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This is a question Revenge II

'Top radio ‘personality’ Christian ‘The OC’ O’Connell once burnt my socks on a campfire whilst I was unconscious on vodka’ bellows Richard mcbeef. ‘One day I will take my revenge, and it will be sweet’. But what can’t *you* ever forgive or forget? What’s still eating you up after many years? Is that why you’re such a bitter, unpleasant person? Tell mummy all about it.

(, Fri 20 Nov 2015, 19:56)

This question is now closed.

Outside the Driftwood Spars, St Agnes
I found Mrs Andrew Ridgeley's purse in the car park of the Driftwood Spars pub. It was stacked with cash and cards.

I took it into the pub and handed it to the barman.

He then took it over to Mr & Mrs Ridgeley who were eating at a table in the corner of the bar. The barman handed her the purse, and pointed at me to indicate who had handed it in.

They didn't even wave at me. No free drink. No pat on the back from the former Wham 'guitarist / singer' or from his equally talented 'singer from Bananarama' wife.

I've not bought a single Wham or Bananarama record since that day.

That'll teach them.

Thinking about it I have bought compilation albums with both 'bands' songs on them.

Shit, shit, shit. Really pissed off now.
(, Mon 23 Nov 2015, 9:58, Reply)
At my university most of the dorms are co-ed, but a very few are girls-only.
I lived in a co-ed dorm, but the dorm next door to mine was all girls, and a lot of my friends lived there. They had a very strict 'no boys after 11 pm' rule, which everyone except the people in charge was usually willing to ignore, in sympathy to people with/trying to get boyfriends.

One of my good friends, however, had a roomate who pushed this rule just a little too far. She would bring gentlemen into the dorm at all hours of the night and early morning, often several at once. And these were not polite, respectable fellows.

My friend apparently tolerated this for about half a semester, as she didn't want to cause trouble and get busted for having her (very nice, very awesome) boyfriend stay over some weekends. One night her roomie brings home two drunk jock types, and proceeds to get frisky with only one. Leftover jock tries to molest my friend, gets told to get the hell out, threatens to assault her with cooking implements.

Obviously that was the last straw.

My friend enlists the help of me and numerous other friends of ours, all of whom (alas, myself included) happen to be in this university's art school. We scheme. We wait for an opportune moment, counting on this girl's utterly shameless behavior to be repeated.

Sure enough, next weekend, she leaves for a night of partying around 9 pm. We go to work. We finish up, and camp out in the room across the hall to see what there is to be seen. She is observed entering her room in the wee hours with four (count 'em, four!) large males. After about 5 minutes all four come barging out, horror on their faces, closely followed by the hussy, pleading ineffectually.

So what had we done? The metals major in our group of friends had managed to whip up a large set of chains and bars and things, which he had bolted to the ceiling directly above her bed. It was actually just a mess and wouldn't have held anyone (hey, we're art students, not engineers), but if you didn't actually examine it it looked like some awful S&M device.

The two photography majors, who happened to be gay, had taken some lovely black and white photographs of men in, er, compromising positions. With other men. These had been blown up to astonishing proportions using the art school plotter, and stuck to the walls of the offending side of the room.

A couple of the art students who were into bands and such (there are always tons of these in any art school) had whipped up some sound tracks of orgasmic vocal glee and mixed these with sounds of chainsaws and whippings. This was put on a CD and replaced the 'hot sex bad rap' CD this girl always kept in her stereo for such occasions.

Some other bits were added, such as satanic drawings involving male torment or other things that would creep out football-type college guys posted up all over the place (as the illustrator in the group, this was mostly my doing), creepy voodoo-looking dolls all over the bed, etc.

Too bad that the four guys she tried to seduce that night were all extremely popular in the circles she moved in. Some very interesting rumors got out very fast and went very far. And in addition to all the havoc this played with her social life, the Residence Adviser for her hall got to hear about it and wrote her up for having males in the dorm after hours.

God bless art students.

8 thousand apologies for length, I'm a loquacious bugger.
(, Mon 23 Nov 2015, 9:20, 2 replies)
I think this here pea-roast was my first ever QOTW tale.
And it never actually happened, d'ya hear me?

thought long and hard before posting this...
because i'm still not sure how i feel about what i did...

and i apologise in advance for the length...

many moons ago, whilst betrothed to the 1st mrs blaireau (we eventually got divorced, i'm married again and totally happy with 2nd mrs blaireau and nearly 5 year old wee blaireau), she and i took it upon ouselves, whilst visiting her mother for christmas, to meet her estranged father (neil) and his whore (carol) for a "bridge building pint"...

what a fucking mistake that turned out to be!!!

leaving the pub in jolly mood we accepted their invite for a nightcap chez slapper. and things deteriorated rapidly from there...

once back in her own territory she turned feral and mental in equal measure, instigating a barney of large proportions which resulted in neil (a 40 year old hard-working, hard-drinking, hard-fighting brick shit-house of a farmer) using my body as a battering-ram on the back door. quite literally!

so we left. duh.

and as we slunk off down the road i silently vowed revenge. well not so silently actually. i screamed "i'm gonna get you, you psycho cunt".
and believe me, dear reader when i tell you that i did...

6 or so months later the future 1st mrs blaireau's mother had got her divorce through and we went to help her move out of the family home to make way for the happy couple to play at families, giving blaireau (a plumber and hero of this tale) the opportunity to exact his revenge.

a wee bit of house sabotage was NOT carried out, specifically...

1) a bag of bones and offal in the loft (courtesy of the workers at the slaughterhouse where i did my meat-inspection training when i was a student eho years ago).

2) took all the lightbulbs into the garage and smashed them against the inside of the door. also took all of the fuses out of all the appliances (including the alarm system).

3) pissed (6 times in total over 1 1/2 days) all over 3 or 4 boxes of business and personal papers.

4) loosened the electrical connections in the 2 electric showers. this would cause arcing and possibly fire!! or at least premature unit failure.

5) closed all the radiator valves so tightly that most of the spindles sheared off. none of these valves would ever be opened again. also removed the bleed-valve screws from all the rads. also sheared off the spindle of the mains stop-tap under the sink and the one in the street outside before filling the hole in the pavement with neat cement.

6) drained the hot water and central heating system before loosening all the check-nuts i could find, so when refilled a million leaks would magically appear.

7) removed screws from door hinges before carefully shutting the door. a wee present for the next person to open the door...

8) sprinkled salt inside the expensive recessed light fittings in the 2 bathrooms. salt is hydroscopic and ionic i.e. it draws water from the air leading to lots of corrosion.

9) took the washers out of all the taps.

10) super-glued all the locks (including the alarm system, again) (5 tubes!!)

and the one that clinched the deal...

11) pulled the sky dish cable through the wall about 4 inches, cut it with pliers and glued it all back in place with a nice blob of mastic, ensuring the cable ends were pushed hard up against each other so there was at least some signal, but not a whole lot.

as it turned out neil "bit the big one" a few months later, from a heart attack, whilst watchin tv.

from the day he moved back into the house he had apparently complained about the shitty reception. i'm sure there was a connection...

that fooking well tought him, aye???

length? more than he could handle, it would appear...

if you think i went too far then click "I like this"
(, Tue 24 Nov 2015, 1:30, 6 replies)
A cliche and childish but hey
I found out my boyfriend had been cheating on me a couple of hours before he was due to come stay the night.
After he got undressed and into bed, I went and threw all his clothes out of the window, telling him exactly why.
I lived on the third floor and there was a basement well, everything apart from his teeshirt and one shoe fell into the well.
The only way to in there was for him to walk round the block wearing just a t shirt and one shoe, knock on the back door ask to be let through their flat to crawl out of the window to retrieve the rest of his clothes and shoes.
Got a phone call from the other woman about 30 minutes later, the thick sod had only gone round there to tell her what I'd done in the hopes of a sympathy shag and she threw him out.
(, Mon 23 Nov 2015, 17:36, Reply)
Really mean but
I lived in Antigua in the West Indies, and some of the locals are somewhat 'homophobic'. After an evening of drinking rum at a beach bar, my mates and I were giving a local guy a ride back to his village. He had drunk a lot of rum, and had been verbally insulting a group of (quite obviously) gay tourinsts at a local night club. A few puffs on a joint and he was comatose in the back seat. The plot was hatched for a lesson he wouldn't forget in a hurry.

We laid him out on his front on the beach, pulled his trousers half way down his legs, and using a pen, inserted a condom (with some suntan cream in it) a few inches into his anus. We left him there.
(, Mon 23 Nov 2015, 16:37, 3 replies)
In a certain North London Fire Station............
There is (or at least was) a 20 year old framed picture on the wall of then local MP and Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. She is surrounded by the boys of Red Watch and smiling whilst holding a large mug of tea.
Each of the firemen in that photo had specially wiped their dirty, stinking cocks around the inside of that mug before her "photo opportunity" visit.
Sweet revenge for the wave of Fire Station closures that she had instigated. I feel sure that she is not aware of this to this day.
(, Mon 23 Nov 2015, 16:13, 4 replies)
My old student housemates bought a ferret while drunk.
Fair play to them, I suppose. You stumble out of a pub midway through an all-day drinking session to grab some chips, and trudge past a pet shop announcing "Ferrets - 5 pounds". A fiver for a ferret, that's like a pound per leg and a quid for the rest. That's a bargain by anyone's reckoning.

So they cut the drinking short and walked home, with the ferret tucked inside one of their jackets. As they walked in the door the ferret was released, and given free roam of the house to explore while my three drunk housemates giggled and clapped with childish glee.

The giggles turned to roars of laughter as the ferret wrestled a lump of meat out of yesterday's congealing curry; laughter turned to peals of delight as it lapped up stale lager from a near-empty pint glass. And the peals turned into hoots and cheers as the ferret, huddled under the coffee table, unleashed a torrent of liquid diarrhea over the lounge carpet.

The ferret didn't last a day; the back door was "accidentally" left open and the cheeky mustelid saw his chance for freedom outside the lair of those whooping baboons I lived with. But the stench lingered on for days after; no-one bothered to clean up the shit in the lounge, and as the old beer and curry leftovers finally got tipped into the bin, there was little else to mask the reek of ferret shit. Another housemate and I asked, moaned, shouted at the three drunkards to clean up their mess, and got nothing in reply.

So we donned marigolds and got scrubbing; I'm not living in a house splattered with raw animal shit for more than a week, 2 weeks max. But before we scooped up the faeces, we took a box of Marlboro lights that the three drunks had left in the kitchen. One by one, we dipped the filters into the shit, then replaced the fags back in the box, baccy-end up, so that the smokers would be none the wiser.

They only found out three weeks later when we laughed about the prank to a visiting mate, unaware that one of the victims was still in his room next to the lounge, and had heard the entire plot (and our laughing) through his bedroom door. Which only made the revenge that much sweeter.
(, Mon 23 Nov 2015, 8:39, Reply)
I did a really hard poo one morning
so I got my revenge by eating more fruit thus making my second stool softer.

The End.
(, Thu 26 Nov 2015, 12:00, 1 reply)
I for one am pleased that all the gifs have been deleted
It makes room for all these great stories that people have taken the time to post
(, Tue 24 Nov 2015, 14:31, 36 replies)
this one's on topic so it should be ok

(, Tue 24 Nov 2015, 13:24, 5 replies)
Not strictly revenge,
but someone who left their job recently printed "cunts" in 8 point pale grey on a couple of reams of paper, and filled the photocopier with it. It was tomsks idea I seem to recall.
(, Tue 24 Nov 2015, 2:37, 1 reply)
Simple but effective
Utter bitch of a flatmate / landlady was on the slim-fast diet. I swapped her slim-fast for Build-Up.

She never twigged
(, Mon 23 Nov 2015, 23:59, 1 reply)
Ex-girlfriend is a cheeky bitch
I'd gone through a fairly messy break up with one of my ex-girlfriends after I found out she'd slept with someone after her office Christmas party. I called an end to it straight away but she was one of those "We can still be friends though, right?" types who don't even understand what they've done. Anyway, a couple of months later she phones me up in work asking, as a favour, could I advertise for a lodger for her on our work intranet as she was struggling with bills since I left. I couldn't believe the audacity of the women so posted a message that was probably a lot more honest than she bargained for. It ran thus (yes, I kept it!):

On behalf of an ex-girlfriend who still believes she can get me to do stuff for her.....

Room to let in houseshare close to central Newport. Preferrably to easy-going, professional male 28-35. Must be cat lover, constantly say how nice the cats are, make no mention of the fact that they stink and willing to put stupid, stinking cats on a pedestal at every given opportunity. Even though they never go out, crap everywhere and are the most obtuse and backward examples of the feline species ever to purr. Not that they purr very often, they're usually too busy fighting. Must also not mind the constant stench of strained vegetables and tobacco as owner is a duplicitous, cheating, scheming, vegetarian smoker who believes 'monogomy' to be a type of hardwood.

A willingness to do lots of nice things without appreciation or acknowledgement would be beneficial as would the desire to pretend to like classical music, Shania Twain or Megadeth depending on what day of the week it is. 

Help with household chores and maintenance would be expected though constant criticism in this regard should never dampen your enthusiasm for the task. Particularly when you've done something out of the goodness of your heart in an honest attempt to please. 

Erratic mood swings and behaviour are available en-suite at no extra cost as is an unbelievably dodgy group of friends and an overbearing and dominating set of parents. Any good things that happened to you during the day should never be brought up in discussion as owner will take this as a sign to snap after the day she's had. Any bad thing that happened should be similarly hidden as this will again infuriate owner and result in the reading of the "You don't know what it's like..." verse.

Finally, ideal candidate should have close friends that they hold dear so that owner can attempt to come between them. Also it would be a bonus if prospective tenant was considerate and good-hearted with an endearing innocence and child-like wonder at the great things in this world so that owner's coldness and total lack of compassion has maximum impact. 

On cessation of 6 month contract, no bond will be returned and owner will come clean about what really happened on that night at the Celtic Manor.... but will still contact you whenever a favour is needed.

Previous tenants have gone on to great things..... alcoholism, depression etc. etc.

£250 pcm to include household bills. Own share of telephone bill extra.

For further info. call 079** 98**30 and ask for Rhian.

(Disclaimer: I'm aware that the majority of women are wonderful beings sent to make this world a better place. I just picked a bad 'un).

The only difference between the version posted here and the original is that the original didn't have the phone number blanked out. Apparently she had several "strange" phonecalls but never did find a lodger.

Sorry for length...
(, Mon 23 Nov 2015, 3:31, 3 replies)
A few years ago my girlfriend dumped me via the phone. 

I went to my room and cried and cried like a little girl.

That showed her.
(, Sat 21 Nov 2015, 23:55, 2 replies)

This question is now closed.