 You're destroying me financially. Over a Batman toy, from 20 years ago? Bullying sucks. There's nothing funny or heroic about it. But what if we flip the script, and turn the victim into the villain? In this episode, we'll go into the world of revenge on bullies, with 6 real stories. So grab some popcorn, and get ready to watch some serious karma play out. Will justice be served, or will the revenge be even more sinister? Before we start, gently nuke the like button into oblivion. Warning, these revenge stories, might be upsetting to bullies. In third grade, I was an awkward kid who had a hard time fitting in and making friends. I mean, drunk dad didn't make things any easier, and I was often bullied and left out by other kids. One day, a classmate named Derek, who used to bully me too, suddenly acted nice towards me. Since I wasn't used to kindness or attention, I quickly trusted him. Derek spent recess with me, which was when I was usually alone. We laughed, talked about girls we liked, and he even said sorry for being mean to me before. The reason he was being nice was because I had brought a cool and expensive Batman action figure to school. I had saved my allowance and mowed lawns for two months to buy that awesome toy. Everyone wanted one. At the end of the day, Derek asked if he could borrow the action figure. Being innocent and not good at social stuff, I let him take it. He agreed he would give it back the next morning. I went home so happy, totally fooled, and never suspected a thing. The next day, Derek ignored me completely. When I tried to talk to him, he acted like I was crazy. When I asked him to return the action figure, he simply said, You never gave me any Batman. Maybe you imagined it. When I persisted, he threatened to beat me up. When I complained to my teacher, I was told that it was my own fault for bringing toys to school. I was afraid they would involve my father, so I dropped it. I couldn't let my father know or he would call me a loser, beat me, and punish me for the next two weeks. What's worse, is Derek told all the girls that I confided in him about fancying, that I was simping over them and I would fantasize about them. That I was obsessed with some of them. Before all this, I was a social outcast, but at least I was tolerated. After Derek's smear campaign with the girls, I was like a leper. People wouldn't even look me in the eyes, not even the teachers. Kids started throwing stones at me, sabotaging and vandalizing my belongings. It was hell. I did nothing about it but cry. I was just a weak-willed kid after all. But to this day, I wish I'd done something, anything in retaliation, like biting someone's ear off. Eventually, the bullying died down, and I focused on my studies, which led to good grades. Derek tried talking to me again, but I ignored him completely. As he would say. Why are you being such a baby? You didn't give me anything, you imagined it. By the end of the year, we moved houses, and I transferred to another school not far away. Things were much better there. I finally had friends, and I wasn't as naive, so I wasn't targeted as easily. But I was still mostly the same person and got picked on now and then. Over the years, I became somewhat of a delinquent, and in high school, I got into regular fights. I'd been overcompensating for my lack of backbone in my younger years. In my early 20s, I bartended in nightclubs, hotels and cruise liners. This helped me become more socially adept and understand social dynamics and human nature. I finished trade school and qualified as an electrician and later as a plumber. I know, water and electricity, but believe it or not, I thought it was ingenious at the time. I started my own business and developed a reputation for excellent workmanship in my local area. Things were going well for me. When I was 29, I'm 36 now, I received a call at 2 in the morning for a flooding emergency at a local residence. When I got there, the place was a mess. Water was jetting out of a burst pipe, electrical equipment was shorted, and the situation was highly dangerous. The living room floor had even caved in due to a sinkhole. I was met by the wife, let's call her Susan, who was hysterical and beside herself. She somehow thought she was responsible, which I found odd. I assured her that it couldn't possibly be her fault. Not five minutes later, he arrived. His demeanor was irate, and he didn't greet or shake my hand when I offered. I recognized him immediately. Derek from all those years ago. He demanded to know why I hadn't started fixing the issue yet. I remained professional, told him what I had told Susan in terms of costs, but I hid the written quote in my vehicle. I revealed who I was and acted happy to see him, assuring him that he was in good hands. After a while of arguing with his wife, he seemed to calm down and even joked around with me. I knew, I had fooled him. We talked about our careers, kids, and school days. I gave him tips and fake recommendations, and we got along great. Gaining his trust was easy. He must have thought of me as a complete sucker. I assured him that he was in good hands, and the issue would be fixed in no time. I was careful not to start any actual work on the property, as doing even the smallest thing would make me responsible for all of it. After an hour or so, Derek left, and his wife stayed behind. A vengeful brainwave entered my mind. I reflected on the years of cruel torment he put me through. This opportunity was placed onto my lap, and I shall maximize its potential, by pressing the nuke button. During my assessment, I noticed that most of the building didn't comply with city regulations and didn't adhere to the registered and approved plans. There were multiple safety hazards, and all plumbing and electrical work had been completed by unqualified and uncertified people in an attempt to save money. Also, the pipe in question had been leaking for at least a few weeks, getting worse by the day and finally causing disaster. This meant their water bill would be astronomical at the end of the month, unless a qualified plumber endorsed a rebate with the municipality. I called my contact at the city, let's call him Donovan, and notified him of all the regulatory violations, safety hazards, and non-city compliant installations on the property. I also told him about the potential water bill. He promised to be there the next day. I immediately started photographing and documenting everything. The following morning, Donovan arrived at 10, and he had a field day. He informed Derek's wife of the calamity that was to come. They would be forced to tear down all the building additions, remove all the uncertified plumbing and wiring installations, have the plans re-approved, and start from scratch, which would result in an estimated loss of approximately $120,000. Derek arrived in minutes, livid. He quickly threatened legal action, but Donovan simply told him, Listen, we have more than enough photographic evidence, to have the property declared invalid within a week, if you don't comply in writing. Donovan reminded Derek, that he did this for a living and that the city had more legal resources to waste money on. I left Derek an invoice for my time, just to rub salt in the wound, and took my leave. Later, Derek called me and hurled every insult imaginable at me. I remained silent, and he eventually hung up. He went on a Facebook rant about me, which turned out to be a bad idea. The entire community stood up for me, and it started a storytelling competition, where all kinds of people revealed unsavory things Derek had done to them in the past. Apparently, Derek had always been an unpleasant person, and he never changed. One day, he called me and asked to meet. He sounded defeated and depressed, so I decided to meet and see what was going on. I met him at a local, busy convenience store. I knew better than to take Derek the weasel at face value, so I quickly noticed when he placed his phone screen down on the table. I suspected he might be recording the conversation. To my surprise, he apologized for his behavior and told me that the whole dilemma had all but bankrupted him. He explained that he had taken out a loan for the building additions and cut corners to save money, claiming that everyone does it. He showed me the water bill, which was nearly $80,000, a problem that could easily be erased with a qualified plumber's signature and endorsement. I refused. He became our aide again. Then he asked me. Why did you do this, to me? I know I was a jerk to you when we were kids. But I don't deserve to have my and my wife's lives ruined. Because of mistakes I made when I was a kid. What kind of person are you? You told me I was in good hands, I trusted you, you assured me you would help me, then you stabbed me in the back. You quoted me only a few hundred, and told me not to worry. I replied. I said no such thing. Derek insisted. Stop lying. You told me that it would cost a few hundred, maybe less. I heard you say it. You promised to help me, gave me recommendations. Why are you doing this to me? I said, Derek, you must have imagined it. I looked him in the eye, and he knew exactly why I said that, the same thing he told me almost 20 years ago. I repeated it just to drive the point home. I said, you're being a baby. I never quoted you for anything. You imagined it. He knew I was destroying him financially, because of a Batman action figure he stole from me 20 years ago. I could see it in his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. His expression was a mixture of astonishment and pure disgust. I looked him dead in the eyes for a few seconds for effect, then got up and left. I slept like a baby that night and had a goofy smile all week after. He tried calling a few times, but I sent him a text stating that further harassment would be met with legal action. Derek, you know what your real name is, and what mine is. If in the future you read this and realize how I nuked you, remember how costly that little Batman action figure was to you, after years of accumulated interest in karma. The look of despair on your face when you realized why you were ruined, was delicious. I cackled maniacally on the drive home from that convenience store. It was time for you to pay the piper. And if you think this will help you legally, go ahead and try. It won't, so don't waste your time. Or rather, do waste as much time and money. I welcome being even more of a financial inconvenience to your life. Screw you, Derek. Yeah, screw you, Derek. This deserves a chef's kiss. Did he ever end up taking legal action? Also, I hope you were able to get a new Batman eventually. No, he couldn't take legal action against me. I made sure to cover my bases by documenting my assessment, taking notes, videos, and photographs as evidence. I didn't do any work on the property, because that could make me partially responsible. Donovan cautioned him against making the situation more challenging. If he fought back, he'd be up against the city, not just me. Being registered in the city database, I am technically a representative of the city council as well. Dear sir, from all the people who were bullied as kiddos, and all of us who have grown up dreaming of nuclear revenge like this, I thank you. I'm never going to get revenge on the people who bullied me or stole from me, but I pray karma does build up. I'm so glad you were able to see yours and use the exact same wording. I feel very peaceful after having read your story. Wish the bank's interest rate was as high as the accrued karma rate on this torching. Almost feel bad for Derek, almost. What I admire here is your amazing restraint in that final encounter. I'd have dug for more gold at my own expense, really. You were unkind to me in school. Now so? Which would have just opened cans of worms and doors to counterproductive engagement? You did none of it. You left it all unsaid, except the key line. Amazing. I witnessed this unforgettable incident a long time ago, and the story spread through word of mouth. Once upon a time, there was a kid named Harry. He was an ordinary, slightly skinny, and somewhat geeky child. I can still recall how he had a knack for disassembling pens if they were left unattended. Like this peculiar habit, Harry was nice, polite, and always willing to lend a helping hand. This all took place during middle school. One fateful day, Harry disassembled the pen of a notorious bully named Brad. Brad was a massive, chunky figure. He looks like if you drilled three holes into him, a giant could use him for bowling. He was far from friendly or charming, and he led a group of equally repulsive friends who teamed up to torment others. I often wondered if they banded together to avoid being bullied themselves, perhaps driven by a newfound sense of power. I usually kept to myself, but one day, I noticed Harry sporting a swollen eye, damp hair, and a slight limp. His backpack was torn, too. Concerned, I asked him what had happened. He explained that Brad had violently flung him into a bathroom stall by his backpack, causing it to rip. The impact with the toilet had injured his knee, and Brad had ruthlessly dunked his head in the water, slamming his eye into the seat. When I asked Harry why Brad had done this to him, he simply replied, I took his pen apart. It turned out that the pen was nothing more than a cheap big crease stall, but it had been enough to ignite Brad's rage. Over the next few weeks, the situation escalated. Harry had to take time off after Brad stripped him down to his boxers in the bathroom and forced him to shove them into the toilet. The school, filled with your typical fartfaces, tried to expel Harry for damaging school property, while leaving Brad untouched. However, video evidence of Brad and his gang laughing and rifling through Harry's backpack saved him from expulsion. When Harry returned to school, he was a changed person. He became quiet and withdrawn, and bruises seemed to appear on his body between classes. He grew increasingly thin as he retreated into himself. The school staff turned a blind eye to his plight, but one compassionate jock stood up for Harry. He caught Brad stealing Harry's backpack and retaliated by shoving Brad into a trash can. Though the jock was suspended, he continued to protect Harry after returning, and his parents threatened to sue when the school tried to punish him again. Seeing someone stand up for him seemed to breathe new life into Harry. He gradually became more open and started to regain weight. One day, he wore a beautiful knitted scarf that his late grandfather had made for him. Brad, still relentless in his cruelty, stole the scarf and returned the next day with a bag of ashes, laughing maniacally as he handed it to Harry. In response, Harry came to school with a backpack full of sugar-free Haribo gummy bears. Brad, unable to resist and the glutton he is, stole and devoured them all. As Harry cried, I noticed something off in his expression. Something in his sobs, didn't quite reach his eyes. Near the end of the day, Brad suddenly rushed to the bathroom and didn't return for several days. Rumors circulated about actual blood found in the bathroom. When Brad finally came back, he wore an eye patch and had modeled, meeting bruises across his face. He had permanently lost vision in his left eye, and the bruising made him resemble ripening fruit. Brad became introverted and quiet, and he never bothered Harry again. He frequently left school for doctor's appointments. While the reports of blood in the bathroom were never confirmed, it seemed quite likely that the sugar-free gummy bears had exacted their revenge. A five-pound bag of Haribo candy is 2,268 grams. The nutrition panel shows that the first, and thus most prevalent, ingredient in the sugar-free variety is lichocin, which is mostly maltitol, a sugar alcohol. 40 grams of maltitol for an adult is enough to give you the runs, if you're sensitive. A bear weighs around 3 grams. That comes to about 20 bears to get your guts bubbling. For some, as few as 15 sugar-free bears did the trick. For a kid it would be even fewer. According to the manufacturer, the maximum recommended amount per day is 100 grams for adults. So if one dumb kid ate a whole bag of Haribo, he would have ingested more than 1,200 grams at least, of maltitol in one shot. That's one wet rocket ride to hell, oh boy. I hate how many bullying stories include schools punishing victims. I got bullied too, the school knew. They did nothing until things got physical and I got the same punishment as the bullies because, they can't tolerate violence. No exceptions. You know how some folks with autism are said to have special gifts, like in the good doctor or rain man? Well, turns out I actually got one. Not that I'm a genius or anything. My gift? Drawing. Yep, I've been scribbling away since I was in diapers. While I'm no Da Vinci, my drawing stood out even as a kid. My kindergarten creations looked like they were made by fourth or fifth graders. And as the years went by, I kept at it. Being on the spectrum gave me the superpower to obsess over my passion without ever getting tired. I mean, I had art blocks two to three times a year tops. My classes usually had bad teachers and many of my classmates struggled, especially with English. But hey, that was my jam. I devoured books like they were candy, especially graphic novels. I'd breeze through schoolwork and find myself with plenty of free time. To keep the grumpy teachers at bay, I hatched a little plan. I'd secretly offer to do assignments for my classmates, as long as they'd show me a sample of their handwriting. You see, I was no stranger to bullying, and being known as the art kid didn't help. So, I'd whip up some cool fanart of whatever book we were reading to keep things interesting. This little arrangement worked wonders. I did their homework, the teacher stopped yelling, and the kids gave me some breathing room. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved. Unfortunately, there was this one bully with family troubles and a stutter who decided to pick on me for my disability. Say hello to Jack. Starting in the sixth grade, he made it his mission to torment me. Jack was always up to no good, causing chaos during lunch and after school. He doodled naughty bits in the social studies textbooks and pull pranks on other boys. His crude comments and insults were dished out to everyone, but he had a special fondness for targeting me. He made fun of everything, from my dietary restrictions to my lack of coordination during recess. And if I dared show interest in, another student? Jack would rally the whole class to tease me relentlessly. He'd perform a crude little act with a pencil and a sharpener, snickering about Jonah and redacted after dark. And heaven help me, if I kept up with my Nintendo obsession in sixth grade. Jack just couldn't get enough of making my life miserable. It was as if my Mario merch had a giant bullseye painted on it. My lunchboxes were destroyed simply because I was too old to bring them to school. Keep in mind, we were only 10 to 11 years old. And that wasn't all. Jack would often tear up my drawings or leave his own rude sketches in my notebook. Despite our numerous scuffles when no teachers were around, nothing seemed to put an end to Jack's torment. Telling on him didn't help either. But then, something happened that pushed me to the edge. The assistant principal gave me a copy of the Hunger Games, which I devoured in three sittings. I was in love with the story and even tried drawing Katniss. But one day, I made the mistake of leaving my book unguarded during lunch. When I opened it later at home, I discovered crude drawings on the inside cover and boogers on some pages. I was furious. I ranted to myself, who does this to books? And the teachers won't do anything, either. Fuming, I turned to the living tombstone for solace, as any angry preteen would, and tackled my homework. When I opened the social studies textbook I'd brought home, there it was, another inappropriate drawing by Jack. I remembered he'd been in trouble for this before, and suddenly, a lightbulb went off in my head. I had an idea. I swear to God, the grinch smile just slid onto my face. I had done homework for Jack before, so I knew his artistic style all too well. I rolled up my sleeves and started imitating his doodles on the inside cover of a textbook. Using my left hand to capture his messy handwriting, I added some silly phrases I can't name here, and drew mustaches and spammed male parts on, historical figures. Our classroom had a mountain of textbooks, way more than there were kids. They weren't assigned, so everyone just grabbed one from the shelf. No one would notice if one went missing. I smuggled the artwork back into the classroom, and the textbook heist began. Over a week, I took more textbooks home, repeating my masterpiece in each one. The cherry on top? Drawing Freddy Fazbear on the entire inside cover of a textbook. Back in June 2015, everyone was watching Markiplier and waiting for the newest part. I was super cautious, trying to make it look like Jack's creation, not mine. He drew people with row blocks like proportions, so I sketched a tall, wonky Freddy Fazbear, using pencil first and then wobbly Sharpie lines. That bear stared right into your soul, just like Jack's doodles. I couldn't help but laugh at my handiwork, that Freddy was just too funny. If only I'd had a phone to capture the hilarity. Plus, it was a character from a horror game, totally inappropriate for school. I knew our teacher would lose it. And boy, did she ever. That Friday, I faked being sick to escape Jack's bullying after a particularly nasty incident during recess. My plan was to report the drawings to the teacher and watch Jack get scolded. But since I skipped Friday, things unfolded differently. When I returned on Monday, Jack was nowhere to be found, not even on the bus. It turned out that on Friday, our teacher had asked the class to open their textbooks for a lesson, not homework. Several kids discovered the vandalized textbooks, including the one with Freddy. Jack got into major trouble for defacing so much school property. After all, it was clearly his handwriting. He was suspended for the rest of the year. I knew Jack's grandma was his guardian, and she was the only adult who took my complaints about his bullying seriously. She would have been furious about his vandalism. I never expected things to go this far, but with Jack moving, in August or September, I'd effectively rid myself of him for the rest of June. I wasn't complaining one bit. I had pretty much accidentally gotten rid of Jack early. My teacher was still gathering information from other kids. Some had already seen him doodling in the textbooks and told her, making him look guilty. And now, she finally got a chance to ask me about it. Your little innocent class, golden boy. Jonah, have you got a moment? See me in the hallway. Me, a well-behaved, short, and adorable fellow with big, nerdy glasses and messy hair, replied, Yes, ma'am. Have you noticed any drawings in any of the textbooks? Aha, I said. What kind of drawings did you see? Um. There were a lot of poopies and peepees. Okay, turds and peewees, yes. Do you, by any chance, know? Oh, and I saw a robo bear in another one. Right. Do you know who was making these? This is vandalism, and it can actually be considered a crime. Aha, I already know it's Jack. He draws weird stuff on my stuff, too. Can I show you my doodle book? Look, it matches. I ended up showing her my notebook. I had stopped bringing Hunger Games to school because Jack kept smacking it out of my hands in the hall. And amongst all the crayon drawings of Megala and Zero squared from Kirby, etc., she saw some more rude doodles that didn't seem to be mine. She seemed pretty mad, but not surprised. I don't remember the entire fallout, nor was I there to witness much of it, but I heard from other kids that Jack had to face the school board because it involved multiple books and was really, really bad. Apparently, he kept crying to his grandma, claiming he didn't do anything. I stayed quiet but smiled to myself throughout the last two weeks of school. He ended up moving to Florida shortly after, so I basically got rid of him for good. Moral of the story, if you're going to vandalize another student's property, maybe don't pick a good artist who has experience copying others' handwriting. Oh, and drawing bad freddies is hilarious. Now that's some professional revenge right there. You shall hereafter be known as the forger of PPs. Amazing, I'm honored. As a kid who was bullied for drawing MLP in middle school, this story makes me feel good, and I didn't even exact revenge on my bullies, cheers. This is really funny to hear because Jack actually was a brony in school for a bit. So was another one of my bullies as well, my worst one had a Pegasister phase for a while. Jack though, he'd walk in with this tiny pink MLP wristband sometimes like a year or two before this. MLP was seen as cool in my class thanks to the horrifying creepypastas and smile animation. Do we live in some kind of parallel universe or something? I practically got bullied into watching it. I'm so glad I read the whole thing, this is great. As someone who was undiagnosed autistic and ADHD throughout school, and heavily bullied for being weird, this gave me a lot of secondhand satisfaction. There I was, watching the latest Spiderman flick with my buddies, all of us in our early 20s. The theater was jam-packed, but what caught our attention was a rowdy group of high schoolers, both guys and gals, seated right behind us. They were doing typical teenager stuff, taking flashy snapchat photos, gabbing loudly, and laughing like hyenas. You know the drill. In a half-joking manner, I said loud enough for them to hear, if they're this noisy during the movie, we're gonna have issues. They must have heard me, because they burst into laughter. Challenge accepted, I thought. Game on. 15 minutes into the movie, they were still yacking and driving us nuts. One of my friends shushed them, only to receive a muttered. And more laughter. That was it, the last straw. These punks thought they were untouchable, but now it was personal. I spotted a worker who seemed like a manager and knew I had to be crafty. Instead of just reporting their obnoxious behavior, I told him, there are some people behind me filming the movie. He nodded and immediately kicked them out. Their protests fell on deaf ears, because their loud chattering had betrayed them. The manager wasn't about to take their word over mine. They insisted they were innocent until he played his ace. I'll call the cops. Heads hanging low, they shuffled out of the theater. My friends and I watched the whole scene, grinning from ear to ear. The best part was that they felt cheated and angry, and there was nothing they could do about it. That made our sweet revenge even sweeter. Q DOS to you. I absolutely hate people who can't follow the rules while in a movie theater. Shut the freak up and put your phone away. No one needs to hear you nor see your stupid phone blinding people, as you browse and simp on Insta. Going to the theater is one of my favorite things to do. Almost invariably, I'm stuck in front of fart face like you had. If I ever go back to the theater again and encounter this type of shenanigans, I'll use this amazing tactic. For those who are saying, that you're evil for ruining the night for a group of teenagers, their youth does not give them a free pass to be inconsiderate. They need to learn while they're young that they aren't going to get very far in life if they act this way. In reality, OP did them a favor. It is up to adults to teach youth what is okay and what is not. And even if it sucks for them in the moment, it really is in their best interest. Unchecked entitlement creates future Karens. I once had a similar experience with a chatty group behind me when I went to see Infinity War on its opening Saturday. I tried shushing them a couple of times, but they just wouldn't quit. Luckily, I'd already watched the movie on Thursday night, so I knew exactly when to strike. As the Guardians arrived at nowhere, I seized my moment. I turned to the kid right behind me, looked him dead in the eyes, and said, None of this is real. Thanos already got the reality stone and is messing with the collector's lair. Just seconds later, the scene unfolded on the screen, confirming my spoiler. One of the kids called me a jerk, but I had their attention. I faced them one last time and warned. Keep quiet, or I'll spoil the rest of the movie for you. Just like that, they didn't make a peep for the rest of the film. I've been playing Yu-Gi-Oh trading card game for a while now, and one of my favorite things to do as an older player is to help out the younger ones. I have different decks to teach them, and I often give them cards from my own collection to help them improve. I even give them advice on rules and building their decks. One day, a new face comes in and starts challenging the kids to games, duels, using this top tier meta deck that absolutely blows the kids' decks out of the water. I hate to admit it, but that's part of the game. Sometimes it can be a teaching moment for a newer player, to see what a deck at the top can do in a non-tournament atmosphere, and get a better grasp on what they can do with the cards at their disposal. But what really got my hackles was the trash talking. This guy was clearly in his early to late 20s, and some of these kids were 10 or 11. There were tears, and one little girl flat out threw her cards away and ran crying out of the shop. My knee-jerk big brother reflex kicked in and I sit across from this kid, ready to play. I flash him my biggest crap eating grin and pull out my deck, a deck whose entire strategy revolves around straight up denying your opponent access to any of their plays, I lovingly call it my permission deck, because the opponent quite literally has to ask permission to play Yu-Gi-Oh, and we play. The game grinds to a halt. I have him completely locked out of every play, I stop him cold at every turn, and there is quite literally nothing he can do as the game drags on at a snail's pace. He's getting more and more frustrated, and eventually he gives up and leaves. But I'm not done. I'm good friends with the shop owner, and word through the grapevine is that this kid goes from shop to shop in the area, preying on new players. I resolve to make sure he never pulled that on anyone ever again and proceeded to pop up at as many spots as possible to challenge him. Predictably, he wouldn't take me, up on it. And when he didn't, I called him out for his practices in front of his friends and peers, because this frikwit was basically a mark for himself and like to pick on newbies. A mark is a wrestling term used to describe a fan or someone with a grossly inflated image of their own skill and self-worth. It was a targeted campaign designed to drill a little humility into him, and it ended with him claiming to quit the game. Good. I don't regret it. This game can exist just fine without people like that, and I hope you learned a lesson about picking on someone your own size. I play magic the gathering and I hate when people do that. I'm not great at the game myself, but can't we just let people have fun? Good on you for stopping the negativity. This is a pretty small revenge, but it's a really good one too. Honestly, I like this one because it taught a lesson towards someone being a dick to newbies. So basically, your deck is the equivalent of Uno Skip Turn. Bite your tongue, sir. It's more like forcing them into a position when their entire hand is yellow, all their drawing is yellow, and I'm the guy who keeps putting down draw plus fours and calling green. As a 21-year-old autistic male, I spent the first decade or so of my life being self-centered, apathetic, and lacking social skills. That all changed when I got to high school. I met two boys in my digital class, John and Dave, who seemed to tolerate me. They were funny, and they found me funny too. Through them, I became friends with a guy in my form class, Steve, and was quickly accepted into their group. This helped me grow and learn how to talk to people properly. However, looking back, year 10 was a bit rocky. Steve and John would mock my interests, like my love for Leonard Cohen's music. Eventually, going into year 11, I learned to brush it off as friendly banter. This is when Pete comes into the story. Pete was actually my first friend back in middle school. He'd spend weekends at my house, but I didn't realize at the time that he was using me. He'd hog my Xbox and other things I can't remember anymore. Once, my mom made us both an amazing glass of cocoa with whipped cream and marshmallows. I knew it was a special treat, but Pete wanted another one. When I asked my mom for it, she saw it right through Pete's intentions. Later, my mom checked on us and gently reminded Pete that I might want to turn on my own Xbox. The next day, Pete told me to go away, saying that nobody liked me. That was it for our friendship. He bullied me for the rest of middle school. Fast forward to year 11, and Pete was in my history class. He wanted to bury the hatchet, and we became inseparable. My parents, understandably, limited his visits to our house. Eventually, Pete introduced me to smoking the forbidden plant that makes teens feel naughty. In year 12, our group became a bunch of stoners. If we'd wasn't involved, we wouldn't hang out. Later in the year, Pete stole oxy from his granddad's cancer-stricken partner, just before she passed away. Despite claiming to love his granddad like a father, Pete showed a darker side. One night, after being kicked out of a friend's house, for being too loud, we sat in my car, high on oxys and weed. I played some of my favorite songs for Pete, ranging from dire straits to tool. At that point, I'd been playing guitar for two years, and Pete decided we should make music together. His plan was to use my instrumental skills and combine them with his non-existent rap production skills, aiming for fame. We moved in with his granddad the following year. Pete said he wanted to learn bass guitar and talked about it for months. I got a six-string Ibanez bass for Christmas, but he never touched it. Then, he shifted his focus to the keyboard, which I bought, but the same thing happened. After his granddad passed away, I moved back in with my parents. By that time, Pete had changed me so much that my relationship with them was strained. He even convinced me to sell some of their belongings for his own gain. From 2020 to 2021, not much happened. We both went from job to job, trying to save up for our own place to make our music plan work. We also spent thousands on professional recording equipment we didn't know how to use. In 2022, Pete was living with John's parents and working as a healthcare assistant when I met a woman. Pete tried to convince me not to see her, but I did anyway. For the first month, I drove two hours up north to visit her, and it was worth it. We became a couple after just three weeks. Taking a risk, my girlfriend moved in with me at my parents' house after just a month of dating. They were initially hard on us, likely due to their experience with Pete, but they quickly warmed up to her. Soon, we started searching for a house, sharing potential options with Pete. However, he always found something wrong with them. It didn't take long for my girlfriend to grow tired of Pete's negativity, and we decided it was better to move in on our own. A few weeks later, I finally summoned the courage to tell Pete about our decision, bracing myself for the eruption of Mount Pete. Predictably, he blew up like a firecracker, accusing me of sabotaging our grand music plans. We didn't speak for a month after that. After that outburst, we didn't speak for a month. During that radio silence, the fog lifted, and I realized how much of a toxic cocktail Pete's presence had been in my life. He quickly texted me, pleading to talk things out and not wanting to lose our friendship. But when I explained my reasons for blocking him, his attitude changed instantly. He went from wanting to mend our friendship to saying it was a good idea that we weren't friends anymore, blaming both of us for our past actions. In the end, he made it easy for me. He blocked my number, my Instagram, and even my Spotify account. Surprisingly, Pete left one platform unblocked, Discord. From that point on, the only person from the group I still saw was Dave, who seemed to have taken on the role of Pete's emotional spokesperson. He didn't hesitate to share how deeply wounded Pete's fragile feelings were. After Dave neglected to pay back the $110 he owed us, even after multiple reminders, my girlfriend and I decided to cut ties with him. We enjoyed four months of blissful silence. But then, Pete sent a message to the Discord that, if he had a shred of self-awareness, he'd probably regret for the rest of his life. Someone shared a video of a woman chugging canola oil straight from the bottle, and Pete chimed in with a cheeky, POV, OP's misses. My girlfriend, being a bigger woman, had dealt with such comments her whole life. So, to say I was seeing red would be an understatement. Now, there's one detail I've left out of this story for good reason. You see, Pete had a habit of sending photos and videos of one of his clients to our Snapchat group. Now, that alone could have cost him his job. But wait, it gets worse. The client in question is disabled, both physically and mentally, and completely non-verbal. Pete, behaving like a clueless ape, would send photos of the client on the toilet and videos of him blowing vape smoke in the client's face, basically documenting his elder mistreatment. I saved the videos but didn't do anything because I was afraid of Pete's reaction. But enough was enough. I emailed his workplace and sent them everything. I showed the authorities, too. Pete was fired on the spot. No pay, nothing. He tried to flee to his dad's house three hours away, but the dimwit forgot that I'd met his dad and had been there before. So, I checked my Google Maps timeline and gave the authorities the information they needed. A week later, Pete was back at John's parents' house, where his car has remained ever since. God knows what he has told them for them to let him keep living there. Out of the 11 people in that group chat, only one still has me added. Steve messaged me on New Year's Day, saying, I just sent him a shrugging shoulder emoji. After a few more aggressive messages from him, I asked, what has Pete even told you guys? I haven't received a response. But here I am, almost a year with the love of my life, in our own place, and enjoying a steady dual income. We visit my parents every week. Meanwhile, Pete's still jobless, John's being cheated on by his girlfriend, who he refuses to leave, and Dave's gone from welding apprentice to supermarket shelf-stacker. I now see what a bunch of losers they really are, and I remind my girlfriend daily, that I made the best decision of my life by standing up for her and sticking by her side. Well, folks, that puts the cherry on top of this deliciously devilish revenge Sunday. Did one of the revenge stories of comeuppance, tickle your funny bone, or did it make you shiver in sympathy? Spill your tea, because I'd love to hear from you. Feel free to share your own story on bullying in the comments below. While these stories of revenge may be entertaining, they're best served with a side of compassion and empathy, especially in your personal life. Remember, if you or someone you know is dealing with a bully, it's important to reach out for help. We're all about spreading love and laughter here, not perpetuating a cycle of negativity. Thank you for watching, my loyal viewer. I do this for you. Have a good one, and I see you in the next.