 They seemed completely oblivious to their impending doom. If you like true revenge stories, you found the best place for your vengeful needs. The following stories prove that you shouldn't mess with grandpa's. They can have a strong mix of life experience, protective head of the family, with a cherry on top, of having nothing to lose. We start off with a grandpa, who grew and cared for his berries. When thieves took them away, they got to taste the unthinkable, twice. This same grandpa hunts down illegal poachers on his land, while protecting endangered species. When a grandpa is asked to share a crazy story from his past, he thought of this nuclear revenge story. Followed by another grandpa, who banishes his evil maid, into exile. Next, grandpa's evil brother takes advantage of their sick mother. But his greed forces him in the ultimate checkmate position. Ending with a different kind of revenge, to pull you back into puppy mode. Before we start, blew a shiny quarter, to the like button's driveway. Warning, these revenge acts, might be disturbing to the enemies of protective grandpa's. I really loved sharing stories about my grandpa. He's the man who raised me, and I thought I would share another story of pops, just being pops. My farm is family owned, and it's now mine. Pops lived on this family farm his entire life, and that's where this takes place. The farm itself is a huge 80 acres of grazing and hay production land. Pops mostly raised cows and chickens on this part, and another 120 plus acres of forest marsh and wetlands. Up near the main house, pops had his veggie and berry garden. He grew strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, all the berries pops like to make his own homebrew, blame the Irish DNA. One fine summer morning, August of 2001, pops is returning from town and he is greeted by a couple in their 30s. They were hauling ass to their car, which was parked at the front of our property, while each of them held 40 liter buckets. Pops checked out what had been going on. Almost half the berry bushes had been stripped clean. Pops was not the type to fly off the handle, but he took a trip into town to look for the car, and he found it. It was a couple of out of towners, and pops gave them a stern warning not to come back, ever again. The next morning, pops was doing his normal start of the day routine, which was making breakfast and waking me up and instruct me to do chores. As we got out, pops saw them again, hauling ass back to their car. Pops jumped into his truck and caught up to them. He told them off, said if they ever come back, it's going to be hell for them. We woke up the next day, to find tire tracks on the field. Not only that, every berry bush had been stripped clean. We later found out they had been hitting up farmers markets, selling fresh berries. Pops, not being the kind of person to take things lying down, especially if someone's messing with his future booze. This is the moment we have to take a sidestep from the story. There's a lot pops did, to ensure he was protected for the future, but I'm going to give you the short version. Pops decided to expand his berry operation to the entire field, as well as get the farm licensed to produce and sell berries. And early September, I remember this very well, because he made me do half the work. We filled the entire front field by planting several hundred strawberry, raspberry, blackberry and blueberry bushes. These are perennial plants, so in the season they are planted, they will bring barely any fruits. But they explode the season after. So my grandpa fenced off half the field, and left a good portion open and easy to access. Pops knew they would be back next year. He knew, they believed they found a golden goose free money. And they did find something unique, but they were about to find out, it wouldn't be free. The start of next growing season, Pops had a special fertilizer ready for the open part of the field. This fertilizer was, human waste. I have to add that there are ways of fertilizing correctly, and it's different from which source it comes from. Spraying the soil and plants with this type of fertilizer, daily, in its raw state, would make the berries putrid. It gets deep in them while it grows, and no amount of washing will get it out. So Pops became very disciplined in spraying every bush in that open part of the field, every single day. And just as he predicted, the summer of 2002, they came back to steal the berries. He caught them in the exact same way as before. He spotted them sneakily running with buckets in hand, hauling ass back to the car. Again, Pops confronted them with a stern warning. Warning that they will regret taking the fruit, and told them not to eat it. The didn't respond and made sure they got away fast, taking the loot proudly with them. Less than two hours later, they came back. And they brought the law with them, screaming up fury, that Pops tried to poison them. Pops just smiled. He told them he gave them multiple warnings. He told them not to come on his land, and also told them not to steal from him. He even told them that the berries weren't grown to be eaten. The cops were about to tell them to drop it and get out of there. But my Pops interrupted them, and asked them to wait a minute. He went inside to get a file folder, with a license of his farm. This license, gave him the permission to zone the land for agricultural use, as a licensed food production farm. You see, in Canada, it's a bit of a big crime to steal from a farm. But it's even worse if the farm has all the licenses to produce food. The cops read the file and saw the license, and their eyes lit up. They screamed at the couple to sit their asses down while they called for backup. At this point, I was out on the porch, and I saw everything go down gloriously. They were taken off our land and cuffs. So not only did they get a mouthful of human waste filled berries, but walked out while receiving a $10,000 fine. If that's not a smelly stinky situation, I don't know what is. It's me again. OP from last story. This is another story about Pops, my grandfather, and how he got some sweet revenge on squatters slash poachers. This goes way back to the 90s. 1998 to be exact, I was 10 years old. My farm back then was Pops family farm. It's way up north in Ontario. My farm is not a small farm in the area. It's the biggest plot of land. Not only that, it has the most workable farmland. There's about 80 acres of good workable farmland that's including pastures and another 120 acres of dense forest and marshland. Back in the 90s, Northern Ontario had a breakout of this type of moth. The moth would spin silk high in the trees, which caused no harm other than a nuisance. But the government had the great idea to crop dust the forests on Ontario, causing an ecological disaster. With the loss of the moths and the chemicals in the water, a type of frog was nearly wiped out. We called these frogs, leopard frogs. They are greenish with big black spots on them. After this disaster, they were put on the endangered species list. Now back to the story. The back end of my property runs off into a small marshland, and into the lake. Back in the 90s, Pops was having a problem with poachers. They were camping in the back area, hunting out of season, killing and eating turtles out of the marsh and just fucking up the property. Back in the day, that forest was my playground. I know that area like the back of my hand, but unfortunately, I had to run in with the poachers. When I came to close out of curiosity, they threatened to shoot a 10 year old child. I fled and got away successfully, and told my dad about the ordeal. He called in the local lawman and went into the area where I saw them, but the poachers had packed up and were gone before they got there. Unfortunately, they returned the week after. We could hear the rifle shots in the distance. Pops went into action and tried to find them with the lawman several times after, that, but without any luck. Now here's where all the information from the start comes into play. Pops tried really hard and wanted them gone, but it wasn't working. Pops was also a fisherman, and his favorite bait was self-made bone lures, like the leopard frog. But because they made it on the endangered species list now, the use became outright banned. My grandpa, being the responsible fisherman and generally caring about the land, figured, now is the time to kill two birds, with one stone. He approached the Canadian fishery and game wardens, and through a lot of work, got in touch with an ecological survey team. This team decided that our little marsh, was the perfect place for a spawning pool to raise little leopard frogs, and help their population grow. And that's what happened. They went into our back area where our marsh was fenced in, and they started breeding tadpoles, for the leopard frogs to breed and prosper. But not only that, these places had another special element. This little marsh area, that was protected from now on, was also the hunting ground of the poachers. Once the work was done and the area was more hands off, it took a full year for the poachers to return. But Pops had a weapon now. His cell phone. Once he could hear that familiar sound of rifles going off, where no rifle fire should be, he made a single phone call to the game warden. All went really fast, as they had over a dozen wardens up there, in less than an hour, and the poachers were caught. Not only were they caught with the carcass of a bear and other animals. They were caught red-handed, with their hand in the cookie jar, as they stood there, with buckets and buckets of our little leopard frogs. Not only did they hunt without a license, they also poached an endangered species, to be used as an illegal bait. From what learned through the locals. They did two years in big-time prison. All because Pops cared about the little froggies. Furthermore, a lovely fact, over 5 million leopard frogs were raised on that marsh, over 10 years. Being released through marshes and forests in Ontario. You would have a hard time finding a leopard frog across Ontario, that was not somehow related to a frog, that came out of my little marsh. This old story came from my grandpa. It's about this guy he knew, when he was growing up in the 1960s. This guy's name was Henry, he was old when this story took place. In New Mexico in the early 1960s, Henry owned a decent-sized ranch. Now, Henry was a badass motherfucker. In his younger days, he fought in World War I, and was rumoured to be a gunfighter in the last days of the Wild West. He was also rumoured to be associated with a mafia in Chicago in the 1920s, when he went to college. Henry had about 15 ranch hands and three sons, he had lots of cattle and land. His youngest son was in the army at this point in time, and the other two had other jobs. A lot of his ranch hands were African American, and some were refugees fleeing racial violence in the east at that time. So one evening, his guys were attacked and beaten up and a couple of his cows were killed by unknown attackers, but it was pretty obvious it was the KKK. After assessing the situation, he couldn't really do much and the police couldn't either, as the town police force was pretty much two guys. These attacks continued for a couple weeks. No one was beat up, but some cows were killed in fences and stuff were destroyed. Henry received a note, saying that he had to get rid of all his workers by the end of the week, or they were gonna burn down his ranch and attack everyone and everything. So he kinda said, fuck this, and called his son who just happened to be on leave. His son and a couple of his army buddies were on leave, and they pretty much had nothing else to do, but come over. He was also really good friends with bikers in the area. So they came over and helped him prepare. He was an old guy and was used to do things the old fashioned way. So he sent a couple ranch hands over to town to get drunk and distract the lawman. Basically, it was two underpaid cops trying to contain the drunken madness in a bar, in a small town in the middle of the New Mexico desert. So one night, the clan pulled up ready to trash the place. The remaining ranch hands were having a bonfire and seemed completely oblivious to their impending doom. But they were actually prepared. Henry had his son, his buddies and the bikers hidden in the barns and sheds, ready to react. When the KKK showed up, they had gasoline cans and some weapons on them. There were about 10 of them. Basically, it plays out that the cowboys all acted drunk until the bikers slash soldiers showed up and surrounded the KKK, and then they pulled their guns out. My grandpa never got to the next part. I never heard if anyone was harmed or even critically injured, or if he just gave them a good scare, but there hasn't been a single racial incident or animal attack in that town since then. Henry died a couple years later from cancer, probably because he smoked and dipped for like 60 years, because it was healthy back then. Anyway, grandpa was cool and knew a lot of badasses like Henry. But this story always stood out. A couple of years ago, my Lebanese grandpa hired a migrant housemaid to help my grandma with her daily chores. Some weeks after hiring her, money left unattended began to disappear around the house. My grandma was a sweet old lady and would place her money in different places, as was convenient. If you're asking yourself why he didn't fire her on the spot, the answer is that there was no proof, and it would mean a breach of contract. He'll have to pay penalties, fees, etc. This is where the years of experience and acting skills come in play. The old man goes out one morning, and returns a bit later. He fakes looking anxious and on edge. He storms in and doesn't greet my grandma, and goes straight to his room, while making sure that the maid saw him go in, and lays a brown bag in a drawer that no one usually uses. Knowing that she saw what happened, he acts normal and does what normal old people do during the day. That same day, in the late afternoon, the maid disappeared, alongside her passport. And you guessed it, with the brown bag. Noticing that my grandma is a little worried, he tells her not to worry about her, and that she's safe and probably on a plane back to her country. He calls my aunt and asks if she can hire a new maid for them. My aunt asks why and he responds the following. She was stealing money, so I went and bought a lot of the old Lebanese paper currency, the worthless kind before the inflation, and put them in a bag. The maid thought she hit the jackpot, stole it and went back to her country. It was later confirmed that she did fly on the same day. This story is about my grandpa and how he outsmarted his brother, after his brother exploited their mother. About 40 years ago, my great grandparents were terminally ill. Great grandfather was gone soon after and great grandmother was on her way out, overusing morphine to lessen the pain. She was writing a will when she was sober, but she was rarely sober. Her estate was essentially what would be a multi-millionaires estate, adjusted for inflation. Her estate was in Ireland, while my grandfather and his brother were in England. My grandfather went to his local pub to see his brother, he did this every Saturday night, to keep in touch with his brother. This time something was different, his brother was not there. Instead, his brother spontaneously moved to Ireland and spent time with his mother, who was heavily on morphine. The morphine was clouding her judgment, and beat in mind she was writing a will. My grandfather's brother, will call in Lee from now on, went to Ireland to cozy up to his mother, in hopes of getting her whole estate. My grandfather didn't know Lee was doing this, and didn't think much of it. Fast forward about a year, and great grandmother kicks the bucket. My grandfather spent as much time as possible with his dying mother. He was there when she went out, and he was there as much as he possibly could. At the time he had kids to take care of and a job that was not very lenient. He made do with what he could. Funeral day arrives, and everything goes fine, until they get to the will. Great grandmother was high on morphine when she was making the will, and everything she had in the will, went to Lee. Nobody else got anything in the will. Put two and two together, and everyone was pissed off at Lee, but the will couldn't be contested, because there were people who signed in witness of the will, including her attorney. Lee becomes outcasted, but everyone gives up on trying to save their mother's things. Except, granddad. Lee inherited a large plot of land in Ireland, nothing special, except it was in rural Ireland. It couldn't support a septic tank, and is worth a fucking of money. The house on this plot was right on the edge of the land, but the septic tank was on the neighbor's land. Lee didn't know this, so he didn't buy the land next to the house. This isn't up to building code, so the house can't be sold until the septic tank is on his land. My grandfather knew this, and bought the land surrounding this house. Lee fixed up the house and got a building inspector to inspect the house, and check if it was up to code so he could sell the house. The inspector caught the septic tank, and told Lee he couldn't sell the house, unless the tank is on his land. Lee went to the neighbors to buy the small plot of land that had the septic tank, only to find out they sold it to my grandfather, and my grandfather was unwilling to sell the land to Lee. Lee invested easily over £300,000 in the house, before Ireland went to Euro, so the house was in great shape and was supposed to be resold. Lee can't sell the house for a profit, because my grandfather owns the land the septic tank is on. Lee can't put a septic tank on his land, because the land can't support a septic tank. My grandfather put Lee into a checkmate, where Lee has to sell the land and everything on it to my granddad. My grandfather isn't going to buy the land for anything more than €5000, and to this day, Lee still won't sell the land to my grandfather. My grandfather didn't want the land, he just wanted to return the favor to Lee. Lee is now just scraping by on his plot of land because of his stubbornness, and he still to this day, won't accept defeat. This is a funny story, my mom always likes to tell. Back in the year 1997, some days after my sister was born, my parents decided to visit my dad's hometown to show my grandparents their first grandchild, coming from my dad. They were in love with the little girl. During the time they, my parents, were there, mom and grandpa were left alone, playing with my baby sister and talking to each other, and went like this. She is so pretty, she looks like me. Oh, don't worry about it, they grow out of it. This was obviously a joke, but my mother never forgot it. Then, after five years, I was born and again, my parents went to visit my dad's hometown, this time showing baby me, and my grandpa absolutely loved me, and said, Oh my god, look at him, so handsome, and he looks like me. To which my mom, not losing the opportunity, replied, Oh, don't worry, they grow out of it. They both laughed at it. My grandpa knew that it was exactly what he said to her five years before, and remarked on how she returned the favor to him. Just a little and harmless fun revenge from my mother. Hope everyone reading this has a great day. You stayed till the end, which means you're the one I make these episodes for. Thank you for your support, I really appreciate you. Subscribe, so you don't miss out on future episodes and show your vengeful devotion, by tickling the like button without mercy. Do you have any experiences surrounding the topic of this episode? Share yours below, I'll join the conversation. I'll be seeing you, in the next one. Remember that these stories are shared for your entertainment. This content is to be taken as such, and nothing else. Royal AI, rejects advocation or instigation of illegal actions.