‘Shit, it’s happened again!’ I cursed under my breath as the jogging pants I’d been wearing as I ran laps suddenly morphed into revealing running shorts and my t-shirt vanished into thin air.

Examining my exposed torso nervously for changes, I nearly freaked when I saw a huge expanse of inked skin where the tattoo of an eagle soared majestically across my serratus and abs.  The tattoo looked as though it’d been there for a few years but like the abdominals it covered, it was really brand new, yet another effect of Justin’s fucked up fag-magic.

When me and my bros mocked him and his blimp of an emo fag hag at the mall last week, I’d had no idea they were into that fucking voodoo-bruja shit but when my board shorts transformed into a faggy white speedo at the beach the next day and my usual gym gear of ball shorts and tee turned into shiny spandex tights, a stringer tank and backwards ball cap that evening in the middle of my workout, I knew some weird shit was up.  The really fucked up thing was that I couldn’t seem to take the clothes off or break out of my routine until I’d finished what I was doing which meant I spent the whole day at the beach being called a fag and got hit on by roided out gym bunnies all through my workout at the gym that night.

I began to join the dots the next morning when I saw one of my buds, Brody on his way to class dressed up like some Ivy League grad student in chinos, button down shirt, tie and blazer.  His cheeks were flaming with embarrassment but like me the previous day it looked like he was forced to continue his day as usual while everyone else seemed oblivious to the changes.

It was three days later when I noticed the first physical changes.  I was at the mall picking up some new threads when my jeans, tee and sneakers transformed into the kind of fruity outfit that would make even the most hardcore gym bunnies blush with shame.  

Catching my reflection in one of the store’s mirrors as the transformation completed, I’d been horrified to see that I was now dressed in revealing lime green spandex compression shorts, a blue stringer tank, fluorescent yellow running shoes, red fanny pack and a white and yellow trucker ball cap.  What freaked me out most though was that I’d hulked out with muscle.  Dressed up in that faggy workout gear, I looked like one those douchy meatheads that can only hold a conversation if it’s about macros, lifting or fucking but I reluctantly had to admit the muscle was pretty cool even if the threads weren’t.

The next morning Brody turned up at class in a three piece suit and tie with one of those preppy side-parting haircuts.  The combination made him look older and when I asked him about it in private after class he told me anxiously that according to his driver’s license, he’d aged fifteen years and was to all intents and purposes thirty-five.  Worse still, he told me blushingly, his voice sinking to a whisper, his cock had shrunk two inches and he’d discovered he could only get off by sticking one of his ex’s dildos up his ass.

Eventually we and a few of the other guys worked out who was behind the changes but for some reason, none of us seemed to be able to get near enough Justin and his fag hag to confront them about it.  As my entire wardrobe was gradually replaced by revealing workout clothes in hot, bright colors and synthetic fabrics, I realised, I was beginning to accept and even enjoy exposing my new physique to the world and found myself spending more and more time jerking off in front of the mirror in my room or skipping classes to hit the gym and work on my bod.

As I thought back on the past week and my gradual transformation into a narcissistic gym bunny, I spared a thought for poor Brody, or Broderick as he now preferred to be called, who’d yesterday sprouted a thick grey mustache that worked surprisingly well with his newly receding hairline.  With the tweedy suits he was now wearing day to day, he looked more like one of the professors than a college student and who knew, by this time next week, he might actually become one.

I continued pounding out the laps, conscious that I wouldn’t be able to get out of these shorts until I’d done at least fifty circuits of the track and consoled myself with the thought of a slow jerk off in front of my reflection in the locker room mirror afterwards.  At least I still have that…  Brody’s dick’s so small now he’s had to start bottoming for dudes into old men that he finds on Grindr.  Poor fucker!

Make fun of a cashier with a speech impediment? Enjoy some extra time in line.

I was at a Craft Store in my town, and it wasn’t too busy, but only one register was open. The cashier, a teen aged girl, I could tell was working as best as she could. The process was a tad slower however, because she had a stutter, and a bit of a lisp.

As she worked through the line, asking the usual questions probably mandated by the big wigs (I’ve worked in retail, it’s a thing), the man behind me began to huff and puff. He muttered something about having places to go, he was in a hurry, etc. I ignored him, until I heard him start to mock her to his kids.

  • W-w-would you l-like y-y-y-y-y-y-your reSCHKeet?

The kids began to laugh. It really made my blood boil. Especially since I could tell the cashier heard his mockery. That really made my blood boil. When a person doesn’t respect retail employees as people, it’s the best way to tell whether a person is an asshat or not.

So, when it was my turn at the register, she asked me in a small voice “Are you a member o-o-of the rew-w-rewards club?” And I looked smugly at the guy behind me, and back at her.

  • Me: The rewards club? Oooo that sounds great! Please explain it to me?

She seemed surprised at first, but then looked at the guy behind me, and then it clicked.

I have never given my information so slowly in my life. Never had I asked as many questions as I did. She smiled and answered my inquiries, while the guy behind me was seething.

  • Him: Can you hurry up, please?
  • Me: And miss out on these great rewards? As if!

I only held him up for about 5 minutes… but wooo child, it felt so good.

Petty Revenge: Your daily dose of the best petty revenge stories. | source

Had to paint out the feels! Cersei, you go, girl!

EDIT: Prints are up to those who’s been asking :)

GoT completely emotionally destroyed me with the last episode, had to paint it out before it tore me from inside. Many more powerful moments from the last episode, but had time to paint just one.

When Julius Caesar was kidnapped by pirates, he laughed in their faces, raised the ransom, and sent his men to collect enough silver to pay it. While he waited, he won them over (despite treating them as minions) and gained so much trust that they didn’t believe it when he said he’d come back to kill them all. He later captured them, got his silver back, cut their throats, and had them crucified. Source

No pie for your spawn!

This happened several years ago, when I was chaperoning a young man with Autistic Spectrum Disorder (let’s call him S) to and from speech therapy. S was using a PECS book for communication. (For those unfamiliar, PECS stands for Picture Exchange Communication System, and the PECS book is a binder full of pictorial representations of objects, persons, actions, etc., attached by a self-adhesive hook-and-loop fasteners, which are used to build a sentence on a detachable sentence strip. User builds a simple sentence -a request or a statement - and hands it to a communication partner. These day PECS books have been replaced by digital devices - like I mentioned this was a wile back.) It became a custom of ours to stop at the Golden Arches for a meal after the therapy. The place was quite busy, and as we waited in line, we used the time to for S to prepare a sentence strip with his order.

Enter a mother of 5, with her brood in tow. Woman with a “can-I-speak-to-the-manager” haircut begun making loud remarks about how slow the service was (it was not, by the way, there was just a lot of customers in store and a drive-through line was wrapped around the building). Her eldest kid, a girl of about 10-11, whined in turns about the wait, and about wanting an apple pie. When it was our turn to order, S gave his sentence strip to the cashier who read it back and entered it into register. And as all of this was taking place, I heard the “R” word from the whiny girl. Something to the likes of “Ugh! That retarded kid is taking soooooo long to order!”. I saw red. I looked at the mother, and she did nothing, did not say anything to her kid, did not look ashamed in the slightest. Nothing! I kept staring, but she was just avoiding looking at me. I guess in her mind, there’s nothing wrong with her kid calling someone with disability a retard.

So, I did, what any reasonable person would do, I purchased 23 apple pies. Why 23, you ask? Because that’s all they had available. If the spawn of hers wanted an apple pie, she’d have to wait for a fresh batch. S and I got seated in a booth with a good view of the registers, and oh joy, it turned out the restaurant did not have any more apple pies. Mother was fuming, and I felt bad for the staff, but the manager handled it quickly with a coupon offer, and her kids were hungry and whiny, so she gave up the fight, and they all went to seat down. They were shooting me angry looks from across the restaurant, to which I responded with a wide smile, because the faze 2 of my petty revenge had just occurred to me. After our meal, I had S build a sentence on his sentence strip that asked “Do you want apple pie?” (Not the most polite way to ask, but PECS book had its limitations) and we made our way from table to table asking it to diners and handing out pies, as I explained about S’ condition and this being a good exercise in communication and social interactions for him. Everyone was responding kindly, smiling and high-fiving, overall very nice experience for S. When we were down to the last pie, I decided to keep for myself, because there was only our favorite family of 6 left, and heavens know, they were not getting a crumb. As we walked past, the mother went “Excuse me, my daughter would like a pie”. The audacity! So I got the box out the bag, looked the woman square in the eyes and said “I know”. Then I opened it, took a big bite, went “mmmmm”, and we walked out of the place. Very petty, but very, very satisfying.

Take my laptop? I'll take your home.

This happened some years ago.

An ex who I used to be on friendly terms with asked me if she could borrow my laptop. I suspected absolutely nothing wrong, so I let her use it.

A couple of days later, it mysteriously disappears, and she swears someone broke into her house and stole it. She keeps stringing me along, telling me she’ll front the $900 or so I’d need to replace it. I know she doesn’t have that money, but you know, if it got stolen…

But, something just doesn’t feel right. I can just tell she isn’t being very forthcoming with information about this. So I start prying. I find her brother on Facebook, whom I know and we’re on pretty good terms last I talked to him, so I shoot him a message asking him to call me, which he does.

“Hey, have you seen B? (my ex)?”
“Yeah, she lives with me now, she never told you? But she just left, can I take a message?”
“Not exactly. Did she happen to have a silver laptop with her when she left?”
“Yeah, we were watching Netflix on it earlier. Why do you ask?”

And now the cogs were turning in my head…

“Oh, she was going to bring it to me to fix a problem with it today, wanted to make sure she had it with her before I actually met up with her. Thanks though!”
“No problem, see ya, man.”

So we’ve confirmed that my ex is full of shit and my laptop is with her, she lied hoping I’d just write it off because I’m too kind to pursue this. Yeah, no, not today. Due to her brother also confirming that she lives with him (as opposed to with her mom, as she said before), I know she’s usually in one of two places: her mom’s, or her brother’s.

I also happen to know from dating her prior that her mom and dad “live” at the same address. And also that her mom and dad have an active restraining order against eachother. And a whole other litany of stuff that would be very bad if law enforcement ever found out.

But I figure I’ll be nice about it at first, so I ask her if she’s sure she doesn’t know where the laptop is. Nope. At that point I move onto telling her that I know she has it, and I want it back. She gets defensive before eventually blocking all communication with me. Ah, we’ve hit a nerve.

That’s when I pull out my trump card.

I have a really good friend who’s also mutual friends with her, but at the time, me and this guy were like brothers. So I phone him up, and ask a favor of him.

“Yo man, I need you to send a message to B for me. Tell her that I know she has my laptop, as I have it set to tell me where it is every time it is connected to the internet(bluffing, but I know she ain’t gonna call it), and it says it keeps moving between her mom’s and brother’s house. Tell her that I know her parents live under the same roof illegally and are in violation of a restraining order, and that this is her last chance to amicably return my laptop to me before I essentially ruin her parents. And her.”

“No problem man, got it.”

I wait a few hours, and sure enough, she unblocks communication and tells me she’ll return the laptop, but I have to meet her at her boyfriend’s house to come get it. I smell a trap. But I agree.

That’s when I gather some of my best friends, one of which is in the armed forces. We all hop in my car to go get the laptop back. Ex tries to get me to come into the house, but I stand my ground and tell her that she hands me the laptop out in the open, or I call law enforcement.

She reluctantly brings out the laptop, I check to make sure it’s all there. After which she tells me: “I think it’s better if we never talk again.”

Oh, you bet your bottom dollar we’re never talking again. We turn and leave, and that’s how I got my laptop back.

The end.

…except no. This isn’t a pro revenge story without the revenge. Given that her brother was relatively well off and she was resorting to doing crap like this, I had a sneaking suspicion I wasn’t the only one, and that possibly, possibly, she might be stupid enough to ignore the rule of not defecating where one consumes foodstuffs.

I got home, got my laptop restoring from a backup (ex wiped my entire laptop in hopes that I wouldn’t be able to track it. I wasn’t anyway but thanks to her brother I didn’t need to), and called her brother, again. Told him everything that had happened. Sent him all the message logs with my ex, as well.

Initially didn’t believe me, but it all started to come together in his head. And he told me that he was missing random stuff from his house, as well, but never suspected that my ex could have been behind it. She was banned from his house thereafter, and had all her belongings tossed on the sidewalk. This whole fiasco cost my ex the roof over her head, and damn, it felt good.

Lying to impress a girl is pathetic, but involving my friend is unacceptable.

A couple of years ago I was in the gym and I overheard this guy (we’ll call him “LT” for Lying Tool) “warning” a girl. He said something to the effect of:

“Hey, sorry to bother you. But I just overheard that guy in the red shirt (pointing at my friend who was across the gym) saying some extremely crass stuff about you in the locker room. It was really sexual and graphic, basically talking about ripping off your purple spandex and violating you in front of everyone. I couldn’t just listen and not tell you because you deserve to know what certain people are really like.”

Listing to this I was furious. This guy had obviously seen my friend and the girl talking in the gym (she approachedhim) and gotten jealous because he wanted to get with her. So he made up this lie to throw him under the bus. I know it was a lie because 1) I was just in the locker room and nothing of the sort was said and 2) the dude he was lying about was actually a really nice, respectful guy.

So he finished up his tall tale and before the girl could respond I scoffed really loud and said:

“She knows you’re lying just to try to get in her pants. That guy would never say those kinds of things about her because she’s his sister, you moron.”

The look on LT’s face was priceless. He went pale and stammered something about how he must have gotten the guy mixed up. But the girl (who had caught on and was playing along) pointed out how he had been very clear about pointing her “brother” out. So LT shifted his story again and said he must have gotten the girl he was talking about mixed up. So I pointed out that she was the only girl wearing purple spandex.

He actually looked like he was about to cry, and I never saw him in the gym again after that.

Petty Revenge: Your daily dose of the best petty revenge stories. | source