They say revenge is a dish best served cold. Here are 21 people who would argue it's best served petty. Let their stories serve as a warning: Petty revenge can happen to you at anytime, be careful who you cross.
Her Face When She Opened It…
“I found out my wife was cheating on me, so I kicked her out and sent her packing back to Missouri. She emailed me asking for her wedding dress so she could marry the guy she cheated with.
I hung the dress in a tree, burned it, and sent it to her the unholy remains in a ziplock bag…. Postage Due”
“I made my old boss think I gave him herpes, not in the conventional way……I worked in a crappy factory for awhile and my boss was a jerk. A jerk beyond jerks–like fire people for no reason then go home and beat your wife jerk. He was also untouchable due to his uncle owning the company. He made us buy our own gloves, I bought really nice, comfy ones. He would come down to the floor while we were at break to check our work and he would use my gloves to do it. I thought this was extremely nasty(it was the middle of summer) and asked him to stop. He just shrugged. After about 3 happenings I got an idea.
I grabbed an old pair of gloves, a poison ivy leaf, and a hammer. Put the poison ivy in glove and pounded away. Kept the gloves in a bag in my lunchbox till I went to lunch. Sure enough left the poison gloves out and he used them. I came back and sure enough he used them. Two hours later he came out to my machine, itching like crazy and red bumps all over his hands. Came right up to me, let me see your hands! I showed him my hands, he showed me his. ‘You didn’t use my gloves did you, I got some terrible rash on my hands from some dancer at the strip club last week!’ No words, no looks, he just left. He left work, went to the doctor, and I hope told that exact story”
The 5,000$ Termination
“I had two jobs, one was at this country ice house in butt nowhere outside of my city. This place was pretty small, but was one of the few bars in a certain area so it would get busy. A lot off good ol’ boys and oil field guys.
I worked the door, checked ids and such, and usually broke up fights or kick people out. The owner of this place was very ‘hands on’. He liked to micromanage everything. Didn’t want me to kick people out unless they were throwing punches, and even then to try and talk to them. Never cut anyone off. Had that ‘always be selling’ attitude.
One night some trouble happens between some regulars and one guy tries to hit another guy with a pool stick. I happened to get hit in the arm but got behind the guy and put him to sleep.
Next day the manager calls me to tell me I’m being let go. Apparently pool stick guy spends a lot of money and me putting him to sleep left him bitter so he called the owner.
Anyways the bar has a nice fancy jukebox. If you have the app you can just pick songs on your credit card and they’ll play. If you hit play next on a song, even if they turn the jukebox off, it’ll play when it starts back up. It’s also unskippable.
With the master remote you could skip a song but they lost that remote so they really can’t do much if someone plays a certain song they don’t like, and even if they unplug it, it’ll play no matter what when they turn it on.
Here’s my petty revenge:
The owner does inventory every Tuesday night. It also happens to be a busy night because they do pool tournaments and it usually gets packed.
So here I thought, I could probably just play the same song over and over and there’s nothing they can really do.
I got twenty bucks in credits and that usually gives you about 18 unskippable songs. Plus more depending if the app gifts you credits.
I picked a remix of Cotton Eye Joe, that comes in at around 7 minutes a pop. Usually when the pool tournament started.
Two hours of hearing the same song has killed their business on Tuesdays. Even if they unplug it, it’ll still play when they plugged it back up.
I’ve been doing it for two months so far, last I heard they had to buy a new jukebox at a cost 5,000. I’ll probably stop for a month then start again. I’m a jerk I guess”
“When I was a tween and my sister had big sleepovers, I was allowed to have my cousin over to keep me company as well.
Things usually went pretty smoothly during the day, but come night time, my sister and her friends would begin pranking us mercilessly. Everything from putting our underwear in the freezer to putting shaving cream on us while we slept to popping out of random places and scaring us. One night, we decided we had enough.
My sister had been warned earlier about the pranking after my cousin and I complained about it. We stayed up late, chugging soda to keep us going until all the older kids had fallen asleep. Then, we pulled out the markers and began drawing all over each others faces. Smears of red and green and purple, we left no areas untouched. We even added little marker streaks to our pillows, to make it look like somebody’s hand had slipped while they were scribbling on our faces. Then we went peacefully to sleep and waited for the chaos to ensue.
Everything went as planned. Their pranks had been mostly harmless until now, they certainly never did anything that would stain or last more than a couple of hours. My sister and her friends were in deep trouble, and we got off scot free.
The highlight of this story for me is a conversation from the following day between my sister and my grandpa:
Sister: But I didn’t do anything!
Grandpa: What? So we’re supposed to believe they did this to themselves?”
Level of Petty- Micromanagement
“Ok. So I work in a call center. We have me: a worker bee. We go to our assigned TSS (tech support specialist) if we have computer issues. We go to our direct supervisor if we have other issues. They are not the same person and the TSS holds absolutely no power over us, but she likes to think she does.
So one day it gets busy. I mean no time to breathe, can’t get up from your desk busy. Boss man says afternoon breaks are cancelled. This happens maybe once or twice a year. But I’m sick. Its hard to breathe let alone continuously talk.
If we have to get away from our computers, we have to put our status as ‘break’ so we do not get calls when away from our desks. I got up a few times to get water or tissues. Was gone for no longer than 30 seconds each time. Well nosy little TSS IMs me each time ‘Uhm maybe you didn’t see the email but we are not taking breaks today.’ I ignored it 3 times. The next time, I screwed around with her a bit. When I knew my direct supervisor was at her desk, I went into ‘break’ status. I heard her jump up and say to my manager ‘She did it again! Come on, I’ll show you.’
Put myself right back into ‘inbound’ status and got a call. TSS and boss man get to my desk and TSS sputters, ‘But but she just went on break! I swear!’ Boss man says ‘Nicki, this is ridiculous. In the time you’ve spent monitoring her you could have been doing work’ and walks away.
I smiled at Nicki and continued working.
Get off my tits, Nicki”
This is Early 2000s Petty
“At a company I used to work for, my first boss there was a decent enough guy off the clock, but he was a a bit of a tyrant at work. He also has a hair trigger temper. No kidding, our regional manager actually made him attend anger management classes, twice that I know of.
If anything went wrong, or if he even thought it went wrong, he’d take it out on whoever was closest, or whoever he happened to talk to next. I was on the verge of quitting over it more than once.
If I make a mistake I’ll own up to it, and make it right. I don’t take well to having someone call me up at random and start cursing me, especially when it’s something I didn’t have anything to do with in the first place.
A coworker and I were talking on the phone, when I jokingly mimicked the sound our nextel phones made when they were about to drop a call. He swore it was convincing, Later I tried it on someone else, and they thought it was real too.
After that, every time my boss called, complaining about something, I started making that noise, and would hang up. He fell for it-I kept waiting for him to catch on, but he never did”
“I play in an LA symphony and of the world’s greatest trumpet players sits directly in front of me. For those of you who don’t play brass instruments, you almost need a constant supply of water to keep from keeling over especially from two straight hours of playing.
So this player is absolutely brilliant. For this concert when we first started playing I had only seen him open his music once and then never again. His playing is unreal, and he has never once missed a note or played remotely out of tune. Let’s call him Sam.
So, Sam is the essential god of the trumpet, and everyone, including myself, treats him as a deity. There are just two problems with good ‘ole Sam; he’s nervous as hell and always forgets his water bottle.
So, we’ve played this concert about five times, and this is our sixth. Halfway through, Sam plays a beautiful solo which could melt the soul of Satan into a warm puddle, and like clockwork, two measures before he plays, he leans back and steals my buddy Roy’s water bottle. This happens literally every concert, and it pisses Roy off because not matter how many times we tell him, he doesn’t give it back until the concert is over. An a–hole he is.
This sixth concert, we reach the solo, and as usual, Sam leans back, grabs the bottle and takes a big ‘ole swig… And chokes. Because that’s not water. It’s Vodka.
He drops the bottle, rushes to grab mine… More Vodka. Our conductor is looking at Sam, and it’s half a measure before he plays. Panicking, he picks up his trumpet… And plays his solo the best of his life. We took him out for drinks afterwords.
He brings two water bottles to concerts now”
Exaggerated Sad Face
“I’m still basking in the warm glow of pettiness I displayed on my way home from work.
I pulled into a gas station behind the car in front of me. There were two pumps open on the end, so I kept following the car in front…until the car stopped at the first pump instead of pulling through to the second pump. There was just enough room to squeeze my car by between the car at the first pump and a fence. As I’m driving by I see a teenage girl give me an exaggerated sad smirk while her friend laughed. Wrong move, ladies.
I pull into the second pump, but I do NOT leave them enough room to pull by after they finish pumping gas. I decided today to pay inside for my gas and take a few minutes perusing the store, grabbing a soda, and chatting with the clerk. When I noticed the girls are done pumping their gas I walked slowly back to my car and started pumping gas. As the gallons ticked by they start to realize their mistake and are getting annoyed. I finished pumping my gas, but as I’m about to get in my car I noticed my windows are awfully dirty. It would be unsafe to drive without them clean, but luckily the gas station has so conveniently provided a squeegee and cleaner. I promptly did my duty and cleaned every window on my car.
As I walked to put the squeegee away I noticed the first girl flipping me off. I gave her the same exaggerated sad face she showed me earlier. Not so funny now, is it?”
“After a very eventful week in which I missed work because I was extremely ill, I finally returned to my hallowed spot behind the register. Since the winter is mighty slow for us, I guess one of my bosses got antsy and decided to tweak our register settings so NEW and FUN things printed out on our receipt. In hindsight, it really was my fault for leaving her unattended with the register for a week.
One of these NEW and FUN things happened to include the receipt now printing the first and last name of the cashier who rang them up. I’m not a crazy privacy nut but this, this freaked me out and pissed me off. The receipt already prints out our employee code when we ring the sale. I called my boss and asked her what POS option she had fiddled it so I could fiddle it back to off. Imagine my shock at her shock on why I would want to do this. What is so bad about the receipt printing the first and last name of the cashier?
Oh, I don’t know. Irate customers having personal information, crazy customers having personal information, ANY customer having personal information. The list goes on. My first and last name are one Google search away from my address, my Facebook, my embarrassing angst-riddled teenage blogs that I keep meaning to delete.
My boss told me to leave the option turned on. So I created a fake Facebook account, using a male name and sent her a private message detailing how I thought she was so pretty and how I was too shy to say that when she rang me up, but I got her name off the receipt and just had to contact her.
Two hours after I sent the message, she called me and told me to turn the option off”
“This was about 20 years ago while I was in high school. Through about 6 weeks of swimming class during the Physical Education year, I noticed that after I’d had a shower after swimming practice, my small, sealed plastic bottle of ‘Ginger’ as we call it here, would have been removed from my bag, half swilled, and put back in my lunchbox.
This was no regular beverage – this was my 250ml bottle of Irn Bru – known as the nation of Scotland’s finest beverage. Even today, decades on – you are not supposed to f–k with someones Irn Bru.
Irn Bru, (please Google it), is the most important invention in Scottish history.
Those Irn Bru’s, a beverage that my dear mother would purchase and place in my lunchbox each day, were being f–ked with. Consumed by some little snot rag. Half stolen, and replaced as a taunt. This could not be allowed to stand.
My school was rough as f–k, and I was not a tough kid. Standing up for myself directly/physically was not something I felt capable of back then. So I made a simple plan.
Without a word said to my friends, I treated myself to a good half bottle of my Irn Bru before I went to bed late one Sunday night, and just before I went to bed, nipped to the bathroom, and filled the remainder of the bottle with my teenage piss. This was immediately after I had masturbated for about the 5th time that day.
Surely enough, after swimming practice that Monday afternoon, I opened my lunchbox to find a half-swilled bottle of Irn Bru.
I stood up in the changing room, on a bench, held the bottle aloft, and exclaimed, ‘Whoever’s been drinking my Irn Bru for 6 weeks, you’ve just drank my jizz and piss’.
The locker room looked on in a confused silence, even my best friends had no idea what the hell was going on…
But I spotted one face. One face that stood out among all the other bewildered 14-year old faces.
It was you, Colin O’Neill.
Colin f–king O’Neill. To this day, I’d put my life on it – It was you the whole time.
You had crappy hair, and were a nasty little bullying jerk – but on that day, you drank a good 120 millilitres of my jizzy, teenage pish.
F–k you Colin O’Neill, you piss-drinking little wanker, I hope your next crap is a hedgehog.
No one ever stole my Irn Bru again”
“I used to deliver pizzas for a great many years, we went to the local TGICHILIBEE’s and the entire time we were being served and I was eating I was trying to think of where I knew the damn waitress from. Finally when she brought me the bill, it clicked. I went out to my car and grabbed every piece of change I could find, and with delivering pizzas; it was plentiful. We made a point of hanging around there ordering a few me drinks, decided to have desert, and just generally make hell for this waitress. I know for a good hour I was her last table and she was just waiting on me; which was fine. Once we needed to leave to get to the cinema; taking the kids to the latest Pixar crap, I paid the entire $98.72 bill in change, with zero tip. Spread the change out across the table to resemble a big smiley face.
As I scooped up my kids to put coats on them, she came over and her face dropped. I simply smiled at her and our family walked out.
As I was doing up car seats, the manager and the waitress came out and the manager asked what was wrong. I looked the waitress dead in the eye and spouted out her address and that I was simply returning the favor. Manager looked dumfounded, I backed out and left.
This dumb lady ordered pizza regularly, 4 or 5 times a week, delivered; paid with an obnoxious amount of unrolled change in a Ziploc bag; if I was lucky, and never a tip. Not a single penny. On top of it, she’d frequently call and complain that we’d forgotten something, to the point that her order always showed up in red on the delivery screen to have a manager come visually check that all the items for her order were there before we left.
As a note, I do genuinely tip; always at least $10, regardless of the bill. I couldn’t bring myself to tip her. I had to make a point. I simply returned the favor and hopefully taught her a lesson.
I’d told the managers at my store what happened on my next shift and that she’d likely call and complain if I ever delivered to her again, which I knew was inevitable. It was a small family run pizzeria, managers told me I’d be taking the run anyway for a laugh if it came up and it was my turn just to see if she’d call and complain. That’s fine, I’d be more than happy to smirk in her face again, even without a tip. Just to have my curiosity fulfilled to see if she learned something.
A few weeks later I managed to, unfortunately, draw the short straw and take her delivery. She just stared at me like an idiot when she opened the door and handed me what she normally does; she didn’t learn anything.
I treated her no differently than I would a known $20-tipper at the door, knowing I wasn’t going to be getting a f–king thing. She did in fact call the store to complain about fabricated bull, and I just laughed. Apparently I swore at her, drove through her lawn and hit her mailbox. We all had a good laugh, and she was banned from ordering deliveries after a manager drove past her house to simply make sure I hadn’t actually f–ked her lawn up and knocked over her mailbox.
If you work for tips, you should definitely tip yourself”
Do Your Dishes
“This happened about ten years back, sharing a 3 bedroom place with two other guys just after college. He was ‘that roommate’, always left his dirty dishes by the sink, even though we had an agreement to cycle through cleaning them. (Normally we would have agreed to just do our own dishes, but we all shared pots, pans, etc. pain in the butt when you have to wash a dish just to use it)
Monday was his turn, again, no dishes were washed. Myself and the third roomie decide he’s not getting away with it anymore, and start washing only the dishes we need for our meals throughout the week to see if he’d eventually wash them. He didn’t even flinch, just kept cooking on the already dirty dishes.
Fast forward to Friday, most of our dishes, except for the few that were being rewashed, were now dirty. The kitchen smells, and I mean bad. He’s out partying, but have work on Saturday so I stay in. Sick of the mess, I text him telling him to ‘just clean the dishes, it’s getting disgusting’. His response, ‘Screw you, clean them yourself if it’s so bad.’
Screw me? Screw you! I relocated all of said dirty dishes to disgusting face’s bed, under the sheets.
3am. Because he’s such a considerate roommate, I wake up to him coming home from the bar, mostly because the girl he brought home is annoying as hell and won’t stop yelling and singing as loud as she can. I suddenly get very giddy, this reaction was going to be much better than expected.
He heads to the bathroom to take a piss, and I can hear her head down the hall. Next thing I hear is her complaining that it smells like a rotten corpse in his room, I’m assuming she turned the light on, and screams. Clearly he isn’t happy when he goes to find out what the deal is.
Apparently anonymous girl is ok with a one night stand, just not one in a room that smells of rotting food. He tried to convince her to stay with him on the couch, but I guess the mood was spoiled as well. I hear the door close as she leaves, so I stand in my doorway waiting for his reaction. To my surprise he just mumbles ‘screw you’ as he walked back to his room to start his dishes.
Never missed his turn by more than a day after that”
“It was superbowl sunday, everyone was out watching the game leaving our restaurant nearly empty. We had the occasional customer rolling through allowing us to have some conversations while we wait for their food. My task was taking orders over the headset with my friends also listening in on my lane. One of them (I’ll call him jim) was listening because he was training to use the headset so I was listening in on him then we switched tasks; the other (call him joe) was listening in because- well I don’t know why Joe was listening. Anyways, I hear a beep.
Welcome to McDonalds, what can I get for you?
So our headset system is really old and sometimes people’s orders come across completely unintelligible.
‘I’ll hfeve a lrgaw coene’
‘I’m sorry, could you repeat that?’
‘I’LL HFEVE A LRGAW COENE,’ The customer reiterated angrily.
‘A large cone? I’m sorry but we only have one size of cone.’ I said as I rang up a cone. Suddenly, much more clear, the customer yelled across the speaker.
‘NO A LARGE COKE! GOD YOU’RE STUPID!’
‘I’m sorry, sometimes these headsets are really bad.’
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ replied the customer as she drove to the next window.
My brain racing, I knew I had to get some kind of revenge so without fully constructing my plan, I rushed to the window that accepts payment and changed the order to a small coke. I said to the cashier
‘That’s a large coke.’
‘No? That’s a small coke.’
‘Trust me, that’s a large coke, don’t give the customer the receipt.’
Eventually he realized some sort of vengeance was underway and took her order as if it was a large coke. I quickly run back to my station where the machine made the small coke. Still thinking on my feet I empty it into a large cup then lid it. Joe points out that is a stupid plan as the customer will instantly know something’s up. I then get the best idea of my life and fill the rest of the cup with ice.
Joe and I are dying of laughter and can’t risk tipping off the customer so I hand the drink to Jim who was impressively able to contain himself. I watched the customer take a sip and my stomach sank; I thought I had been found out… Then she left with her ‘large’ coke and that same rude expression.
Icing on the cake: I told my manager and she gave me a fist bump”
This Kid is Going Places
“When I was a kid I had a bed wetting problem. I am not ashamed of this now, as thousands of other kids have had the same problems… at the time however, this was humiliating. My younger brother started telling other kids around school how extensive the issue was. I was mortified.
Even after our mother told him to knock it off, he continued. So I decided to level the playing field. The whole ‘hand in cup of warm water’ deal didn’t work. I stood over him as he slept one night and pissed on him. The next morning, my mom was horrified and wound up taking a call from my grandmother.
‘I don’t know what to do, now BOTH of them are pissing the bed,’ she explained, clearly frustrated.
After a few more times of ‘framing’ my brother as a bed wetter he completely stopped using my embarrassing problem as entertainment”
She Never Knew
“So about four years ago, I was living with my (now ex) girlfriend. She was a cute girl, but was very picky about what she ate, and could be a real jerk sometimes.
One thing she was anal about was not drinking tap water. Even with a filter, she refused to do it. So she would buy the gallon jugs of water, and ever week I would have to go across the street to the grocery store and fill them up at the machine out front, we had about four.
She claimed she could taste and knew the difference, I didn’t believe her.
Well, one week in particular, she was being irritable (as usual) and wanted me to fill up the jugs while she was at school.
So I did. With the tap water. She never said a word. I did it again the following week. I continued to ask her why she likes the filtered water better,
We broke up shortly after, but the several weeks leading up to it, she drank nothing but tap water.
And the evil cheating wench never knew”
Those Poor Cops
“My neighbor always leaves her French bulldog outside when it’s cold and/or rainy, I’ve asked her politely to let it inside because it was shivering and whining, it also usually barked the whole time when people weren’t walking by. About a week ago I decided to call the non emergency number because it was 40 and raining, the dog was shivering beyond belief. She ended up with a summons for animal abuse. She came to my door when the cops left and started pounding and screaming, I just played music over her until she tired out. We have retaliation laws protecting people who report noise/abuse, but I felt like I could do something psychologically devastating to this horrible person
The next morning I decided to play a little prank and pull a Tom Haverford with my roomba. I downloaded a video of a puppy barking as an MP4 and put it on my phone, hooked it up to my Bluetooth speaker and let DJ roomba do the rest. It was on 30% volume, barely loud enough to hear through the walls. A short while later, a cop, along with my neighbor, were at my door about my dog barking, where I say, ‘Dog? I don’t have a dog.’ And pointed at my two cats at the top of the stairs and no dog in sight, even let the cop inside to show no sign of one. She then told the cop she could hear it moving from room to room, I just HAD to have a dog.
That’s when I said, ‘Her dog barks so much she probably hears it subconsciously.’ This made her furious, the cop said don’t call about a dog again and we all went our separate ways. I’ve been doing this about every day when we’re both home and I can hear her screams of agony as she thinks it’s in her head, it makes me want to get a dog”
“I see an item posted online and decide to make an offer, and it goes like below. And any text below written in between parentheses is just extra story info, not actual exchanged info.
Me: Hi, is your item still available?
Seller: Yeah I still have it.
(BTW, I think the item was posted for like $150)
Me: OK, would you take $140 for it? (Which is only $10 off and I certainly wasn’t going to meet up with a less than agreed upon amount)
Seller: Sure, can you meet me at Town Center right now? (Which is halfway across town 50 minutes away)
Me: OK, I’m on my way. Thank you!
Seller: Sure, I’ll see you soon.
Me: OK I’m here, are you close?
(So I get there and I’m waiting for over 40 minutes, and I still haven’t received a text back from this guy)
(A few minutes later I receive the following text)
Seller: Hey, I hope you wasted your gas and time. That’s what you get for lowballing me.
So obviously I’m seeing red and try calling and texting this piece of trash. but he of course doesn’t answer.
Now, I hate when people waste my time as well…but offering $10 lower really wasn’t an unreasonable offer, and since the our entire text message conversation lasted only 7 minutes.
Point is, I’m not letting him get away with this.
So I get a little sly with it, and look up his phone number on Craigslist and I see a slew of other things he has posted.
But I didn’t want to immediately call him after our last little encounter because I thought it might tip him off.
So I decided to wait a few days. After 3 days I look up his info again and see he’s selling a hard drive for like $80. Instead of texting, I call him from a totally different number and…HE ANSWERS! We chat and I offer him full price for the hard drive and he accepts.
I offer to meet him at an area that was about 15 minutes from him…and he tells me that he can meet there, but he has to walk because he doesn’t have a car (this just keeps getting better!!!).
Cool I’ll see you there in 20 minutes. Obviously I’m at home just sitting on my butt watching American Dad letting this dumb jerk walk all the way over to this gas station.
About 25 minutes later I get a phone call from him telling me he’s there (I know he’s there because I hear the cars and people in the background)
Yea man, I’m on my way..I’m like 10 minutes away.
He then proceeds to text me and ask if I’m close because he just missed the bus.
(At this point I’m pretty satisfied so I decide to let him on the joke)
Me: Are you there yet, Good! You can take that hard drive and shove it up your butt! I hope I’ve wasted your time, go ahead and think about that while you walk back home 🙂
Of course he sends me some expletives and threats (which I don’t remember) but I blocked his number.
As soon as that was over the next day I received a text about an item I had for sale, which I’m sure was him (as I recognized his distinct hideous grammar)…nice try buddy. I ignored his text and removed all my listings and finally deactivated my pinged number. I’m done with CL for a while.
That day I felt like an evil genius that finally got his revenge :)”
He REALLY Values His Email
“I have an email that is super similar to one said by a character on a popular TV show. I was really naive to think that wouldn’t cause me problems. Usually, it’s just people asking after the TV show, so I screw around with those people and tell them fake spoilers as if I’m a TV network hire with the email, telling them their fav character is going to get prostate cancer and die and what have you, but that gets kinda boring after awhile.
My favorite is when people use the email to create accounts for things. First off, if you haven’t heard of ‘Wattpad,’ it’s a little journal website where you post little notes and stories. Really young girls use it to post really f–king awful fanfiction about Harry Styles and what have you. So one day, I open my email and find that someone’s made a Wattpad account with it. So I click through and take a look at their account. The first thing I do is try to deactivate it, but you need a password, and to change the password, you need the old password, so I’m screwed in that regard. Which only makes me even grumpier.
That’s when I decide to take it up a notch. I don’t need their password to edit their stories, so that’s what I do. I read over the short, godawful, cheesy pieces about two grown men who misunderstand how gay sex works and I delete them. There’s like, twenty or so stories here, each over 1k in word length and they all have comments, so quite a bit of effort has gone into this sad little kinkfest. I write in place of them the Navy Seal copypasta and leave tips on how to properly write gay sex.
A few weeks later, I get some notification about activity and whatnot, so I groan and open up Wattpad (I had a break from school, I could waste my time f–king around however I wanted) and see that the author has posted an apology journal saying they don’t know what happened and they deleted all their stories. So, I edit that post and write ‘and that’s why you don’t use someone else’s f–king email to fulfill your half-baked gay fantasies.’ They stop posting after that.
The petty justice boner I got from that lasted me awhile, but it did wear off. Just earlier today, though, I got an email from OKCupid congratulating me on making my new account. At this point, I feel like I’d be wasting an amazing opportunity by just deactivating it, so I go into their account and have a little fun.
I see that the guy who has the account has been chatting with this girl- we’ll call her V- ever since he created the account. I’m talking like twelve hours of nonstop flirting. They seemed to be getting along really well–I thought the dude who created the account was kind of a douche but V didn’t seem to see that. Anyway, right as I’m sitting there, another message pops up, asking me what’s up. So. I tell her all about how I tore open my anus trying to fit my extra large horse dildo up there and how my mom had to drive me to the hospital. I start rambling emotionally about how wonderful my mom is and how great she is to let me live with her even though I’m actually over forty (bio says 32). I thank V for talking to me even though she doesn’t remind me enough of my mom.
V didn’t respond. I f–k off for a bit and after getting some more emails I check up on him. He apologized to V, but she blocked him. He continued talking to some other girls and was getting sympathy points for ‘his computer getting hacked to hell.’ I’m getting kind of tired of doing this, so I send the Navy Seal copypasta to everyone he ever spoke to and deactivate his account.
Is it childish? Yes. Could I be doing better things with my time? Definitely. But screwing with these people is so easy because they’ve given me access to their account. I feel like I have a duty to f–k with them because of that. Now, obviously I’m not the most creative person in the world, so if you guys have any suggestions for future ways to troll people who use my email (because inevitably, someone else will), I’ll totally use them and report back”
“This started on thanksgiving this year.
I am from Scotland and have been living in the US since Christmas day 2013.
In 2011, I met my wife when I was working in London. She is from Houston, Texas and was sent over to work for the London office of our company. We got married in 2012 and due to the company we work for closing down, we move back over to Austin, Texas where she was living for 20 years before London.
With her being from Texas you can imagine that some of her family are extremely conservative. Which I frankly don’t care if they are or not. However, doesn’t matter if you are a Conservative, liberal, socialist if you are a jerk then you can go f–k yourself.
We are sitting in the living room watching TV after an amazing thanksgiving dinner. Someone mentioned the whole new open carry law starting this new year in Texas. Being from Scotland where guns are a no no they ask me, ‘What do you think of that law? Being from a place with no guns’
‘It’s kinda foreign to me. Not sure how I would react seeing a holstered gun in plain view. Honestly think I would feel uncomfortable and unsafe but that is just my upbringing’. Which I think is fair enough to say.
My wife’s aunt turns to me and comes out with. ‘Well that’s because you are from a socialist country. You also have a queen that rules you people. You are not citizens. You are a subject. If you were allowed guns you would be a citizen’. She then proceeds to tell me that the Syrian refugees coming over its bad and she needs to protect herself from them.
Fast forward an hour and she is pretty drunk. We are about to head back home. I thank everyone for the great meal and she turns and says, ‘Too bad you are not going back to your own country’. I don’t say anything at all. I did not want to stoop to get level…then.
Since then she has apologized. Via text. I reply saying, ‘No problem. Don’t worry about it.’
So. We go to Houston for Christmas. She is there. We exchange gifts. I hand her an envelope. She opens it and as I expected, she loses her f–king mind. Throws the piece of paper on the ground and storms out.
My mother in law picks up the paper and reads.
‘A donation of $250 had been made to Unicef USA for the Syrian Child Refugees by (my name) on behalf of Aunts Name’
I just say ‘I thought, judging by the pro life sticker on her car, she would appreciate that…my bad.’
Sit down and swig my whiskey. Rest of the evening was awkward. What a bawbag she is”
Those M&Ms Tasted Salty
“It’s lunch time and I’m purchasing a sandwich and drink from a local supermarket.
While I’m waiting in line this woman (We’ll call = LB) is shrieking down her phone to who I can only presume is her now totally deaf boyfriend. She’s visibly pissing off most people in the general vicinity with her swearing and general attitude.
As It’s coming up to my turn to check out, she’s decided she’s fed up with waiting and puts her big bag of M&M’s in front of my lunch on the conveyor and says ‘I need to go first.’
Without so much as a moment to think and without making eye contact I pick them up and move them behind my items, saying nothing.
RED ALERT: DIVERT ALL POWER TO JERK DRIVE
LB: What the hell are you doing?
Me: I was here first, wait your turn.
LB: F–k you I am on my lunch break and I have a very important job blah blah blah (I can’t remember the whole rant)
Me: It’s lunchtime, everyone is on lunch, you have to wait
LB: F–k you! I asked nicely! (lolwut.)
At this point LB throws her M&M’s in front of my lunch still ranting and it’s now my turn to check out, enter awesome check-out girl. (Who we’ll call ‘ACG’.)
So after seeing the bag of M&M’s land on the conveyor I decide, f–k it and I accept LB’s gracious offering and buy the M&M’s for myself, leaving her M&M-less.
Of course the battle was not yet over, more screaming was coming my way.
LB: What are you doing, those are mine!
Me: Nope, I’m paying for them now, if you want M&M’s you’ll have to go get some and wait in line.
LB: You’re a theif! You stole my M&M’s!
Me: No I just bought the M&M’s you rudely threw onto my pile of stuff.
LB: I’m not getting anymore, give me my M&M’s back. You’re a thief!
ACG: Ma’am, I suggest you go and get a new pack and wait in line, there are people waiting. The gentlemen hasn’t stolen anything, he paid money for the M&M’s.
LB: Call the f–king manager, get this piece of crap kicked out for stealing.
Me: Mind if I step out anyway? I have a very important job and I’m on lunch?
LB: Where the f–k are you goi-
ACG: Sure, here’s your receipt.
To wrap up, the M&M’s were delicious, I shared them with my co-workers. Don’t know if LB went back to get some, but I highly recommend them”
Exactly What He Wanted
“I used to work at Best Buy in Geek Squad and usually the people working the closing shifts had to clean up their departments and such. We had just gotten a new manager who was an outside hire from Circuit City. He was trying to be hard and flex his management powers by being a meticulous jerk about cleaning during closing duties asking stuff like, ‘Did you clean UNDER the registers and Windex and dust etc’ about every little f–king thing.
A buddy of mine I was working with and I started our closing duties a little early since the store was pretty dead that night in order to be able to leave at a reasonable hour. We pretty much wrapped up 15 minutes after the store closed so we got the manager to do a walkthrough so we could leave. He’s looking around and everything seems to be in order until he looks behind some signage on a shelf and runs his finger through picking up some dust. He has this crap eating grin on his face and lets out a little weasely laugh and says, ‘Looks like you guys still have some work to do.’ My buddy and I looked at each other and we both just knew what had to be done. We cleaned the entire department top to bottom, inside and out. Every drawer was emptied, dusted, wiped down, brochures organized. Every computer in the back was moved and the shelves were dusted and wiped, floors were vacuumed twice, top stock was neatly arranged, every inch of the department was gone over with a fine tooth comb, twice in some spots just to take longer.
10pm turned into midnight, everyone else was long gone except for us 3. He was looking weary and tired. Midnight turned into 2am and we were still going at it when he finally came out of the office red eyed and exhausted and said ‘Guys, let’s go.’ ‘But we still haven’t dusted under the counters and…’ ‘It’s fine, let’s go.’ Buddy and I took our sweet time gathering our things and clocking out. We both were also off the next day and jerk manager had to be in early for a conference call so it made it all that much better. Every time he was the closing manager after that night he never gave us trouble again, simply asking us if we were ready to go when the store closed-Justice prevails”