I can be pretty passive aggressive sometimes. It's a skill I learned from my mother (hi Mom!) and honed over a sulky adolescence. It's one of my greatest weapons. I also hate my neighbors directly across the street with a passion and I don't hide it. Oh no, I exercise every passive aggressive muscle in my body.
It started by using my natural inability to back up my car properly by backing too far out of my driveway and backing a little onto their lawn, which they mow twice a week in the summer. My Dad raised me to never walk on anyone's lawn (so dealing with the neighborhood kids who cut across the lawn because they're too lazy to walk around the corner is going to be something I'll have to do without throwing rocks at them) and god help you if you ever let your car tire hit the lawn. So in my passive aggressiveness, deliberately letting my tires roll onto their lawn and grind in as I turn my wheel is the ultimate disrespect. At least in my book.
One thing I did that wasn't passive aggressive though, was calling the cops on my neighbors about two or three times this summer because they broke the town ordinance on fireworks. I really hate fireworks.