rSlash - r/Prorevenge They Killed My Pet, So I Became John Wick

Episode Date: May 14, 2022

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Welcome to our slash pro revenge, where a couple of bullies piss off one of the world's most infamous hitmen. Our next reddit post is from Unshorn Dealer. This is a story that my grandfather like to tell. I can't say if the story is true, but it does seem to fit the very old and contentious guy that I knew, who never, ever let go of a grudge. I mean, in the 1980s and 90s, he would sometimes go in yellow Democratic candidates for office because Woodrow Wilson had made him fight in World War I. The story actually starts with that, kind of. You see, Grandpa

immigrated to the US early enough that the first election he could vote in, he voted for Teddy Roosevelt. Wilson won, though, and then he ran for reelection under the slogan, he kept us out of the war, which seemed like a good platform so my grandfather voted for Wilson. A few months after that, Woodrow Wilson got us into the war, and a few months after that, my grandfather was in the trenches somewhere in France. He was so mad about that. When he was 104 years old and I was a kid, he was still so mad about that. He'd come to the US to get away from the czar, and now that douchebag Wilson drafted him to fight on the same side as the czar?

My grandfather made regular donations to the NAACP because Woodrow Wilson was a racist and he hated Woodrow Wilson. Issues with the politics aside, the war itself was not a lot of fun. Grandpa came back with a lot fewer friends when he'd left. The first thing he did after the war was to take all the medals and pins and ribbons and whatever else they'd given him and put it in a cardboard box. Then he took a dump in that box, lit the box on fire and dropped the flaming box into the Goenis Canal. So it wasn't really a bright point in his life. Also, he came back with a problem with authority in general. As he put it, someone tells you to go run into machine gun and you do it.

Then you get cut up by barbed wire and a machine gun shoot you and kills half the people who listen to that idiot. Make sure to think twice about doing what someone says. For the rest of your life, it makes you think twice about doing what someone says, which, you know, fair enough. Only that attitude made it hard for Grandpa to hold down a job. The 1920s went okay, but then you got the Great Depression, which was not a great time to be a mentally troubled veteran with problems with authority.

My grandfather was living in Brownsville, a slum out of Brooklyn, and he was a junk man. He had a cart which he'd take around the neighborhood buying and selling junk, picking up stuff that people had thrown out, fixing what he could, collecting scrap metal and selling it. Since there wasn't any point in going fast and since this wasn't exactly a well-paying profession, the cart was pulled by a horse rather than by a truck. Now, at this point, a few more characters enter the picture. I'm going to call them the McAnaly family, even though that wasn't their name, because they were Catholic boys from Northern Ireland and because I think that Mick Anely is a funny name. Jimmy Mick Anely and his younger brothers, Patty and Joe.

It wasn't a particularly great time to move to Brooklyn, but it wasn't like Northern Ireland was doing that much better. Also, Jimmy had been involved in the politics of Northern Ireland and had attracted the attention of the local authorities, both because of his Republican leanings and because of the way he'd set fire to the shops of people who didn't donate sufficiently to the Republican cause. And he'd also attracted some iron from the Republican side of the aisle as well because of the way he'd kept most of the donations that he collected on their behalf. Now Brooklyn was the place for Jimmy to be because there he had the advantage of having cousins involved in the labor rackets down on the docks and in other activities of that sort.

So Jimmy, along with his younger brothers, got themselves a place in Karnarcy right near the edge of Brown's fill and settled into their new digs. Because of Jimmy's connections, people let Patty and Joe get away with whatever they wanted to for fear of getting shot. And Patty and Joe were the sort of kids who took advantage of that. At the time, Carnarcy was a dismal wasteland, it still is. But back then, there were bars and candy stores and windows to break in Brownsville. Also, there was a junk man's horse-stake-it-steel to ride around on at night and leave him abandoned

on the street corner corner tired and shaking. Well that's what happened the first two times. The third time they broke the horse's leg. Now I didn't know that horse, but I knew my grandfather and my grandfather loved that horse. 60 years later he still had a picture of that horse, and you could see how much he missed that horse when he looked at the picture. My grandfather, like my grandmother, didn't mind my mom, and he tolerated me, but he loved

that horse. And my grandfather was the one who found him with a broken leg, and he was the one who had to put that horse out of his misery. My grandfather had an easier time talking about the battle of Swasson than about having to kill his horse. I'm pretty sure that if it wasn't for my mom and grandma, he would have just gone after those kids and beaten them to death. Patty and Joe didn't even pretend that they weren't the ones who had sold in the horse.

My grandpa heard them bragging about it, but my grandfather couldn't pretend. The Great Depression wasn't a great time for veterans with authority problems, but it was a worse time for windows and orphans, or folks whose father or husband was up and saying saying, waiting to go to the electric chair. So okay, he also couldn't replace the horse, at least not right away. But he could do some of the same job with the pushcart, and he could also keep an eye on the mechanelies and wait for an opportunity. That opportunity came when they were hanging out on the street corner and Mrs. Strauss walked by. Among my grandfather's many, many, many,

many other grudges, my grandfather hated Mrs. Strauss. So he went over to Patty and Joe and started up a conversation. No hard feelings about the horse. Boys will be boys, right? Only, well, some people wouldn't understand. They weren't from the neighborhood. Like Mrs. Strauss there, who had moved up town and lived in a nice apartment on the east side. You take something from her. Why, she'd call the cops on you just like that? Which meant that my grandfather had just told the young McGanellys to not do something, which meant that they were going to do it.

The next time that Mrs. Strauss came down to Brownsville to visit her family there, Patty and Joe jumped her, knocked her down, and took her jewelry, which was expensive jewelry that her son had bought for her. Now the reason that my grandfather had a grudge against Mrs. Strauss was the way she came down with a nice dress, fancy jewelry, and acted like she was better than everyone else. But the only reason that she had all that was because her son Harry Strauss gave it to her. And why should she put on airs considering what her son was doing?

Her son Harry Strauss aka Pep Strauss aka Pittsburgh Phil was probably the most prolific hitman in American history. Working under the orders of Lepp K. Buchhalter and Albert Anastasia, Strauss was the top assassin in Murder Inc, and he probably killed somewhere between 100 and 500 people. And those young rap scallions, Patty and Joe McAnelly had just knocked down his mother and stole in the jewelry that he'd given her. My grandfather wasn't there when Patty and Joe brought the jewelry to their brother so that he could hock it for them, but it seems that he didn't entirely approve of what they'd done once he figured out what they'd done.

Shitting themselves mightily, the whole mechanically cland fucked right off back to London Barry, not even stopping to go back home, which meant that when a well-meaning passer-by, my grandfather happened to take all the stuff they'd left behind, he found enough money in their house that he could afford to replace his horse, plus a little extra besides. That's where my grandfather's story ends. I'm sure the McAnalies were all fine, that both the IRA and the British

probably would have let bygones be bygones. And when World War II rolled around, young men of Patty and Joe's age had all sorts of exciting opportunities both at home and abroad. But they didn't show up again in Brown'sville, and I hope they learned a valuable lesson about stealing a guy's horse and then making him kill it.

Okay, so I'm looking up this Harry Strauss guy, nicknamed Pittsburgh Phil, and indeed, he was a prolific contract killer for murder incorporated in the 1930s. I feel like calling your organization murder incorporated is kind of asking for the cops to come after you, but that's a separate point entirely. He reportedly killed over a hundred men using a variety of methods, including shooting, stabbing with ice picks, drowning, live burial, and strangulation. He never carried a weapon in case local cops picked him up and he would scout his murder spot for any tool that would do the job. Wow, okay. What is murder ink? It was an organized crime group that was active from World War I to II. It acted as an enforcement arm of

the Italian American Mafia and the Jewish mob. Our next reddit post is from Rusty Bath tub. This is the story of how I use Pavlovian conditioning to train my formerly obnoxious roommate to behave like a responsible adult. So the three of us are nurses and we all live in this company provided apartments. Each of us has his own room which is joined by the common area that doubles as a kitchen and dining area. But the walls are paper thin and don't provide enough soundproofing. So if someone were to say have loud conversations in the common area during the late hours of the night, it would resonate through all the adjacent rooms.

But if you were in your own room talking to someone, it wouldn't be heard outside. Basically, any sound that you make in the common room could be heard in all the other rooms. Now this isn't a problem during the day, but at night when everyone is asleep, our one obnoxious roommate always decides to have his Facebook video calls on the common room using his phone, waking everyone up with his loud conversations. And since we're roommates, we have to work in shifts with me and the second roommate working on 12 hour shifts from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. while the third obnoxious roommate works from 8 p.m.

to 8 a.m. So as a result, the third roommate tends to be awake while we're asleep. Whenever our roommate works, we get to sleep soundly. But every time he doesn't have to go to work, the two of us tend to get disturbed by his late night blabbering on his phone. We tried to handle it the adult way by talking to him about it and suggesting that he do his phone calls in his own room. Since while he's in there, we wouldn't hear his loud conversations and he wouldn't wake us up at night, especially if we have to go to work in the morning. This worked for a while, but he eventually went back to his old habits

of waking us up at night. We were getting so tired of the situation because all we wanted after a long 12 hour shift was to be able to sleep soundly, especially if we have to be able to go to work the next day. Are Ureka Momen came from an episode of the office that I had just watched, where Jim trained Dwight to crave a breath mint every time he restarted his computer. A light bulb suddenly switched on in my head to use our Wi-Fi to train my noisy roommate. Nobody else knew that I had admin privileges. I just happened to be there when the guys installed it, and they gave me the key.

I realized that I had access to our Wi-Fi network wirelessly on my phone, and I could activate it or deactivate it on a whim like a god. My MO was simple. Every time I got woken up by my noisy roommate taking his internet calls in the common room, I would turn off the Wi-Fi to the entire house, and then just wait until he goes back into his room before turning it back on again. The training took months and countless late nights. After getting woken up at night by that roommate, I would wait for an opportune time, usually while he's in deep, loud conversation with someone, and then turn off the Wi-Fi. Then I would wait for him to get annoyed and curse our service provider until he finally gives up and goes to his room. That was the cue for me turning the Wi-Fi back on. The loud late night calls

in the common room became less and less frequent until he no longer took them in the common room at all. This translated into peaceful, silent nights for me and my other roommates. My method was so effective that he actually thought that there was a problem with his phone. Sometime later, he wanted to show me a video of something on his phone, but he said that I had to come to his room for him to show it to me since there was a problem with it and it wouldn't work in the common room. I was grinning like a devil the whole time. Our next reddit post is from NoSprog for me. My friend inherited his parents' house a few years back and he's been slowly renovating it.

The house is nothing special, and it's not in the best area, but hey, it's his. No banks, no mortgage. It also happens to be next door to a restaurant. This restaurant has been a neighborhood fixture for decades, but has slowly declined with the neighborhood. Cue the old owners walking away and selling it to a real Sleeze Ball. The new owner wants to buy my friend's house to demo it so we can expand the restaurant's parking lot. Instead of offering a fair price, Sleeze Ball tries to lowball my friend, assuming that

he doesn't know the property's potential value. Sleezeball gets offended when my friend counters with fair market value and begins to bully him with passive aggressive BS, delivery trucks blocking his sidewalk, new super-right security lights that shine into his house, etc. On top of that, Sleezeball is openly racist, and he refers to my friend as all sorts of slurs. Sleezeball even tried to turn the refers to my friend as all sorts of slurs. Slay's ball even tried to turn the neighbors against my friend by telling him that he's a drunk, has anger issues, etc. All the while, Slay's ball is doing major renovations and expansions to his restaurant.

The revenge. My friend does contracting work for the city, and he's on a first name basis with the local boards. It turns out that Slay's ball didn't file for the city and he's on a first name basis with the local boards. It turns out that Sleesball didn't file for the proper permits. After an anonymous report to the inspectors, Sleesball is ordered to demolish a new expansion. You'd think that'd be it, but oh no. Sleesball's restaurant hasn't been properly inspected for years and the city orders further inspections. This ball's restaurant hasn't been properly inspected for years and the city orders further

inspections. Another anonymous report stated the restaurant was unsanitary. No surprise, it fails the health and safety inspection and is condemned to structurally deficient. Between the fines, repair costs and loss of business, the owner files her bankruptcy and the old restaurant is demolished. Down in the comments, I make sawdust says exactly what I was thinking. I hope your friend put in a low ball bid for the Sleeze Balls property at the bankruptcy auction.

That was our slash pro revenge and if you like this content, check out my second channel by clicking the link in the description. Also, be sure to follow my podcast because I put on new Reddit podcast episodes every single day. Also, be sure to follow my podcast because I put on new Reddit podcast episodes every single day.