rSlash - r/Prorevenge They Took My Dog, So I Took Their Kids

Episode Date: January 3, 2021

r/Prorevenge In today's episode, OP lives next to the neighbor from hell. The trashy mom and her spoiled kids basically try to steal everything they can from OP's family: toys, food, even electricity! They literally run an extension cord from OP's house to theirs so they can enjoy a free electric bill. The trashy family finally takes things too far when they kidnap OP's family dog, so OP goes full John Wick and has CPS take the woman's kids away. Never mess with another person's dog! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Welcome to R-Slash, a podcast where I read the best posts from across Reddit. Today's subreddit is R-Slash Pro Revenge, where OP goes full John Wick. Our next Reddit post is from Philip Hamilton. This happened when I was around 12 or 13, so the details might be a little skewed. Most of my childhood, the house right next to ours has been condemned and abandoned. The property owners are willing to sell the land for $200. That's how bad it was. Eventually someone bought it and threw a manufactured home monitor to replace the condemned home. Soon, a nice old man moved in next door and we didn't pay too much attention to him because

he kept to himself. That was until his daughter moved in with him. Soon, our quiet little neighborhood turned into an episode of White Trash and Trouble. The daughter would fight her spouse about every little thing and keep my family, along with our neighbors up half the night. Their kids were the worst part of all. We never knew how many kids lived in that house because so many different kids and adults were ending out of there all the time. Me and my siblings tried to become friends with them, but we ended up being more of their babysitters. They would come over to our house, and each of my siblings had a group of 3-4-year-old kids to watch over.

These kids would walk and uninvited into our house, then steal toys and games from our rooms. Honestly, they stole stuff from all over our house, but this was the main area. They would either take our toys for themselves or throw our toys in our backyard river. They would constantly run in and out of our house, even if no one was with them. They would steal all the fruit in the basket that my mom left for us. My mom confronted them about it, and their three-year-old son called her a beeward. The parents refused to apologize for their behavior,

saying stuff like, if you loved your things so much, then you wouldn't have let them take it. Or, don't parent my kid. One thing they would specifically do with me is they pulled on my hair all the time. I'm a tomboy and they would just call me a boy and a wig because girls can't play with skateboards.

Girls can't play with ninja action figures, or any other gender stereotype. They would constantly bombard me because they truly didn't know girls were allowed to play with anything they wanted. One of their heavier kids stole my skateboard and jumped on it, breaking it in half. Then they said I shouldn't have been playing with a skateboard anyway. There are plenty more examples, but I think you get the point. The neighbors decided that because our house was nicer, they had permission to run an electrical line from our house to theirs, which in itself is a bad thing, but they decided to run up our electric bill to triple the cost of our original. We were lower middle class and below the poverty level, so we couldn't afford that kind of bill.

The rule in our house is, if you're not using it, then turn it off. That's why my parents were awfully surprised to see an $800 electric bill. Eventually, a person from our electric company came out to our house to see what was happening. They found an extension cord running to our neighbor's house. The electrician simply unplugged it, and said that should be the end of that problem. My mom politely but sternly warned the neighbors that this was not okay. The neighbor had a small adult tantrum about it and cussed my mom out, but eventually she went back to her house.

My mom was obviously not pleased with their behavior, but tried not to escalate the situation any further. Our neighbors tried a few more times to run the line from our house to theirs. Each time we unplugged it. They would cuss us out and send their kids over to destroy something else in our home. Eventually, my mom straight up told them that if they come to our property again, she would call the police and press charges. We could still be quote, friends with their kids, but they weren't allowed in our land.

They decided that because we won't let them use our electricity, that the next best option was to steal our dog from our backyard and claim that our dog attacked her kids. Even though our dog was completely harmless and cowers it everything due to the bad owners before us. So the pound came and took our dog away. By the time my brothers and I got home, my dog was already gone. We just assumed she ran off with our grandmother to live down the street.

When my parents came home, they about lost it, learning that our dog was missing. By the time we found her at the pound, they were putting her up for adoption. My parents had to re-adopt our dog because we didn't claim them in time. We even had her tags that say that she belonged to us. The pound told us why the dog was taken taken and my mom said that enough was enough. Now, the revenge. When my mom got home, she sent my little brother over to their house to play with their kids. My brother became a little spy that day. His job was to look around their house and report anything that could be suspicious.

We learned from him that they were sitting three kids to a twin bed. The entire house was cramped and dirty. The old man who lived there was hardly home because he couldn't stand his adult daughter who lived there. All around, the kids were being neglected. With the information that my brother gathered, my mom called Child of Protective Services on their home. Within a month, all the kids minus the one that the old man cared for were removed from the home. While I agreed that the foster system cared for were removed from the home. While I agreed that the foster system was bad, it was definitely better than what they

were going through in that house. The mother of those kids started to fight with the old man on everything, because their kids were no longer there as a distraction. Her own father was to be your next victim. The old man was eventually fed up with her and kicked her out of the home. All that was left in the home was the old man and the grandson he was fostering. This episode is brought to you by the dating app Bumble. other person's dog. Kind of thoughtfulness is really, really hot. Kindness is sexy. Find it on Bumble. Your holiday could use a little extra.

A bit more. Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Or maybe a whole lot of. Add some extra. Oh, oh, oh. To your holiday gatherings, when you add ice cold coke to your cart, Coca-Cola.

Real magic. Our next reddit post is from Ease for Albo Smash. This slow burn starts a full year and a half before my plan came into effect. Earlier in the year, my dad quite sensibly suggested that with the size of our family Christmas party, we skip a generation with the gifts to ease the financial strain as the extended family grew. At the time, I was struggling with my business and athletic career and my wife was working on our second master's degree. So I suggested drawing names from a hat, but my father wanted to spoil all of his grandchildren. I said fair enough, I'll chip in for my grand most crews and buy

gifts for my step siblings, but don't expect anything grand. The dramatic persona for this Christmas party are, me, a 28-year-old heavyweight mixed martial artists and strength coach. Martha, my 40-year-old step sister, an aging mom whose only assets are starting to sag too much are then to be assets anymore, leaving her with no other definable personality traits. Jane, who's Martha's 12-year-old daughter. Imagine the most vapid, tween-ager stereotype you can and multiply it by a thousand.

Tim, Martha's 9-year-old son. He's living proof that you're never too young to be a butthole. Robert, my 36-year-old step-brother. He was formerly a cool dude who gave up on his life when his kids were born. Years later, he would gain back enough willpower and gumption to physically assault his wife. Tammy, my stepbrother's six-year-old daughter, a sweet and shy girl, terrified by my mere presence, the wisest of the bunch in my opinion. Bubba, my seven-year-old stepbrother's son.

A generally nice kid who at this time was part way into evolving into a butthole after being constantly told to look up to and emulate Tim, his older half brother. Tammy had brought in Nintendo DS with her and all the kids were struggling to see it and play it together. So I foolishly offered a loan to mind to lighten the load. Tammy agrees to share with Jane and Bubba agrees to share with Tim. Having stupidly deprived myself of my means to escape social obligations, I go to the living room to acquire that much older cure for not wanting to deal with other people. Alcohol. Not even having time to pour.

My trained ear picks up from the kids room the unmistakable sound of one human being pummeling another. I politely suggest to my stepbrother Robert that he might want to go have a look. But my stepbrow hasn't given an F about anything in about 7 years, so he waves it off and I go to investigate. I walk into see that Tim may be a butthole, but he isn't untalented, and has managed to strike, shove into a wall, and kick Bubba all at the same time while attempting to play my DS with his other hand, having apparently decided that his turn began the moment that

I left the room. Jane had simply wrestled the DS from Tammy who is now sitting in the corner crying. I shout for Martha, informing her that if she doesn't get in here to break things up before I count to 10, I would have a stern conversation with them. Martha turns up and separates the kids and I retrieve my DS. Instead of giving Tim a lesson on sharing and not hitting people, she proceeds to berate Bubba, the kid who was beaten, for not simply giving up the DS to her little piece of garbage and making her son look bad. Jane simply lets out a twin-age sigh for

the ages and tosses the other DS to the crying Tammy. I then excuse myself from the party, thinking whatever gods may be that I don't have to provide gifts for any of these little turds. Six months later, my firm belief in atheism is confirmed when my brother Robert calls me in this conversation in sus. Hey OP, while I really appreciate the gifts last year, you should really get something for the kids this year instead. Christmas is all about the children after all.

No, I try to have conversations with you and dad about my grandma. I really don't give two flips about the kids. That's a mean thing to say about my kids. Don't you care about them? You cared about them so much that at the last party, you couldn't be bothered to break up a fight where your son was being beaten bloody. Tim is a good kid. Martha said he just had a bad day. He was literally beating your child. You didn't put pictures on social media for a week because of the bruises. If Tim were an adult and tried that, I would have pinned him to the floor until the cops arrived.

Well, my wife and I were talking, and we think you should buy stuff for the kids next year instead of us. Well, I'm happy to not buy you anything, but I'm not getting anything from Martha's little turds, especially when she encourages that behavior. Well, if you are going to get something for all the kids, you shouldn't get anything at all. It's not right if you don't treat them equally. Done. A few months later, about two weeks before Christmas, I get an email from my dad with links to various toys. When I call him back to ask what that's all about, this conversation ensues. Hey, what's up? I got your email. What is this all about? Those are gifts for the kids for Christmas. That's cool if you're getting them that, I'll see them when the kids open them. No, that's for you to get them. I don't buy gifts

for that generation, remember? And I already sent you my contribution for grandma's cruise. You need to get stuff for the kids, don't you want them to look up to you as an uncle? Not really. Also, what part of my life suggests to you that they ought to look up to me as some sort of a role model? You'd be better off telling them to grow up to be rock stars. Not the point. Christmas is about the children.

If you don't get them this stuff, I won't put your name on that card for grandma. That's a sucky thing to do considering that I already paid into that. Would you get this stuff or not? Well I guess my name isn't going on the card then. All these toys will cost me more than a month's rent so you can take this list and shove it. Calm your jets. This is what they want.

I'll get them a token something, but I'm not taking out a loan. Fine, just make it something they enjoy. If what I get doesn't put a giant smile on each and every one of their faces, I'll buy you dinner at a steakhouse if you're choosing. That's the spirit. Talk to you later. So Christmas rolls around, and my wife and I have bought not just one, but four gifts for each of the little ones, and wrapped them all beautifully. My dad correctly assumes they're all from the dollar store, but they're nicely wrapped in a look of approvals I place them out of the tree.

My wife and I shmoose for a bit, and then suggest that since we brought several gifts for each of the kids, why don't they open one each before dinner so they have something to do while they wait? Their parents of course agree, as it gives them more of a reason to ignore their kids, so they send us off to hand out gifts to their kids. Martha is looking especially smug. As they begin to unwrap their presents, I prepare the camera as my wife goes for our coat and I stick around just long enough to immortalize on film the huge grand on each of the good spaces as they see what the gift is. Less than one minute later, the first blast from the airhorn, Tim's

gift, can be clearly heard in the hallway as my wife and I make for the elevator. I have no idea how much of the bulk pack of silly string and Timmy's gift, or the 36 rainbow pack of off-brand sharpies, Bubba's gift ended up on the walls. But I do know they repainted the place the next month. Jane got a stack of slap on bracelets, and I like to think that her parents all ended up in the height of 80s fashion before the evening was over. I may never know if they opened the rest of their presents. Everyone got a copy of each other's gifts, you know, for fairness. Plus a bunch of gross and mildly inappropriate temporary tattoos. In the confusion, none of them noticed me and my wife leaving.

I'm certain at some point they did notice the pretty gold envelope addressed to the parents on the tree. Inside was a very pretty card with the following note. This was a warning shot from off the top of my head. I've got a whole year to get creative for the next time. Mary Christmas signed OP. You know, the ironic thing OP is that any 8-12-year-old kid would love these gifts. So while I'm sure the parents were annoyed with you, I bet that kids thought of you as like a hero uncle. That was our Slash Pro Revenge, and if you like this content, check out my Patreon where I publish extra episodes.

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