell coming from that room. It filled the bank too, but no one at the bank could access the box or even know which box has the rotting food!

I share this story because it was fucking hilarious and because his revenge deserves to be immortalized.

And Dude, if you already posted this here by some chance, RESPECT!!! 🤟

Took a vacation day and went to Lowes. Bought a bag of Kwik Krete fast setting concrete,a heavy duty padlock, and a 5 gallon bucket. Went to a seed store and bought 10 lbs of purple turnip seeds. Filled the bucket with water and drove to my boss’s house. Turned his water off at the meter and padlocked the valve. Put the bag of concrete mix in the meter hole and added the 5 gallons of water. Spread the turnip seeds all over his beautiful sod yard.

He had to pay for a new meter and was without water for 3 days. Had to move his family to a hotel for the weekend. 3 weeks later he had a weed problem he couldn’t get rid of. HOA was all over his ass. He had to have a landscape company replace the whole yard.

was it worth it to mess with me….I don’t think so.

Edit: I would like to thank everyone for the upvotes and views. I made a lot of people laugh, some gasp and say “Oh shit”, and of course there were some titty babies crying. Everything in the post ( story and comments )really happened. I have plenty more like it to post that were done by myself or co-workers. If this type of stuff boosts the number of daily readers Quora can contact me for more stories. Thanks again everyone.

There was this older guy years ago who hated me for reasons unknown at the time. I followed my dads advice. He said “ When someone hates you, don’t hate them back, instead kill them with kindness, it will drive them crazy”. So I did just that. Every time I saw him I went out of my way to say hi and ask how he was doing. When his wife died I paid him a visit and sent a sincere condolence card. He was guardedly appreciative. He maintained a stoic attitude for years but I kept it up. Then one day out of nowhere he came up to me. I was expecting him to hurl insults at me as he had done in the past. But instead, he got tears in his eyes and said “Tim, you’re a hard man to hate”. He then asked if I understood what he meant. I smiled and shook his hand and said “I know exactly what you’re saying Ray and your words are music to my ears”. From that day on we were friends and he often came to me when he was lonely and needed someone to talk to. That was the best revenge I ever got.

Edit: in answer to numerous questions regarding why he hated me. I found later he was angry with me for calling him out on a phone call with our dispatcher. We were long acquainted prior to this and he called for service on his heating system. We were swamped but he arrogantly thought he deserved immediate priority. When she explained our call load he went off on her. I could hear her trying to reason with him on the phone and at one point she was brought to tears. I had her forward the call to me where I informed him he had no call to talk to her like that. If he wanted to find someone else to service his system he was free to do so. He then called me an asshole and said I had always been an asshole and hung up. But this told me he had bad feelings towards me for years. I didn’t fully understand because we never had word before. Ray had a reputation for having a short fuse and lived an angry life.

A number of years ago I was working for a company in the Boston area. It was a spirited office, with a lot of laughter and some pranks. One guy, “Ken”, kept having pranks pulled on him by “Steve”. Ken came to me at one point and asked if I had any suggestions on how he could get back at Steve. I told him about an article I read where someone tied a dead fish onto a car muffler to get back at the someone. I was only half serious and did not expect Ken to really do this.

Next day Ken came in and told me he bought a good sized fish at a local market and put it into Steve’s car. Steve had a beautiful two door Z with a hatch back. Ken put the fish into the tire compartment in the hatch area.

What added to the issue was the weather was hot and steamy. The next day Steve was in the parking lot pulling the mats, etc. out of his car. He found the fish. That was the last time Steve pulled a prank on Ken.

When I was in HS somebody thought it was a great idea to egg our house and do doughnuts in our yard, tearing up several dozen rose bushes in the process. This happened several times and we had no idea who it was. It was getting towards winter and my father had my older brother and me go into the woods and find 4 large milky quartz rocks, each over 100lbs, and we placed them abut 6 feet from the curb. A few weeks later we were able to track the oil from his cracked oil pan to his home and figure out who it was. He had totaled his car, but his rich daddy bought him a brand new corvette convertible. We were content to let it go at that point but he felt he needed revenge for the damage to his car and again egged the house and, avoiding the rocks, drove over the roses again, destroying over 50. This time a neighbor saw the car, so we knew who it was. I felt it was time to go over the top. I waited until late July when they were on a family vacation and I broke into his car and injected 500ml of butyric acid (the chemical that gives vomit its smell) into his seats, dashboard and every other soft part of the car. It sat in the hot sun for almost a week building up the smell. I was told that when he opened the door, he threw up for 10 minutes solid. They had to strip the car down to bare metal and still never got the smell out completely.

When I was in college I was delivering pizzas. I delivered a pizza to a guy who claimed that I was late and he wanted his pizza for free. I told him I couldn't authorize that but that I would have to call the assistant manager on duty. This was in the early 90's before cell phones were widely available so I had to use the customer's phone. The manager told me to tell the customer no way. The customer asked to speak with the manager, so I let him. They talked for a short while then the man said thank you and hung up. I half expected him to tell me to leave but he said the manager told him he could have his pizza for free. I was surprised but let him have his order. When I got back to the store I was told he did not authorize a free pizza so I was expected to pay for the order. I did, but I returned to the customer's house to confront him… sure enough he refusedto answer the door. I left but when I got off work at 1am I went back to his house for my revenge. He had a van parked out front with the spare tire mounted on the back. I grabbed a pair of side cutters and proceeded to clip off all of his tire valve stems including the spare. I really enjoyed that. I thought he might try to come after me or call the police but I never heard anything about it.

It wasn't particularly nasty but it amused me.

I did a landscaping job for a man named Ray many years ago. It included a large front lawn which we laid newly. Ray turned out to be a dick and I had trouble trying to get my money out of him. Eventually I got annoyed and went to his garden when I knew he was away for a few weeks. With a sprayer and some weedkiller, actually a combination of glyphosate and a residual herbicide to prevent any new seed from germinating, I wrote the simple phrase. “Ray didn't pay” in large letters on his front lawn. There was a bus stop right beside his garden so a couple of weeks later everyone on the bus got to see it. He was livid when he returned a few weeks later. He was even contacted by a local newspaper who had seen it and wondered what was going on. He threatened legal action if I didn't fix it but I refused until he settled his bill.

On the day when I went back to fix it, after he paid up, I had a sign on my truck facing the bus stop saying “Ray finally paid”

I still laugh about that.