Revenge. That's what I'm all about. You could say I'm like Paul Lazzaro from Slaughterhouse-Five which, coincidentally, was what I was reading when some snot nosed kid swiped the book out of my hand and called me a "pukefaced geek." My blood temperature soared to a steamy two hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit as I supressed the urge to Vulcan Neck Pinch that little prick into oblivion. Luckily for me I realized an immediate retaliation such as that would result in me being unemployed and a bunch of illiterate parents breathing down my neck. Lord knows we don't want that.
No. I was going to have to wait this one out. I picked my book up off the floor and went down to the breakroom to finish my lunch hour, and also to figure out how I would make that prick pay; little did I know that it would take a few cold ones and some television before it could come to me. As I sat on my couch watching old cartoons I remembered how successful my planting of beer and cigarettes in that one jerk's locker went, so I decided to stick with that type of action.
Like my father used to say, "If it's broke, why fix it?"
I began scoping out where this kid's locker was and, so I don't have to keep typing kid or jerk or prick or punk, we'll just say his name was Assface Jones. Anyway, I found where Assface's locker was in no time, but I needed to be super stealth about this. I also decided that I should wait before striking, like some sort of Custodial Cobra coiled in the corner, hiding under the cloak of darkness. Yeah, somethin bitchin' like that. I wanted Assface to completely forget about our little encounter. A few weeks later I made my move.
It was rather simple really; I have keys to the building, so I can come and go as I please and after 11 PM no one's there. It was around midnight that I showed up with my knapsack and black clothing ready to pay Assface back for calling me a pukefaced geek and throwing my Kurt Vonnegut book. An hour and a half later I was home sipping ice cold beer and laughing victoriously.
The next day I made sure to arrive early and find some kid to bribe into making a mess by Assface's locker. I wanted to see the fruits of my labor firsthand. Sure enough, some kid named "Stupid Dork" accepted my offer of $15 and a carton of smokes to spill some paint near Assface right before first period. As soon as Cletus announced there was a mess that needed cleaning, I volunteered and all but ran to the site hoping against all hope I hadn't missed the wonderful show. I didn't and boy was it sweet.
There I was mopping and there was Assface walking toward his locker with this look on his face that screamed, "DERRRRRR!!" I almost shrieked out in pure delight for what was about to happen. He fiddled with his padlock, click, unlocked it, slid it off the metal hole it went through, opened the locker, and that's when it happened.
BAM!!!

There was quite a commotion afterward as teachers and students alike rushed to help Assface to the nurse's office and then to stare blankly into his locker.
I quickly cleaned the paint and ran to a custodial closet to hide and laugh. Could my plan have gone any better? Probably not. This was way better than the cigarettes and beer gag.
And besides, who would ever guess that it was me who rigged a spring loaded boxing glove into a 7th grader's locker? No one. That's who.