 The best revenge is living well. The second best, is destroying your enemies. If you like true revenge stories, you found the best place for your vengeful needs. Grandparents have loved to give an abundance, giving love to all generations after them. But what happens, when all this love is transmutated into the need for revenge? We begin with a revenge story of epically savage proportions. A grandmother, has the ability to go full blast, Donkey Kong mode. Capable and willing to annihilate her opponent, while smiling. Followed by a veteran grandfather who is no chill, when he gets scammed. But he gladly eradicates the fraudster, by simply buying up the whole business. Lastly, a revenge story in which a joyful grandfather, seeking revenge on a thief, accidentally goes nuclear. Before we start, make sure to creepily stare at the like button. So it will overthink the perfect ratio between making eye contact and looking away, making it feel super uncomfortable. Let's jump into it. Naturally, viewer discretion is advised. These revenge acts might be disturbing to snowflakes. Let me introduce this story, by stating the fact that I'm well aware it sounds absolutely batshit and sane. I also don't really condone the behavior displayed therein. Including my own. My family is a dumpster fire that gives trailer trash a bad name and unfortunately every word here in is true to the best of my recollection, because it happened about 25 years or so ago. My grandmother started having children young, she married at 13 and had my father when she was 14, so she wasn't quite as old as other grandmothers by the time I was born. She had full custody of me from the day I was born, I never went home from the hospital with my parents, which meant that my grandmother, who I call Gigi, was the only mother I ever had. My father and mother didn't want to raise me, because they were too busy getting high to give a flying doodoo about their baby. So they just gave me to her and bounced, which is why she had me to start with. It did not end well for me, but that's a topic for another time. Gigi has been dead 10 years now, and I still have nightmares about her, so that is a fair indication of the type of person she was. She was vicious, cruel, mentally manipulative and had a temper like a powder keg, one tiny spark and it was on like Donkey Kong 100% of the time. She was also super possessive of me, to a degree that was a little terrifying. It was obsession like for sure and it wasn't healthy. However, it meant that when something happened to me she had zero chill. At all, ever. She could go from zero to psycho in about 3 milliseconds, I have to admit that when it wasn't directed at me, it was awe-inspiring to behold. It was a bit hypocritical, though since she unleashing her villain superpowers on me on a daily basis, but apparently in her mind, she was the only person allowed to treat me like that. There was a particularly aggressive bully that lived near my house, he hated me, I returned the favor. And it was a consistently escalating problem. I was almost never allowed to go outside as a child, so when he bullied me it was always at school, and the staff turned a blind eye to it more often than not. At the time, I was in the fifth grade. So, one day I came home from school with a fat lip and a giant bruise on my face. My bully had managed to catch me between classes and had taken the opportunity to unleash physical combos on me out of nowhere. Nobody could see or report him for doing it. My grandmother snapped. She took me by the hand and we walked to the bully's house, I remember standing in the driveway watching her furiously knocking on the door. I was petrified at the time, because I knew the mood she was in and I was also scared of the bully and his mom. I was a giant ball of vaguely human-shaped anxiety. I'm emphasizing this, for a very good reason. Bully's mom, who I'll call Pencilneck, opened her door and looked at my grandmother Gigi. The conversation went as follows. Pencilneck said, What? Serious disrespect in both tone and delivery. Your son put his hands on my kid. And? Pencilneck responded. The skank didn't even try to deny it, she just lit herself a cigarette and blew the smoke in my grandmother's face, daring her to do something. Now, Gigi wasn't a big lady. She was average-sized, and about five feet five inches tall, so not particularly intimidating physically. Pencilneck was a larger woman. About Gigi's height but much heavier. Outweighing Gigi by at least 60 pounds. So she was not impressed with Gigi showing up at her door and gave zero fricks about her son's behavior, or Gigi's feelings about it. This was a fatal mistake. Because about a half second after Pencilneck blew that smoke in Gigi's face, Gigi went donkey kong on her. Gigi didn't give her a single sound of warning, before she snatched Pencilneck up by her hair, dragged her out of her own house onto her front porch and then promptly threw her off at face first, following her down into the yard with bloody murder in her eyes. It was a trailer porch, so it was actually a pretty decent drop too, because their trailer was set up higher than normal. For my part, I was absolutely certain that Pencilneck was going to meet her maker. As I said, Gigi really had issues, and that meant that when she snapped, she snapped into a dimension fueled by rage. And when that happened, she was capable of almost anything. Pencilneck took the fall like a trooper though, and came up swinging with counter blows. She managed to clip Gigi's cheek before Gigi managed to get a good hold on her hair again easy to fling her on the ground again. Gigi hit her with a few more critical hits, before Pencilneck managed to pull Gigi down with her. The two of them were rolling around in the dirt like a pair of angry dogs, snarling, swearing, biting and clawing at each other. It got ugly, so very ugly. Pencilneck was a tough cookie though, I'll give her that. She was giving as good as she got for a hot minute. But she wasn't ready for what Gigi was capable of. They wrestled on the ground for a while, but Gigi finally got Pencilneck on her back and started feeding her knuckle sandwich after knuckle sandwich, while sitting on her chest. Then Pencilneck made a terrible mistake. See, she tried to use one of her legs to hook my grandmother and either flip her off or kick her in the face. I'm not sure which it was really. But the end result was that her bare foot was way too close to Gigi's mouth. Gigi saw her foot come close to her, and didn't even hesitate. She turned her head and instantly bit one of Pencilneck's toes clean off at the joint, and spit it right back into Pencilneck's face. I'll never forget the look of despair on Pencilneck's face when it happened. It was a combination of incredulity, horror, and disbelief rapidly followed by pain, because she started howling like a scalded cat. Instead of stopping, Gigi didn't ease off the gas one bit, doubling down her reign of terror on her, without recognizing what horrific thing she just did. At this moment, Pencilneck must have realized she's fighting someone absolutely crazy, who is truly capable and willing to kill her with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. Pencilneck put all her effort into trying to flee from Gigi. But she couldn't get away from her grip and determination. At some point, the cops showed up and separated the two of them, and they had to pry Gigi's hands from around Pencilneck's throat to do it. Pencilneck was out cold by that point in purple, so one officer put my grandmother in the squad car with me beside her, while the other called an ambulance for Pencilneck and looked for her toe. Then came the explanations, and most people would have been in big troubles by that point, they really would. But Gigi was without question, the best actress that I have ever seen. If she'd used that skill in movies or theater, she would have been an Oscar winner without a doubt. It was extraordinary, she could rewrite whole events and even if you knew that she was lying, she'd end up having you believing her version and questioning your own memory and sanity. To this day, I have no clue how she did it. The story she spun for the cops was one of her greatest works of fiction, and this was how it went. Gigi claimed that I had come home from school after having been assaulted by a bully, and that she'd wanted to speak with Pencilneck about her son's behavior and try to work out something to correct the problem between our families in a responsible way. But when she knocked and Pencilneck answered, Pencilneck was hostile from the beginning and eventually became physically aggressive when my grandmother said that. Either she dealt with her son or Gigi would be informing the authorities immediately. Then came the big performance, and what a performance it was. Tears started to trickle down Gigi's face and she used her most quivery old lady voice to say that she and I had turned to leave. But that Pencilneck pushed me off the porch, and after I hit the ground, Pencilneck tried to do the same with Gigi. But that Gigi had grabbed her out of reflex as she went down and they'd ended up falling together, with Gigi on top. Gigi claimed that the bruise that I had on my face came from the fall, not the previous altercation with the bully, and that once they were on the ground Gigi had just lost it. And could the officer really blame her? That woman had just assaulted her and her child and she was only one old lady. She was so scared that if Pencilneck got up, she'd hurt me or her and Gigi wouldn't be able to stop her again, because it was only luck that put her on top when they fell. All the while she cried quietly, not big sobs, nothing showy, just silent tears sliding down her face and that tiny, quivery old woman voice, as she apologized for her actions because she was just so scared. Then the officer looked at me and said, Hey kid, is that what happened? It was a come to Jesus moment for me. And while I'd like to say that I told the truth, that I did the right thing and was honest with the officer about what had happened. I can't, because that would be a lie. I absolutely did not do any of those things. Instead, I looked at Gigi and let the fear and stress of the situation just rise up and swallow me. Then I used that emotion to promptly burst into tears myself. I didn't really talk, just nodded my head, cried and clung to Gigi, who stroked my hair and rocked me back and forth while I was trying my best not to look the officer in the eyes. I knew I was nowhere near a good enough liar to pull it off if he was looking dead at me, so I hid my face against Gigi's shirt and just did my best to seem traumatized. He bought it. Hope, line, and sinker. Pencilneck ended up being arrested for harming a child, battery, disturbing the peace and possession of an illegal substance, because when they searched her they found a small bag of weed in her bra. This all occurred in the mid 90s, so weed possession was no joke at the time and at heavy penalties. Pencilneck also ended up being responsible for my grandmother's hospital bill for the sprained wrist she ended up with, from pounding on Pencilneck's face like a meat bongo. The tone ever got reattached, and Pencilneck ultimately ended up losing her job and going to actual jail for four months, and was on probation for like three years after. My grandmother didn't catch a single charge from that day's events, Pencilneck's family eventually moved from the trailer park and I never saw any of them again afterwards. Moral of this story? Never frick with old trailer trash ladies. You might lose a toe. My family immigrated to America in the 1880s and settled in Nebraska. We were farmers for the first 80 years or so, but back in the 1960s, my great grandma decided she was going sell the entire farm before she died. When my great grandma passed, her three sons inherited the money she had earned from selling the farm. My grandpa decided he would basically let that money sit until after he retired from the military. In 1971 he deployed to Vietnam for his second and final deployment. At the end of his deployment, he returned to Nebraska and retired after 22 years in the service. He had a old Chevy truck at the time and was in the process of building a concrete business with the money he had gotten from his inheritance. Unfortunately during this time, his truck engine blew up. My grandpa was busy at the time and he didn't want to fool around with the truck. So he bought himself the engine he wanted to replace it with, which was an upgrade and he went down to the only garage in town. He asked them if they'd be willing to put the engine in the truck. They agreed on a price and told him to come back in a week or so. My grandpa comes back a week later and picks up the truck. He admits he felt like a fool for not double checking the work, but assumed since this was the son of his friend that the son would do right by him. Let me add this was a small town. Your word is gold. Sometime goes by, my grandpa opened his concrete business and he's busy. After sometime the car needed his first oil change. This is about four months after he got the truck back. He's doing the oil change and he notices that the engine he bought, isn't the engine in his truck. It's a smaller engine. This obviously pisses him off to high heaven, as my grandma liked to say. So he storms on down to the garage and looks for the shop owner, Earl. Earl comes out and denies any wrongdoing from the start. Says he did as he was told, and it shouldn't have taken him four months to bring the issue up. My grandpa tells Earl he needs to do what's right. Earl refuses. It's important to note, this is a small town. Written contracts, and so forth isn't really a thing. Your word is your word. My grandpa didn't go any further, he only tells Earl he's going to get him for this. Earl laughs and tells him to leave his shop. My grandpa has a brainwave, and goes straight down to the county and requests the record paper on that gas station. Turns out, it's an old family friend named Harold. My grandpa stops by Harold's house and starts inquiring about the business deal Harold has with Earl. Harold says Earl rents the gas station slash garage from him. My grandpa proceeds to ask more about the situation, and Harold confides that Earl hasn't paid his rent in two months. My grandpa asks, Do you have a written lease with Earl? To which Harold goes. No, I sure don't. My grandpa had another brainwave, and asks, What if I bought the gas station from you? Harold isn't completely on board with the idea, but my grandpa makes a strong point. Earl isn't paying his rent, Harold doesn't seem like he has much interest in being a landlord anymore, and my grandpa has the cash to buy the place outright. Harold's spider senses were tingled, feeling something was up. So he asks my grandpa, Did Earl do something to you? You seem awfully interested in this garage, aren't you busy with the that concrete business of yours? So my grandpa fills Harold in on the story. My grandpa also mentions that he has a son, which is my father, who needs something to do, and he'd be happy to buy the whole building from Harold for a fair price. And what happens after that is his business. Also important to note, when Harold decided to rent this business to Earl, this deal included all the equipment and tools that Harold had acquired over the years. So those belong to the building. Harold and grandpa came to a number that they both agreed on. A few days later my grandpa paid Harold and cash. At this point, Earl was not aware of this deal. The paperwork is done and my grandpa is now the proud owner of a gas station and mechanic shop. Now my grandpa senses that Earl isn't going to be pleased when he's going to get kicked out. So for extra good measure, my grandpa calls up the local sheriff, who is a high school friend and asks the sheriff to come with him to break the news to Earl. My grandpa and the sheriff go down to Earl's now former business and they walk in. Before my grandpa can even greet him, Earl says, Now I told you, I didn't cheat you. My grandpa smiles and says, I'm not here about my truck, I'm here to fire you. Earl with a look of confusion on his face asks, You can't fire me. I own this business. My grandpa shows him the title and says, I'm the actual owner of this building. To which Earl fires back, but I got a deal with Harold. And the sheriff speaks up, you do? Do you have a lease? Well no, Earl says, To which the sheriff smiles and says, In that case, you're going need to take your stuff and leave. Earl is fuming pissed, grabs his only piece of property, his toolbox, and storms out. My grandpa ended up hiring a mechanic that would occasionally work on his trucks at his concrete business. He had my aunt and grandma run the gas station full time. My dad would work there after school. We owned that garage for 25 years before my grandpa sold it to someone else. My grandpa was an amazing man. I gladly attribute my writing style to him. He was simply an incredible storyteller. I've been imitating his humor since I was old enough to say so. He had some great revenge stories too, especially from the army reserve, and when he was a Boy Scout leader too, come to think of it. Now buckle up, because I'm going to wax nostalgic. Grandpa worked for a company that set up displays in grocery stores. Due to his generous and talkative nature. He had a lot of contacts and connections, which meant that he was offered all sorts of food that was nearing its expiration date. Even better, once a display was done, it was often to be disposed of, which meant it was whisked away to the basement. Grandpa's basement was like a grocery store that did your laundry while you shopped. It was awesome. He even had a refrigerated section. The dairy products needed to be eaten right away so they didn't go bad. But he also had potato chips, cans of soda, fruit drinks, cereal, canned food, and other non-perishable stuff lined the shelves and filled the fridge. While the grown-ups would grab a few cans of green beans or a bulk bag of frozen pizzas, the grandkids knew where the good stuff was, an inflatable three-foot long Oscar Meyer hotdog in a bun, an inflatable package of sliced cheese, a world globe made of, fake, candy, and all the ice shovels we could ever want, to name a few. When he was selling new products, we got to try samples, like Nintendo cereal, Dan and bottled water, in yogurt containers, I don't think those ever made it to market. And all sorts of amazing things. His twice yearly garage sales were the stuff of legend. But what about the revenge, you ask? Well, while most of the stuff was stored in the basement, some of it was boxed up in the shed, long-term food and trinkets that could stand the summer heat. Grandpa's shed was one of those simple corrugated metal things, the doors didn't even lock. It housed his lawn mower, some grass seed, and a few boxes of bulk goods for his garage sales. One day, he saw that a box was open, and some of the trinkets inside were gone. Over the next few weeks, he saw other things go missing, not big stuff, just toys and trinkets, which is why he suspected a neighbor kid was breaking into his shed. There weren't many kids on his block though, and he never saw them actually breaking in, but an adult would have taken more, or not come back at all. His shed was in the fenced backyard too, so it wasn't like someone was just wandering past. Finally, after losing quite a few trinkets, and finding a box knocked over onto the floor, he decided to take matter into his own hands. He had a day off in the middle of the week, and that evening he built a trap that would have made Rube Goldberg weep for joy. It involved balloons, falling marbles, roller skates, the works. He spent a week planning it, there even were drawings. Once he finally built it, he went to bed, sure that he would catch his thief. Early the next morning, he got up, made coffee, and waited for his burglar. As always happens, he was taking a break from watching when he heard part of his trap spring, I think it was the balloon that popped when the door was moved. He ran for the back door, pelted down the back steps, and ran around the side of the house just in time to see a flash of movement. Only a glimpse, but enough that he saw exactly where the burglar was, hiding behind a tree. He crept up to the tree, moving stealthily on his driveway. Now, this tree was special, for whatever reason, it split a little less than four feet off the ground, the crotch of the tree making a YG shape. It was perfect for climbing. Grandpa, having reached the tree, realized he could look down on the thief from above. The thief peeked around the tree, saw grandpa there, and leapt up, and at the same instant, grandpa popped his head over the tree screaming bloody murder, hoping to scare the ever living daylights out of the little sneak thief. For a moment, the thief stared in absolute shock and terror, then keeled over, flat on his back. The excitement of the chase and the sudden shock of seeing my grandpa's contorted face screaming down at him was too much, his heart must have given out. My grandpa actually scared him to death. For a moment, my grandpa just stared, then, unbelieving, went around the tree and gave the body a gentle nudge. The thief was dead as a doornail. Grandpa leaned against the tree, put his hands over his face, and laughed until he could barely breathe. I can still picture the tears of laughter in his eyes, as he told me the story of how he gave a squirrel a heart attack. He never got his trinkets back, but boy did he ever get his revenge. Thank you for enjoying this episode, which was made with artificial love. Subscribe or give royal ASMR sugar by avenging the like button. Could you imagine doing one of these acts yourself? Share your experience below. I'll join the conversation.