I once made the mistake of making a (true but) snarky comment to a co-worker, whose boyfriend happened to be a hobby taxidermist. They decided to get me back by filling the glovebox of my car with dead squirrels (which they conveniently had in their freezer, waiting to be stuffed).

They then arranged for a local cop to pull me over, and ask for my license and registration. I opened the glovebox to dig out the registration, and a seemingly endless cascade of dead squirrels began, while I started mumbling frantically....