When living in a small town, you will sometimes experience some type of corruption or playing favorites from the local government.

What would you do if the mayor pushed through a major sewage update, but didn’t apply it to his own property, which caused you lots of issues on your land?

That is what happened to the family in this story, so when the son was old enough, he found a way to clog up the mayor’s sewage line, causing a major backup into his house.

Input output pootpoot

It all began in a tiny village in the most rural, backward thinking part of Southern France. The one where the natives call you a foreigner because your parents moved to the area some 15 years ago and still begrudge them the fact that they bought – gasp. Shock. Horror.

This guy paints a picture of how people there felt.

They’d be grasping at pearls if they knew what pearls are and were not too stingy to buy some.

Think “I’d rather use a piece of string as belt instead of buying a new one” levels of stinginess – a disused piece of land from a local farmer that dared sell it to “some outsiders that talk French funny”.

What kind of person would sell their property!?

This hideous, scandalous and unforgivable crime was not forgotten and during the decade that followed this unprecedented cataclysmic event that shook the foundation of this very close-knit community to its very core.

So close, in fact, that they were more or less – and sometimes unbeknown to them – related by blood. Even god does not know what happens with whom in the hayloft…, my family got to feel the wrath of the village at every possible turn.

This would get old quickly.

From disparaging remarks, attempts at bullying on the schoolyard (nipped in the bud by the schoolteachers) to blatant intimidation by the local hunters association (met in kind by my father and his 44 Magnum), administrative headaches (like the decision to have a communal road go through the middle of our living room – promptly quashed once lawyering up was mentioned), life in Southern France felt like bliss.

It is fair to say that my family had a somehow conflicted relationship with most the natives…

These people seem horrible.

And when the wannabe roadbuilder mayor decided that it was time to propel the village in a new century by having a communal sewage system set up for the “old village” (Imagine a picturesque medieval place with narrow, winding roads lined up with sun backed limestone houses. And sewer running down the gutter… The “outsiders” like us were living in newbuilds outside of the village outfitted with septic tanks. 20th century style. Running water and all).

The news was greeted with lukewarm enthusiasm by my family and friends. At first.

This borderlines on corruption.

The lukewarm enthusiasm quickly turned to outrage because it turns out that, rules for thee not for me, the mayor had decided to pull his own house out of the scheme. Monsieur was to stingy to pay for his share of the cost for the communal works and connection.

So, for a couple of years, I had to listen to my father rage about this dirty rotten jerk making our life difficult while his sewage was flowing down the streets unpunished.

I can see why his father was upset.

“Ah. Someone should teach him a lesson by plugging his sewage line with expanding foam.” was the usual sentence my dad would utter when driving past the mayor’s house.

(To add insult to injury, the line in question was a pipe poking down from a stone arch with the precious excrement of the mayor dripping down a few steps carved into the limestone. A wonderful place ruined to save a bit of money at the expense of everybody else.)

Oh, he is actually going to do it.

After all that, it should come as no surprise that one of the first trips I took on my moped when I turned 14 was to the hardware store in the next town where I purchased 4 cans of expanding foam.

The next night, my best friend and I sneaked out of our houses and went down to the village on foot. What we did I hope you guessed…

This is disgusting.

By the time I moved out of the village 6 years later, people were still talking about the morning when the mayor’s morning dump overflowed from his clogged toilet and how he slipped on a puddle of sewage at his front door while rushing out to see what was the issue.

Because why stop at the back when you can also do the front?

These kids really did a job on that house.

After the cans had fulfilled their role, we decided that his front door could do with a bit of homemade decoration and gave the good man a taste of the medicine he so generously shared with all of us for so many years.

While a little gross, there is no doubt that the guy deserved what he got.

Let’s see what the people in the comments thought about the situation.

Here is someone who loved the story.

I want to know too.

Living in a small town provides many great stories.

Here is someone who loved the story.

He deserved this gross revenge.

If you thought that was an interesting story, check this one out about a man who created a points system for his inheritance, and a family friend ends up getting almost all of it.