 The greedy pastures displayed shock, dread and horror as if the money went to demonic baby eaters. If you like true revenge stories, you found the best place for your vengeful needs. Grandparents, the ones who bring nurture and nature to the family, are accompanied by loving family members until the end. Sometimes, this end, offers an unique opportunity, to get back at the ones who did wrong. The first story told, is about a grandfather getting back at a sinful family member in such fashion. Followed by a story from the ER. A grandma suffers at the hands of her drunk husband, resulting in hospital visitations. One night, a frying pan changed the course of their life, forever. Lastly, the most epic act of revenge for last. Greedy pastures suffer a holy factory reset, after a grandma was left alone by them, in a time of need. Before we start, feel personally victimized by the audacity of the like button, because it should automatically say like, on videos of this channel. Let's dive in. Naturally, viewer discretion is advised. These revenge acts might be disturbing to snowflakes. This is more my grandfather's nuclear story. My head on my father's side is the definition of, a piece of work. She's always been a user of people and just plain only out for herself, damn the consequences. My grandmother and grandfather, her adoptive parents, had their own list of issues like anyone, but were good people. Salt of the earth type people. They always tried to do what was right and help however they could. This led them to bail her out of filing for bankruptcy on a couple of occasions, because my aunt simply could not live within her means. Add on, that she had slash as a history of just being a really crappy person. Like stealing my grandfather's social security checks and retirement checks when it suited her. My grandmother died suddenly in 2001, and I remember my aunt being really childish about not getting anything. As my grandmothers will stated that everything goes to my grandfather unless he passed first. Like, you know, basically every other married couple would do. Shortly after, my grandfather sold the house and land, and moved about three hours drive north in the state. I was 15 at the time, and the toxicity of her through this really dark shadow over my whole family. In my youth, I didn't realize at the time that he did that to get away from his daughter. I dropped contact with my grandfather, thinking that he abandoned me too. I regret that to this day. Refusing to interact with my aunt also meant that I fell out of contact with my cousin. Anyhow, a few years later, my grandfather reached out to myself and my cousin. Asking us to come visit. We did, and it was a great time. Just reconnecting. And never knew about this. Putting water under the bridge, so to speak. The years go by and I still couldn't get over myself, and once again fell out of contact a few times. About six years ago, my cousin calls me. Saying that my grandfather is living with him now and that he has dementia. That he probably doesn't have long. I was out of state at the time, so I booked the very next flight I could and raced to see him. My grandfather was able to recognize me, and called me by the nickname he always used for me. That was the last time I ever saw him alive. He died early in the morning a couple days later. And my cousin and I had to go to the funeral home to set up the burial. Turns out, that grandfather had set everything up already and had it paid in full several years prior. All we had to do was sign some papers. Because we weren't his most immediate family, they needed my aunt to sign off as well. So, as much as I hated the idea, we set up a family meeting at the funeral home. We warned the director that she would try to change things, but to not let that happen. Not that she could pay the difference anyhow. True to form during the meeting, she changed everything. From the type of casket, to the service, to even wanting members of the military there for a 21 gun salute, grandfather was a navy man from 45 to 65, and never saw active combat. Grandfather was a simple guy, and had chosen the cheapest of everything. The director took it all in stride, and said that the difference was something like $16,000. And looked directly at her and said we take cashier's checks. The look on her face was priceless to me. So any of her changes wouldn't be made in the end. About a week later after the service, my cousin found my grandfather's will. So we had another family meeting. This time with grandfather's long-time lawyer friend. Grandfather left his house and land to be sold and proceeds to be donated to charities after any debts owed from the estate are paid off. A little over $55,000 got donated across several charities in his name. He also left nearly all of his other belongings to my cousin to split with me as we saw fit. And left her $10 to be paid on the event of his death. Later, it was explained that he left her $10, so that she wouldn't have recourse to challenge the will. If you don't name a living immediate family member. They can challenge the will through some legal process. We found out as well, that he had also sold the graveyard plot that was reserved for her next to my dad and my grandparents. I saw her about a month ago, looking like she may be homeless and obviously on drugs of some sort. I felt nothing but contempt and also a little schadenfreude. My aunt was an intensive care nurse at a hospital in Texas for 30 years. This is her story. A wall back, my aunt tells me and my cousins this story, probably as a warning about drinking, I guess. For years, Mrs. Smith would come into my aunt's ER battered and bruised. Apparently sometimes quite severely. The woman was getting up there in years and almost monthly visits, that sometimes required her to stay for a week or more. A quick rundown of some of the injuries I recall, broken pelvis, explained by falling downstairs in her one-story home. Broken arms, wrists, explained as falling out of her car. A shattered orbital bone in her eye socket. A series of broken ribs, covered by various excuses. Lastly, her loony husband broke her back which required fusing three of her vertebrates. They said it was a driveway car accident. So, Mr. Smith is appropriately qualified as a total piece of do-do. On the end of my aunt's 12-hour shift, the call comes in from the ambulance that they are bringing in a 70-year-old Smith. Faces fell, everyone gets somber knowing that Mrs. Smith probably won't survive the night, due to the years of beating she's already endured. The ER calls the ambulance back, asking for a description of the injury so the OR can be somewhat prepared. What they heard on the radio through everyone of, making some even angry. The paramedics were completely unprofessional. They were laughing their butts off, as they described broken arm, broken leg and lacerated scalp. When the ambulance pulls up, my aunt and several other ER staff are trying to read them the right act. Instead, Mrs. Smith primally stepped out of the ambulance, the paramedics pull the stretcher out of the ambulance, and will her husband inside? Enough is enough. Apparently, that's all she said. The paramedics had to fill in the rest of the story. So here it is. Mr. Smith came home drunk one last time. And she wrapped him in a blanket, beat him with a cast-iron frying pan. Mr. and Mrs. Smith never came back to ER, maybe he learned. My grandmother generously served her Bible-believing Christian church for almost 50 years, without asking anything in return. But when she became elderly, disabled and homebound. Her church acted like she did not exist anymore. Until she was in hospice care and literally on her deathbed, when that church showed a sudden interest in telling grandma to, remember your church and your will. She waited until exactly the right moment, in front of exactly the right audience, to expose these greedy booger faces for what they were. She did so twice. My grandmother was a member of a large conservative. Bible-believing church for her entire adult life. This church, which I'll call Big White Church, was a member of a large evangelical denomination. Big White Church was located in a prosperous suburb of a large city in the Bible belt of the deep south of the USA. Grandma was very active in Big White Church. She worked in the nursery every Sunday morning, helped cook hundreds of church fellowship breakfasts and dinners, accompanied her children and grandchildren on dozens of church retreats and choir tours. She also taught youth Bible study on Sunday nights and was very active in supporting home missions, as well as helping with other youth programs. She always tied, and often gave extra for missions and special offerings. Grandma's greatest talent was making other people feel important. I've seen this first-hand many times. Although I belong to a different church, I often visited with grandma, and when I did, I usually went to Big White Church functions with her. I've seen her single-handedly cook breakfast for dozens of Big White Church youth, a task which took over two hours. Even in the church's large kitchen. Then, after the meal, she asked the group for a round of applause for the high school student leader for. Doing such a great job of organizing the prayer breakfast. I remember that, on a Big White Church youth retreat at a rural church camp, she drove most of the night to go back to the city and retrieve a big box of evangelistic materials. A box that one of the assistant pastors, whom I'll call Mouth Breathing Pastor, had forgotten and asked her to get. In time for our morning program the next day. His boss, the senior pastor, I'll call him Bossy Pastor. Never found out that Mouth Breathing Pastor had screwed up or that grandma had fixed it for him. Mouth Breathing Pastor never even thanked grandma. Even though I was a child, this bothered me so much that I asked her about it. She said that she didn't mind at all. She told me her reward would be that those materials, would help children find Jesus. Grandma's service to her church ended abruptly at the age of 73, when she broke her back in a car accident. Afterwards, for the last 10 years of her life, she was homebound and could not go to church because of this injury and declining health, due to old age. Her mind was just as sharp as ever, and her faith remained sincere, but her body wore out a little more every day. During those 10 years, she made many efforts to reach out to her church, its leadership and her church friends, inviting them to visit her at her home, etc., without success. Every one of these invitations was declined or simply ignored. Near the end, when she was in home hospice care. She decided to plan her own funeral. She and my grandpa called her church and asked for the senior pastor, bossy pastor, whom she had known for over 30 years, to visit her so that they could plan her memorial service, which she and grandpa wanted to be held at the church. Bossy pastor was too busy, but mouth-breathing pastor stopped by a few days later. According to my grandpa, here's what happened at that meeting, with my grandma literally on her deathbed. Grandma, grandpa and mouth-breather discussed her funeral for a couple of minutes. Then mouth-breather started pressuring her too, lay up your treasure in heaven by remembering your church and your will. Grandpa told him firmly that this is neither the time nor the place to discuss her will. They went back to discussing the funeral for a few minutes. Then mouth-breather steered the conversation back to grandma's will, with liberal injections of how badly her church needed her support. Grandpa told him several times that it was inappropriate to talk to grandma about her will or the church's financial needs, because she was terminally ill and in an enormous amount of physical pain. Mouth-breather would agree and briefly talk about the funeral, but would then go back to talking about the church's financial needs, heavenly rewards, where your treasure is your heart will be also. He began quoting verses like Matthew 621, Luke 12-34 etc. My grandma started crying. To put this into context, grandma was more than a steel magnolia. She was titanium coated with diamond wrapped in kevlar. She rarely ever cried, and never ever cried about herself. Not one tear when the doctor told her that her back was broken so badly, that she would never walk again, nor during the following six months in feudal rehab. She would shed sincere but well-managed tears at funerals, and while visiting family members in the hospital when they received bad news. She would cry to console others, loop with those who weep. But nobody, not grandpa. Not her daughter. Who is my mom, nor any of my uncles or grandma's siblings? Ever remembered her crying for herself? My grandma was sobbing uncontrollably. Grandpa, a retired steel worker, former marine sergeant and Korean war combat veteran, physically grabbed mouth breather and escorted him out of their house, not too gently. Contrary to everyone's expectations, grandma lived another six months, mostly because of sheer force of will. Eventually, though, grandma passed away, and we held her memorial service at the funeral home, not Big White Church. Bossy pastor and mouth breather were conspicuously absent. In fact, there were no professional Christians, from Big White Church at the service at all, not even in the audience. To start the service, grandpa stood up at the podium in front of the crowd and said, some of you may have heard that I disinvited Bossy pastor and mouth breather from this funeral service. This service is not an appropriate place for me to give you my reasons for doing this, although you all know me and so you know that my reasons are good ones. Also, my wife asked me to exclude them, this funeral service may be different from other funerals that you have attended. It is going to be an open microphone funeral. Everyone who wants to say something is invited to come up here and describe your friendship with my wife, tell a story about her that is worth remembering, or anything else that you want to say that will honor her memory and bring comfort to everyone here today. I have asked several family members to prepare statements, but you don't have to have anything prepared. Please, if you want to say something, come up here and do so. There were about 100 people at the funeral service. At least a third of them eventually stepped up to the microphone. The service, which we had planned to last about 30 minutes, lasted for over two hours and, as best I can tell, not one person left early. There was laughing, crying and hugging, three of her grandchildren played some of her favorite songs on the piano and guitar, we all joined hands and sang her favorite hymns. Afterwards, dozens of people told my grandpa that it was one of the most comforting and uplifting funerals they had ever attended. More than a few remarked that, funerals are better without preachers anyway, or something similar. A couple of weeks later, it was time to start distributing the bequests in grandma's will. Although grandma and grandpa dearly loved each other, they had separate wills because, she told my mom, that makes it easier for us to respect each other's turf, and because their lawyer had recommended it. Nobody thought that my grandparents were wealthy. They had lived in the same small but charming house and a prosperous, well-maintained suburban neighborhood for the past 50-plus years, and had worked hard and lived modestly. But it was rumored that they had a very nice nest egg. Of course, there is no legal requirement for anyone to attend the reading of the will, or to even have a reading. Modern telecommunications and near-universal literacy have made this quaint custom practically extinct. But the reading of the will was a tradition in our family, because it was one of those events that gave our close-knit, extended family an excuse to get together. We never had family reunions. They were too difficult to schedule for our large family. But we got together at birthdays, holidays, funerals, baptisms, etc. So that if you attended several of these, you would see just about every one of your cousins, aunts, uncles, and even great aunts and uncles who were grandma's and grandpa's siblings and in-laws. With this family tradition in mind, many of our family members' wills often contained very personal bequests of items that had little cash value, but were the departed family members' way of telling their loved ones that they wanted to share a cherished memory with them one last time. As an added incentive to attend, the family rumor mill had been buzzing with speculation, encouraged by grandpa. That grandma's will contain some surprises. The reading was held in a conference room at a lawyer's office. Unsurprisingly, the attendees included my mom, as well as aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles and many of the grandchildren. We were all surprised, however, to see bossy pastor and mouth breather from big white church. They informed us that grandma's lawyer had told them that grandma's will had bequest not only for big white church, but also for them personally. Maybe it was just our imagination, but my siblings, cousins, and I couldn't help noticing that these preachers appeared to be actively salivating over their good fortune at grandma's generosity. Grandma had a large family, so a sizable number of beneficiaries were named in her will. The lawyer's conference room was a bit smaller than an average middle-class living room. Extra chairs had been brought in, every seat was filled and people were standing in every remaining space. There was barely space for all of us. Grandma's lawyer suggested that bossy pastor and mouth breather sit in chairs which were in the front of the room, next to himself. Since there was a large table in the room, this meant that the lawyer and these two preachers were the only ones who were directly facing everyone else. Although the preachers were gratified to be physically next to the center of attention, they did not notice, as all of the rest of us quickly noticed, that these seats made it easy for everyone else in the room to watch them closely. And practically impossible for them to leave the pack to more than overflowing room, before the entire meeting was over. Because they were farthest from the room single door. And there were almost two dozen people standing or sitting between them in their only path to escape. The bequests were quite generous, but pretty much what we had expected. Grandpa kept their house, its contents. Their retirement accounts and everything that remained after all of the bequests had been satisfied. Children, grandchildren and several local charities received nice, but not extravagant, amounts of money. Several sentimental items were named and given to various friends and relatives. Grandpa was first beneficiary listed in the will. But, after him, all of the other bequests were arranged in order of increasing worth. They started with sentimental items, which had very small cash value. Then each grandchild received several thousand dollars, then each son, daughter, brother, sister, niece and nephew received a little more. Then several local non-profits received very nice amounts, and so on. The quests to Big White Church, bossy pastor and mouth breather were, almost, the last ones listed in the will. They listened politely to the other bequests, but with steadily growing anticipation, as they noticed the exponential upward trend in grandma's largesse. When grandma's lawyer got to the Big White Church and preachers part of the will, he said, this is a bit unusual, but before I announce these bequests to Big White Church, bossy pastor and mouth breather. Miss Grandma requested that I read the following statement to everyone present. He opened a letter that was written in grandma's own handwriting. For the past 10 years, not one person from Big White Church has ever called me, come to visit me or sent me a note, to tell me that they cared about me. Not one minister, not one deacon, not one of the church women, not one of the church members who I worked with for all of those years, loved dearly and thought were my friends. I worked very hard for you when you needed me, for many, many years. But when I needed you and your church, you all pretended that I didn't exist. I only got one visit. When I was dying and I invited bossy pastor to come to my house and help me plan my funeral. This was my last attempt, after many attempts that I had made over the past 10 years, to reach out to my church and pastor, whom I still loved dearly, even though they had made it clear that they did not love me. If only I could have my funeral at my church, maybe some of my church friends, whom I had not seen in a decade, would come to the service to see me one last time. And I know they love to hear bossy pastor preach, so if he preached at my funeral, maybe they would come to my funeral to hear him, even if they would not have come to see me. But bossy pastor couldn't find the time to visit me, or even call me, to tell me whether or not he was willing to preach at my funeral. Mouth breather came by my house, but he didn't want to talk about my funeral. He just wanted me to remember his church in my will. That's all, just remember his church in my will. It was then that I realized that I had allowed my church to break my heart for one last time. But that was the last time. The very last time. Mouth breather did not know it when he visited me. But grandpa and I had already prepared my will, long before his visit, which did include 20% of my entire estate, for what was now my former, former church, big white church. This amount was named an enormous crapload of money, generating muffled wows from many of her heirs, including me. But I got to feeling badly, that we had not personally remembered such nice people as bossy pastor and mouth breather. So, I changed my will to include them by name. While I was at it, I changed the amount of money that I left to big white church to match all of the love, that they have showed to me during the last 10 years of my life. When I was suffering and lonely, and no longer able to work my butt off for them, for free, like I had done for almost half a century. That is her entire written statement, the lawyer said. Now let's get back to the bequests in the will. Left to mouth breather, 1 cent. Left to bossy pastor, 1 cent. Left to big white church, 1 cent. The bossy pastor and mouth breather sat there, looking like someone had just injected a gallon of novocaine into their jaws. Everyone of grandma's family and friends felt an overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. But we kept quiet because we knew grandma. We knew she wasn't finished yet. Grandma was simply setting them up for a 1-2 punch. The best was yet to come, and we didn't want to miss it. There is one last bequest, the lawyer continued. For a charity called, which he named and I'll call Black Charity, then he paused before naming the amount. Most of us had no idea what Black Charity was. But, by the looks on their faces, we could tell that bossy pastor and mouth breather knew Black Charity very well. Their faces displayed the same expressions of shock. Dread and horror that they would have if the lawyer had said, this bequest goes to the demonic baby eaters to buy extra-large rotisserie barbecue grills and tons of charcoal. Every eye in the room was now fixated on bossy pastor and mouth breather. The lawyer, who happened to be my uncle, one of grandma's and grandpa's sons, let the silence continue a few seconds more. If we had been able to read bossy pastors and mouth breather's minds, we would have known the history behind the looks on their faces. Black Charity was sponsored by a large black church just a few miles from big white church. They ran a free food and clothing bank, assistance programs for foster children, home delivery of precooked meals for homebound seniors, lethal aid, and other social services. A long time ago, big white church, which was, and still is 100% Caucasian, had provided a few years of financial and other support to Black Charity. Then there was a very bitter, acrimonious breakup, allegedly because Black Charity was practicing the social gospel, while big white church was preaching the true gospel. Big white church even sued to try to get some of their money back, although the suit was eventually settled and very little money actually changed hands. But, this being the deep south, everyone knew the real reason why big white church, or any white church, would stop supporting a Black Charity. Due to racist motives. Grandma and grandpa had seriously considered leaving big white church at that time. But they had reasoned that it was better to stay there, and teach tolerance by their words and example. They knew they would never persuade everyone. But maybe they could reach some of the youth at their white church and break the generational cycle of racism. Grandma used to tell us, My church is my mission field. We did not learn the true depth of her statement until after she died. Since then, grandma and grandpa had secretly sent a portion to Black Charity every month. Most of grandma's family, including me, didn't find out about any of this until after the meeting had ended. But bossy pastor and mouth breather obviously understood what grandma, by her actions which are more powerful than words, was saying to them. If you had grown up as a white person in the deep south. As grandma, grandpa, bossy pastor and mouth breather had, you would understand. To many white Southerners, this was one of the most personally insulting things you could do to them. It simultaneously labeled them as racists, condemned their bigotry and crushed their delusions of white superiority by saying. These other human beings, whom you hate, disrespect, and have mistreated, are better people than you are. So they deserve my money more than you do. Having allowed time for everyone to observe bossy pastor and mouth breather, while they thought about how their white church had treated this Black Charity, and how they and their church had treated our grandma. The lawyer proceeded to name the exact same amount that grandma had named in her handwritten letter. The huge amount of money that would have gone to big white church, if she had not changed her will. 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.