Children are naturally challenged by authority. Up until adulthood is reached, the most pivotal authority figure in a person's life is their parents and, sometimes, that authority-challenged mentality spawns frequent conflict. That conflict, in turn, spawns fantasy, detailing how the child would turn the tables on their mother and father. Yet, such fantasy never becomes reality... until now.
Many petty, spiteful people of all ages actually mustered up the courage to get back at their parents. These stories, taken from Reddit and edited for clarity, are some of the funniest (and darkest) of the bunch.
"Not sure what I was mad about, but I reached into my mom's drawer one day and pulled out a bunch of pieces of paper. I stuffed them in my underwear, went to the bathroom, and flushed it down the toilet.
I learned later that it was money I flushed. Mom threatened to call the cops and I cried like a baby the rest of the day. I was 6 or 7, maybe."
"My parents are divorced, mainly because my dad was becoming abusive. My mom, at the time, stopped nursing to take care of me because I had been diagnosed ADHD and my dad was a horrible parent who didn't do anything. Countless times in the marriage, he said things right in front of me to my mom's face like, 'You're a freaking piece of crap!' and 'Get a job, you hussy!' It got worse until he fractured my mom's wrist and she left.
He's supposed to pay her child support because she's studying to get her degree in nursing back. Instead, he spends money on this new girlfriend of his and her daughter instead, giving this new girl everything. Oh, and she's Russian and can barely speak English.
When the agreement was signed, I was 9. The only reason I go over to the imbecile's house is to steal money from him. It's about $500-$1,500 a week depending how much he has. Then, I give it to mom saying, 'It's from Dad.'
If she knew, she would go nuts on me. She has no clue, and my dad doesn't notice either. Every time he's a jerk to my mom, I find a way to get him back. Last time, I snapped his MacBook Air in half and put it in the bag back normally, so it would look like it broke normally.
Oh, I'm 14 now."
"When I was 7 or 8, I did a science project on the antibacterial efficacy of various soaps. It basically involved keeping hands dirty for a day, pressing grubby thumbs into petri dishes full of agar, then washing and doing the same again. I'd take tracings of the cultures: bigger colonies were bad, smaller ones - good. This ended up winning the county science fair for my grade in a large metropolitan area, so that was nice.
But before that, after I'd finished the experiments but before I'd discarded the dishes, I got into a dispute with my parents (don't remember what about). I thought, 'I'll show them.' So, I took the nastiest culture and swabbed it onto their bedroom doorknob. They both got sick as dogs and I had to take care of them for a couple of days. Served me right.
I basically waged bacteriological warfare against my parents using my science project, but I told them long ago and we laugh about it now."
"Background: my stepmother was a huge witch my entire childhood. She basically hated children and their way of life and married a man with three. I was the oldest and tried to take the brunt of it to protect my siblings from her psychological abuse. I won't list all the things she's done, but a few prime examples are: telling my brother my mother was unfit when he was FIVE, causing him to have anxiety attacks in kindergarten; leaving hateful venomous messages aimed at my mother on our answering machine that were more often than not heard by her children instead; giving me a Tinkerbell makeup kit for my 16th birthday and expecting me to be grateful; apologizing to me for being such a witch on numerous occasions while inebriated (the only times she would ever be kind to me - mostly because she wanted my pity)...
I could write a book. It was always her behavior toward my younger siblings that bothered me the most. My brother was only 2 when she married my dad and she really did a number on him for a while there. It felt so wrong to see a grown-up be so horrible to a very young child. Still makes my blood boil when I think about it.
The setup: in the months leading up to my wedding, my stepmother called me about a dozen times to discuss the various features of the free cabins we were providing for our guests, asking basically how luxuriant they were (not very, but not spartan either) and repeatedly complaining about various features.
The delicious petty revenge: first, I purposefully gave them (her and my father) wrong directions that were just barely wrong, making it seem more like they'd missed a turn than that I'd given them the wrong directions. This had them arriving about 15 minutes later than expected for our rehearsal dinner, missing the vast majority of it. They had plenty of time to eat, but not enough to cause a show. Or so I thought...
They managed to create quite a drama fest in the twenty minutes they were there for. But then, the next step - I assigned them to the handicap accessible cabin. It was away from all the others, had a weird shower, and the bed was slightly lower. It was one of the few without a view of the lake. My friends were kindly doing coffee deliveries to everyone the morning of the wedding and I told them to deliver them in numerical order. The handicapped cabin was the last one. I heard their coffee was cold and all the good pastries were gone.
She was such a jerk at the rehearsal dinner - asking loudly and in front of everyone why my dad wasn't walking me down the aisle, throwing a fit about the wrong directions, complaining about the food... I added another layer - we bought necklaces for both our moms and, after a lot of debate, one for her as well. At the last minute, we decided to give the third one to my husband's grandmother instead (neither of my grandmothers were able to attend). She never knew, but it still felt soooo good. We also set up their cabin so that someone else would be staying in it the second night. Their original plan was to leave after the reception to visit my stepmother's sister but I knew if there was an option they'd want to stay the second night.
My dad isn't exactly blameless. He never did anything to stop her horrible behavior and was his own special flavor of bad dad (substance abuse, mainly). He meant well though and I've always figured living with her was punishment enough. Even my sweet little old grandmother hates her. My whole family is over her and really let her know it at the wedding in various ways. I think now that we're all grownups, she misses all the opportunities to be awful to people who can't do anything about it.
A nail in the coffin for holding my dad responsible is that I wrote him an impassioned letter at age 12 or so about how awful my step mother was being to us (she mostly did the truly awful things when my dad was at work) and he ignored it entirely. Never even commented on it to me.
I haven't seen her more than once or twice a year at most since I was 18 and even managed to go about four years in a row without seeing her at all. I moved far away and can only visit occasionally, rarely bothering to inform her or my father I will be in town. I've mostly come to a peace where she (and my father) is concerned but truly relished this opportunity for some minor comeuppance."
"About two and a half years ago, I began to suspect my dad was cheating on my mom. He would frequently come home late with no explanation and often left for multiple days on 'business trips.' He was emotionally abusive, quite neglectful of the family, and very narcissistic. He made my mother heavily depressed and all but destroyed her self confidence. Unfortunately, she either couldn't see it or didn't want to see it, so after years of his crap, I decided to call him out on it.
When I confronted him about it, he denied everything and my mother sided with him. It was at that point I decided I didn't care about the consequences and set up a fake account of a girl in her late 20s using pictures on the internet. After sending a bunch of friend requests so it didn't look like a fake account, I added my dad and proceeded to start texting him.
Almost immediately, he began to flirt and eventually asked to meet up. I made up a few excuses and such to bide some time and started sending much more explicit messages. He sent them back and I finally had enough to expose him to the rest of my family. I sat down with mom and showed her the messages.At first she was screaming at me and refused to speak to me for a few days. I don't blame her one bit. What I did was obviously morally grey, but she deserved to know. Eventually, she sat down with me again and told me she was going to confront Dad about it. I knew then in that chat that things between us would never be exactly the same again, and that still holds up today.
She confronted Dad, who tried everything to weasel his way out of it, but there was nothing he could do. They divorced shortly after and Mom and I moved out to a smaller house. Although things are still being repaired between us, I don't regret it at all. She is much happier in her day-to-day life and is thinking of getting back into dating soon. I stopped all contact with my dad since, but I know that shortly after the divorce, he got a new girlfriend.
The cheating was more or less the catalyst for change in my mom’s eyes that she had to get out too. It’s hard to show someone stuck in abuse how bad things really are, until you put some proof down in front of them and say 'Look.'"
"I was raised in a traditional religious household and my beliefs didn't quite coincide with those of my parents. In fact, I didn't believe in God at all. I made the mistake of expressing my beliefs to my parents before I was out of the house, so they were constantly looking for ways to 'get me right with the Lord.' This revenge story revolves around one of those attempts. I know this also shows a more negative side of religion, but I'm not trying to bash anyone's beliefs. I'm just giving my personal experience with some religious people.
When I came out as gay to my parents, they were less than understanding. As my mother sobbed about how her son was going to burn and my father yelled at me for being so stupid, I realized I probably could have held off on telling them, but the damage was done. My relationship was never quite the same with them after that.
Soon after my revelation, my mom took me to see a local pastor to 'clear my head' and basically convince me to 'just be straight,' which was clearly not going to happen. My father wouldn't be caught dead with me on this trip, however, because he was the mayor of our small town and if word got out about his wayward son's feelings towards men, then his pride would be forever hurt and his public image ruined (that was more than a bit of sarcasm, but I'm not quite sure how that came out through writing). After sitting through my pastor's awkward response to why I should change my orientation, I went with my mom back home.
When we arrived at home, I was greeted by a living room full of my closest friends and family members with somber, pitying looks. Apparently, my mother had taken it upon herself to organize an intervention to instill religious ideals into me. When she sat me down and spoke to me in slow, careful words about how everyone here cared about me and was here to help me with my 'little problem,' I was beyond mortified. I sat and listened as those I cared most about in the world crapped out Christian cliches and bible verses, telling me I would face God's wrath. When I finally was released to my room, I could barely contain my embarrassment and anger at my parents for humiliating me like that and refusing to accept me. I later figured out that my dad was pretty upset with my mom for telling people about my orientation, but he eventually came to terms with it since all of them swore up and down to tell no one. However, I knew he was really angry that his beautiful reputation might be ruined, not that I was emotionally crapped on.
After this, my relationship never quite mended with my parents but, luckily, I was already a senior and ready to go to college. I got accepted to a university pretty close to my hometown that was quite accepting and actually up-to-date with modern thinking, so that was good. I joined the college's campus pride club and became pretty involved in pride walks and events, and an opportunity presented itself to me that was too good to pass up. A pride rally was being held at my local town that I could attend, so I knew what had to be done.
Now, just because I'm gay doesn't mean I dress in rainbows and tiaras all the time, but that's not what my parents thought. The stigma associated with being gay in my town was so exaggerated and homophobic that it was almost laughable, so I dressed up in the goofiest, shortest, rainbowiest clothes that I could find to really drive the point home. I got as many of my campus pride friends to join in the local rally as well, so the turnout was a bit bigger than expected for the event. When I finally got there, I walked all up and down the main streets, down my own block, and even past my dad's place of business and town hall. Since my hometown is pretty small, most people know each other, so I got plenty of scandalized looks and petty little gasps from people I had met, but the cherry on top came when the local news station came to report on the event.
Now, the reporters were technically interviewing random people, but I was more than a bit pushy in getting my own interview. I got to wave my flag, say my statements, and basically flaunt my orientation on what would later become a brief report on the local news. I bet my dad enjoyed seeing that broadcast all over town while sipping his morning coffee.
As if this wasn't sweet enough, I actually saw my dad a couple times during the rally. Since much of the rally was centered around town hall, it was fitting for the mayor to at least make an appearance, and he got a nice good look at me. The look of disgust and almost fear at what was being done to his precious reputation is one that I will cherish forever. After I was done doing my damage, I headed on back to my college.
Turns out that my dad didn't get elected to office again that year and even issued a halfhearted apology for his son's actions. Maybe next time he opens a Bible, he should read the chapters on love and forgiveness. Lord knows he needs it."
"Story 1: I was sporting this mohawk of a thing and needed to buzz the sides of my head. My father cracked his usual jokes about it, calling me an idiot. Prior to that, he had made me wear Levi straight cuts to school, instead of my usual baggy garb. It was uncomfortable and my peers made fun of me. Anywho, the mocking of my hair cut was the straw that broke the camel's back on this one.
So, I spread my shaved hairs all over his side of the bed, and Febrezed the crap out of his pillow. As planned, it took him a good 45 minutes of tossing and turning and being itchy for him to finally get out of bed, flip the light on (waking my mom up), and inspect the bed, followed by a 'What the heck is this crap?' and more expletives. It was glorious.
Story 2: I don't know why, but I thought it would be hilarious to hang a 'My Life Size Barbie' (a nearly 4' Barbie doll) by its neck from my moms ceiling fan. Hearing her screech and rush to the doll trying to save it was hilarious - my mom crying because she thought it was my sister wasn't. I'm not too proud of that one.
Story 3: Dad took the car away for a week. So I put a 'Proud to be gay' rainbow sticker on his bumper. He told me later that he kept wondering why people were staring at him and honking. It was on there for about a week before he noticed."
"I grew up in a military family. My mom got knocked up at 18. My dad was gone all the time because of deployment and my mother was in it for the money. This led to her drinking, sleeping around, and the physical abuse of me and my younger brothers for years while my dad was away. She made my life a nightmare any way she could.
Well, go figure - she cheated, got caught, and my dad kicked her out after finding out about the abuse. She came to my dad's house unannounced while he was gone to take some of his things (coffeemaker, TV, really petty things that she 'needed' for her apartment he got her). Well, as she was making her way out the door from the kitchen, she said to me, 'I hope you know that you are why your father and I divorced, you should feel ashamed of yourself.'
I freaking exploded: 'No! You and dad split up because you were too busy drinking and sucking guys off to see your relationship falling apart, to see what a crap mother, and what a crap PERSON you are!'
The words will always be as sweet as the moment I said them.
She was INSTANTLY angry, and I could see what was about to happen as she came around the counter and gave me one swift hit to the face. I was still pumped up from what I said to her, and for the first time, I hit back, and it scared the crap out of her. I will never forget the look on her face as I picked up the phone and started to dial 911 and said, 'You are so in deep.'
Police arrived. She was charged with going into my dad's house without his say so, trying to take his things, and hitting me. It feels nice to get this off my chest."
"I have one I'm about to do in a couple days. See, my parents suck. I've been taking care of them for a while, while also going to school and what not, and still they are trying to cheat me, pawn my things, etc. But I've become fed up with them. I'm out of town at the moment, but when I get back, the next time they ask me to walk two miles to get them a pack of smokes, I will walk outside, around the house, and have a friend with a van come.
I will bring my pre-packed stuff out of the basement entrance, leave, and stay at my friend's house for a few days until the day my train ticket is planned for. Then, move 2,000 miles across the country and live with another friend who just got me a job, rendering them worthless pillheads, waiting for a pack of Pall Mall menthol 100's for the rest of their sad lives.
My advice, when people tell you how you can leave and you get that feeling of guilt and tell yourself you've got it fine and decide to wait it out, ignore that crap and go. Selfishness is an important attribute at a young age."
"So I live with my dad most of the time, and with my mother and stepdad during the breaks and summer. Stepdad and Mom are verbally and psychologically abusive, so, since I'm getting the custody order changed so I can live with my dad permanently, I decided I needed some evidence to back up my claims. I'll do one example of why I'm doing this:
I refused to publicly humiliate myself on my birthday - I'm a dude. They bought me sweet 16 stuff and a related outfit and cake.I refused to wear it. They both went ballistic. Mom left and Stepdad insulted everything about me - my life choices and the fact I tried to commit suicide while I was there in eighth grade. Big no no to do that, since my life mission is to see them held accountable for what they've done to my life.
So, one day, I got sick of their crap and decided to have the recording app on my phone open while Stepdad was doing another hour long insult fest because I didn't brush the pool. I didn't know the F-word and variations of it could be used that many times and still sound correct. I got it all and, me being me and the stuff I've gone through, one thing I've learned is the importance of backups, and backup plans.
So, after I got the recording, I decided to go to the local library and type up the recording and store it in a throwaway email so they can't get to it. Sure enough, they broke my phone 'on accident.' I think it was just in case I had evidence, which I did but, whatever. I can't wait for the reactions I'm gonna get, especially since I have written evidence of their wrongdoing. Almost makes the years of pain worth it. Best part though, mother is the one who told me about the recording laws in Arizona.
My abusive mother and stepdad are gonna get their butts handed to them in court when they realize I have written recordings of their verbal abuse towards me. I love Arizona's recording laws."
"So, I live with my mother since I'm a broke college kid. I'm very grateful to her for supporting me, but I cannot excuse some of the things she does. She has a habit of blaming me for EVERYTHING. She got a write-up because she screamed at a co-worker? It was because she was mad about me going to sleep earlier than usual the night before and not cooking. She loses $50? It's because she was 'sooooooo stressed' and couldn't think since I asked if she could buy the toilet paper for once two days before.
The thing I can't stand the most is that she blames me for the state of the house... She insists the house is absolutely filthy and that it is all my fault because I never clean ever. The truth? I'm the ONLY one who cleans. In fact, I keep the house spotless since I'm a bit of a neat freak.
She has a loud dog named Chompers. He's a 10-year-old Pomeranian she got from her sister and I can't stand him. He's one of the only animals I've ever literally hated. My mom never takes him out. I have to do it because she just doesn't want to. Since I go to classes all day and stay the night at friends' houses a lot, that means I come home to lots of crap and urine all over the house that I have to clean up. So.... I decided to just stop. Stop taking him out, stop cleaning his messes, stop cleaning in general. I was living in squalor for a good month because she REFUSED to clean anything.
The dishes were stacked to the sky, the floor was literally caked in crap and soaking in urine, her laundry was filthy. It was absolutely disgusting and I hated it. I had to teach her a lesson though. A month later, she finally decided to clean and it took her an entire week. I think she got the message because she hasn't blamed me for nonsense in a while! I'd like to know what she's going to do when I move out though..."
"Every night my father would set up the coffee machine and turn on the auto brew for just before he woke up. I don't know why, but one night I was angry and put two heaping spoons of cayenne pepper in the coffee grounds. Since I noticed only half the pot was gone when I woke up (my father usually drank a whole pot), I figured I was successful in my revenge and, afterward, that was always my go-to petty revenge move.
My father has been fighting cancer for about two years now. He lives 16 hours from me, so I don't get to visit very often. This last visit he was in pretty serious condition and his girlfriend was ticking me off with her blah attitude about the whole thing. I noticed that she had set up the coffee maker and figured I'd use the old go-to cayenne pepper trick.
What I didn't know was that she didn't drink coffee. She had set it up for his surprise return from the hospital the next morning. I forgot about the tampered coffee and, when he went for a cup on his return (no coffee in the hospital, restricted diet) he started crying. My father had never been an emotional man.
My father had known about my secret revenge coffee all along. Not only had he not been upset, he had enjoyed the extra kick in the morning and didn't need to drink as much coffee. He could barely finish the first cup, but we spent the rest of my last day there talking about the incredibly stupid things he used to ground me for so that I would make the spicy coffee. In his own weird way, that was his personal reminder that I loved him. I had never felt so loved or connected to my father than that day."