I have utilized this particular brand of revenge before. On a University campus that is taken over 6-7 times a year by an army of RVs that park for days to tailgate for football games, there exists an uneasy detente between the students who normally use that newly occupied space for parking, walking or dancing (a few of us like to dance, don't judge), and the seasonal migratory fans that have been following their same routines for decades. At the best of times their is a mutual respect and even playful interaction between the two factions.
One day, however, a cluster of RVs near the main building my friends and I used became problematic. Verbal abuse escalated to the point of outright harassment directed towards some of the female students. Threats were exchanged. Honor demanded satisfaction. A plan was hatched.
That is how I found myself driving to the half dozen bait shops within a 30 mile radius and, in as innocent a manner as I could muster, asking to buy their entire stock of live crickets. I do not think my attempts to act casual fooled anyone once the phrase, "All of them", escaped my lips, but a sale is a sale and I soon had several large coolers brimming with crickets. Really the hardest part to work out was the delivery method. The offending RV cluster numbered approximately 25 or so, and their irregular schedule meant someone in that group was nearly always up, drinking and grilling and/or smoking meat. I decided that only a carefully calibrated plan would avoid my detection. So I drank heavily until 3AM, had one friend drive me to one edge of the cluster while another friend waited in a car at the far end, then ran through their middle of their camp singing 'Whiskey River' at the top of my lungs. If I was going to die, I was going to die with Willie Nelson on my lips. (That doesn't sound right, I could phrase that better. Anyway)
It worked. They took me for one of their own, and must have assumed that I was littering or they were hallucinating, because the 4-5 people that did see me did not seem to take much interest. I got to the get away car on the other side and we sped off secure in the knowledge we had pulled off the caper of the century.
And the crickets were loud, but as it turns out drunk rednecks who party all night don't much mind the sound of crickets. One was even heard to remark that they made him feel like he was at the lake. A few escaped into our campus building and lived long enough to annoy us much longer than their compatriots annoyed the RV cluster. (A few crickets, not a few rednecks). Most importantly, I received sexual pleasures from at least two already very promiscuous female students who were motivated, in whole or in part, by my gallant and idiotic gesture, so in the end everyone won, except the crickets who all died, but better to die in the furtherance of my dating life than dangling on a hook in the pursuit of a single fish.
Which is where I believe the phrase originated that goes, Give a man a cricket, he might catch a fish, but give a man 1,000 crickets, and he will almost certainly catch VD.
TL;DR - Sought revenge on misogynist rednecks by dumping crickets under their RVs and ended up at the free campus clinic with bumps on my Johnson.