I do not like it, Sam-I-Am
I live in a five person student share house, so as you can imagine it's not the cleanest of places, although it's better than a lot of others I've seen. One of the problems, however, is fridge space. Ostensibly everyone has their own shelf, but sometimes you run out of room to fit food in around all your beer so you'll stash something on someone else's shelf until you have room again, and so it all gets a bit mixed up.

A couple of years back, a guy moved out, and neglected to clean his stuff out of the fridge. Nobody realised this, however, and so none of it got chucked out because everyone thought it belonged to somebody else. A few months after he left, I was looking in the fridge and I saw a white paper package on my shelf, held shut with a sticker proclaiming it to be ham. Everyone happened to be in the kitchen at the time, so I said "Who's left their ham on my shelf?"

Nobody owned up to it. It slowly dawned on us that upon Ryan's departure several months earlier, this must have been left behind, like a sinner in the Rapture. Out of morbid curiosity, I opened up the paper to reveal the contents.

I must say, I'd never seen green ham before, outside of a Dr Seuss book.
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Fri 26 Mar 2010, 0:50, 6 replies)

Leaving things too long
I woke up one morning and noticed a small discoloured circle on the ceiling. "Huh" says I " It hasn`t rained in a while, must be a leaky pipe". So of I go to work, and when I get back in the evening after some grub and a hot bath I goes to bed.
I check the status of the stain."Bollocks it`s grown. I`m definatly going to check the loft, tomorrow".(I do natter to myself, company you see)
I awake the next morning and, yep it`s grown even more."Shit this is getting serious", off to work and when I get back more grub, some telly and of to bed trots I.
I go into my bedroom and hear an odd noise, "alarm clock must be on the blink again".
And then I switched on the light and discover a massive hole in the ceiling."Oh shit,for fucks sake I want to go to bed, sod this bollocks"
I look on my bed and see the biggest dead pigeon I have ever seen perched upon the end of my bed. Dead except for the wriggling of it`s entire body. What to do? I was tired and did the only thing I could think of, open the window to let the flies out and slept on the settee. The lovely council pest people removed the remains the following day.
Yum
(Sadarse works like Mist condensing mud flaps, Fri 26 Mar 2010, 0:38, 1 reply)

Spaghetti in a carrier bag
I used to play in a band that was lucky enough to fly to New York a couple of times.
On one of these trips, myself and another band member stayed at the record label boss's flat.
We knew that he was a millionaire and expected the accommodation to be pretty nice, however what we found was that:
The floor was covered in crisps, cigarette butts and grit.
The bed (there was only one, so we ended up sleeping on a sofa and the crispy, gritty floor) had stains all over it and plates of half eaten curry on it.
The fridge contained nothing but black mold, a carrier bag of cooked spaghetti and a vegetable drawer full of congealed sweets.
The shower floor was carpeted in pubes.
Nice.
(Rumpig, Fri 26 Mar 2010, 0:30, Reply)

Lost a hamster in out student house for over two weeks of the holiday. Thought we'd come back to the stench of death beneath the floorboards.
Luckily, so insanitary was our kitchen floo,r that the little bugger found enough food to survive all that time.

We ended up trapping it using a mixing bowl and a piece of cardboard in a trap that would've made Ray Mears proud.
( rjmrjm, Fri 26 Mar 2010, 0:00, 1 reply)

My brilliant Cleaner
I hate cleaning with a vengeance. In fact I have gone without nights out, dresses, any sort of consumable goods to employ a cleaner. Cleaners are sacrilage, the best people on earth, IF YOU FIND THE RIGHT ONES. I am allergic to dust and so many cleaning products I have to have one.

For years, I have used agencies, friend's mates who need money, even letting a small child into the house (one parent benefit cash jobs)who are unreliable cleaners with fucking problems and a nightmare - but hey ho, Maria, if you are reading this, you have been my best cleaner for all the time you have been with me !* (about 4 years now)

Maria is Bulgarian, very proud, very busy, and very professional and will give you a reciept if you want one. You can't get any space with her if you want your house cleaned and a recommendation I gave to my neighbours up the road, they waited 3 MONTHS to get her. She also owns several properties back at home with her husband and is very successful in her family's opinion.

I have no problem with any eastern european immigrants - she works here, pays taxes and does a very very good job.

No, you can't have her !

Is it obsessive ? No, she just does a job, and good for her, and well worth the money.

*PS : Maria I will up your rate as usual in the summer
( Tiggy the diver, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 23:51, 9 replies)

I'm lazy,
and quite capable of putting up with things that slowly accrete. I have a Roomba, and so don't really have to vacuum. However, I like to drink those big glass bottles of Perrier when I'm at home on the compy, and when there's no more room on the desk, I put them on the floor out of the way. Then another. Then another. Before long there was a double row, then a 3/4 circle around my chair, about eight bottles deep. Now a significant percentage of my living room floor is covered in green glass, the roomba is baffled, and I am unable to make a dent in removing these bottles, which are getting dusty.

The rest of the place isn't bad, though.
(Ejaculantern was caught desecrating pumpkins on, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 23:51, 3 replies)

A few years back I went with a few Yanks on a road trip for Thanksgiving
Basically we were north of the Gambia in a place called Niokolokoba. The girls had baked loads of cookies and cakes and bread and good stuff so we decided that the blokes would sort out a BBQ for the night of camping out in the middle of a massive Natioanl Reserve with lions'n'that. So in the morning we drove out to the nearest town and found the market. Cos I was the only one who spoke more that two words of the local lingo I was tasked with getting the meat. The others would get stuff for salads and as we had no skewers we had decided on bicycle spokes for our kebabs.
So I eventually find the butchers in the middle of a sweltering seething fly blown market. It's a concrete shack with three heads on the table, one of a goat, one of a sheep and one of a cow. They do this so you can see how fresh the meat is. The other thing on the table is a big bit of tree that is used as a chopping block and a big fuck off dirty great filthy chopper knife. The butch is wearing the dirtiest apron I've ever seen. A mechanic would have been proud of it. He's got blood and slime all up each wall and every few seconds during our fruitfull but difficult conversation about me buying 3 kilos of his finest fillet, well ok just no bones and as little fat as you can manage, ok then those 3 kilos of cow will do, he would cough up the biggest throat omelets and flob it on to one of the inside walls of his shop. These walls were black with blood and lumps of bone chips and flecks of meat and gristle from the choppng but he'd obviously had a bad chest for a while as he had coated one wall almost entirely in lung butter. Even the flies stayed away from that wall and just concentrated on the heads and the apron.
After a bit of tequila, red wine, apple jelly and some special herbs in the marinade it was not a bad feast. We even had enough bicycle spokes left for the Peace Corps bloke whose house we stayed at the next day, to repair his bike.
If you ask me though, dirt is relative and a bit of dirt does you good. One of my kids spent her first few years living in a small village in Africa where dust and sweat and dirt are impossible to avoid and I think she's stronger for it. The Yanks I knew out there had their hand sanitizers and bottled water and were always falling sick and getting the shits. Your body can fight off most stuff. I'm not saying you should leave the meat and chicken out and eat three day old fich, thats just silly but a I'm a very strong believer in what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
(Wagane, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 23:47, Reply)

I have a pet lizard
I feed it mealworms. After a while, mealworms turn into a pupae(sp?) and then into a beetle. I was putting the mealworms into a container to dust them with calcium powder, when I knocked the container over. Mealworms all over the floor. I managed to collect them all and feed them to the lizard.

Or so I thought.

About 2 weeks later, I'm getting ready for bed, and spot something on my pillow. It's a mealworm beetle. Turns out I hadn't cleaned up as thorough as I though I had. I managed to get it in some tweezers and dropped it in the vivarium. Lick the gecko enjoyed his beetle.
(Xstopher, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 23:29, 2 replies)

Rabbits are clean pets
My house rabbit died in August, 2007. I'm still finding caches of pellets behind bookcases, under the refrigerator, etc.

Still, it's better now than when I had cats. Those were the days! In a calculated show of contempt, the rabbit would make a point of peeing on each cat when they queued at the door to go outside.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 23:27, Reply)

For a long time, every morning I'd come down
to find a silvery slug trail leading from the back door to the cat's food bowl and back again.
Every morning, I'd wipe it off the floor and wonder how the hell it got through the door. It was a persistent little bugger, whatever it is. I opened the doors, shut them properly and it stopped. Cracked it!

It was winter. Had I really stopped it, or do sluggies hibernate? Whatever, it was cold and wet out there. So cold in fact that I didn't open the back door for ages.

When I did, there was poor sluggo. Paper thin and about nine inches long, crushed in the hinge of the door. That'll teach it for messing my floor.
( chthonic, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 23:19, 1 reply)

after we were married, my wife and I moved into a basement flat in Mornington Crescent
above us were three squalid bedsits, also owned by the same landlord. Anyway, above our bed, right above our heads, the ceiling plaster started getting damp and then moldy. A piece broke off, fortunately when we weren't sleeping, covering our bed with foul smelling water and plaster bits. My wife freaked out, justifiably so, but the landlord said we would have to wait a week for the plumber. I shifted the bed a little so it wasn't under the hole, and put a bucket down to catch the drips. Every time we heard the toilet overhead flush, the hole would drip brown water into the bucket. It was a month before the plumber came. It almost ended my marriage
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 23:09, Reply)

my sister did food technology GCSE
years later, my dad was so frustrated by the state of her bedroom that he cleared everything out... and disturbed a family of weevils that had made their home in a bag of flour underneath her bed.
(ladyintheradiator, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 23:04, 1 reply)

i was at my friend's house
i am deeply terrified by two things; a) knives and b) insects with no legs ... namely slugs. on their kitchen counter, was an unholy union of slug and kitchen knife which my friend thought would be hilarious to wave around in my face.

sometime after he convinced me to unlock myself from the bathroom, he also managed to stop me crying.
(ladyintheradiator, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 22:52, 7 replies)

another "poo in the student house" story
my good friend (who i might add, is psychotically germophobic) was staying around her then-boyfriend's for the night. they'd been out before with his house mates and had a couple of drinks so, inevitably, she had to get up in the middle of the night for the toilet.

out in the hallway, she notices some strange shapes on the floor but doesn't think about this very much because she's plastered.

after staggering into the bathroom, she had to stagger back out again because the smell of poo was so over-powering. at this point, she assumed that one of her then-boyfriend's house mates had a dodgy stomach and had violated the toilet. being so ridiculously germophobic, she decided she couldn't possibly use the toliet anymore. so she goes back to bed, her bladder nearly bursting.

then-boyfriend goes out to explore and makes the unholy error of switching the lights on.

the strange shapes on the floor were little lumps of poo which made a trail. my friend and her then-boyfriend followed it... first to the toilet where the culprit had successfully missed the toilet itself and made a massive mess everywhere, then to one of the house mate's bedrooms.

the trail went right across the room, up the bed and up the house mate's leg. he was unconscious, oblivious... and it wasn't even his room.

Oh and he didn't seem to think they needed to hire a carpet cleaner. perhaps you wouldnt if all your other housemates were insisting that YOU pay for it.
(ladyintheradiator, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 22:47, Reply)

Girl sees spider, doesn't move it
I think I should hoover my floor, there's been a big spider in the corner for a few days now. He hasn't moved. He looks dead, but I know he's having a holiday from under the floorboards. I'm not going to mess with him, because I think he'd be the victor in the battle of girl vs. spider. It's okay though, we can live together in dusty, filthy harmony. I don't mind too much, it's quite comforting not to be alone in the house, and an extra pair of hands or 4 always comes in useful.
(reducedfatLOLcat, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 22:33, 5 replies)

Wipe your feet on the way out...
I'd driven for hours to meet up with a journalist, covering a story in deepest, darkest back end of nowhere. It was late, the rain was hammering down and it was looking like I was facing a night in a b&b.

I was only there on 'standby.' The way it generally works is this: Journo knocks the door and asks for an interview/quote. I was there to take pics if they agreed, and copy any pictures relevant that might be to the story. Stereotypical tabloid journalism.
Very often it ends up in a polite no thanks and a door firmly shut in the face. Usually journo gets a quick quote, but nothing in depth and I just sit there picking my nose. Sometimes you get invited in and get the story, pictures, coffee etc...

We got the last scenario.

The house was cluttered, obviously well lived in, but generally tidy. A dog was barking in another room and I was being given death stares by the slightly neanderthal looking teenage son of the woman being interviewed. I made myself look busy, putting camera gear together as the interview was wrapped up. I was slightly worried about another possible scenario. The one where you get locked in someones house and get your head kicked in...

...interview got finished. Things got handed over to me. All I could think about was not getting a kicking closely followed by finding a pub... I got on with my thing...

"Sit there. *click* Look at me. *clickclick* Hands like this. Hands like that. *click* Now stand there. *clickclickclick* Cross your legs. That's it, keep looking at me. *clickclick* Fold your arms. Hang on, I just need to change my lens..."

...And as I took the two paces over to my bag, I slipped. The unmistakable slip I remember from being eight years old and walking to school. The kind of slip that usually ended in me being called 'pooshoe' for the eternity that was a schoolday. A full on, foot long, skidmark on carpet inducing, balance destroying slip.

I looked down at my foe. On either side of the greasy brown smear stood what remained of possibly the biggest dog egg I had ever seen. A considerable amount still clung to my shoe, and now the 'skin' was broken the smell hit. The room went quiet for a second, only to be broken by my colleague starting to retch.

"Big dog you've got then?" was all I could think of to say...
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Thu 25 Mar 2010, 22:10, 1 reply)

The Pronk Prank
Years ago when I lived in London, I shared a house with a mate from school (Mark), and two of his mates from university. The house was owned by a Dutchman named Fritz Pronk, who we never met.

Mark and I went off on a Lad's holiday with other pals from school, and after ten days of constant boozing (etc.) we were starting to focus on returning to the Big Smoke. Mark was a neat-freak and becoming increasingly troubled at the prospect of returning to a messy, dirty, untidy house.

So after several tequilas I found a phone-box (this is way before mobiles), called the house and put on a ridiculous Dutch accent:

"Hallo? Mr Pronk here. I think we are due for an inspection on (insert day we arrived back here), you will be ready for this, no?"

Voice on other end: "Err, sure Mr Pronk, no problem!"

"Well, that is good. Thank you so much. Goodbye!"

Hang up, collapse in hysterics.

"There's no way they'll fall for that, Mr Punch," said Mark.

When we got back the place was spotless and neat, they'd even cut the grass and done a bit of gardening.

Oh how they laughed when they realised their error. We only had to buy them all their drinks for a week, which worked out to be several times more expensive than getting a cleaner in would have been.
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 22:09, 1 reply)

visiting with my sib
I asked if I could take a shower. she said 'yeah...'

'but you'll have to take the rat out of the bath first'
( Bootsthealchemist is barred from the Masterchef Facebook page, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 22:06, Reply)

three levels of clean
I'll never forget being told these words on day one in the army - there's three levels of clean - clean, fucking clean and army clean! RSMs inspections go to a level that would make Kim and Aggie look like two German birds who foul themselves and then rub it into each other whilst saying "mmm ecoli and skat, mmmmm" Anyone who's been in will have seen "Show Parades" when kit doesn't come up to scratch. Once in basic training our room was deemed to be the most disgusting, shite infested cess pit it had ever been the Sargent Majors displeasure to inspect. We had to carry everything from our 8 man room down to the guard room and lay it out inch perfect, outside, onthe road, in the rain. We took it, beds, lockers, tables, chairs, fire extinguishers the lot laid out in perfect order, it's probably the most sureal sight ever.
BTW the disgusting filth was ....... dust on the surface of the water in the fire buckets! oh yeah!!
(The kneeling rifleman Is slowly getting there.., Thu 25 Mar 2010, 22:06, 3 replies)

So, my boyfriend has a condo in Arizona which his son lives in.
We were out 3 weeks ago visiting and we were both disgusted at the state of the place. Absolutely minging. He'd "cleaned" his bathroom - but there was still a ring around the bath and crusted puke on the side of the toilet.

My old man paid me to go out there last weekend to clean the place.

14 bags of trash, 2 bags of bottles for recycling. I spent 2 days cleaning every nook and cranny - I spent $112 on cleaning products. I then spent another $40 down at the launderette doing 3 months worth of laundry.

There was dried vomit on the floors/tubs/toilet in both bathrooms. The pine needles from the Christmas tree could have been made into a carpet. The dead black widows and scorpions were preserved in cheap tequila.

There was a turd under his bed. UNDER HIS FUCKING BED!!! Outside on the patio were 22 trashbags that he'd just never bothered taking the 10 feet to the dumpster.

I told him to call me Kim or Aggie the whole time I was there - he didn't get the reference but it made me laugh!

He texted me last night to thank me and to tell me he'd done his dishes after eating his dinner. This morning he texted me to tell me he'd wiped out his bathtub after taking his shower.

I hope he keeps it up.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 21:55, 1 reply)

not a joke but...
my mother in law has a lovely big house and gets a cleaner in once a week. The funny thing is she will clean the house from top to bottom the day before the cleaner visits as she doesn't want the house to be dirty for her.

fucking tool.
(LarksaLordy, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 21:21, 5 replies)

Katie
Katie, my housemate once uttered the immortal words

"why doesnt my parents house get this dirty?"


i'm moving out next week.
(court escaper, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 21:19, Reply)

A question for the great B3ta-an public.
Which type do people think is worse to live with? Or even be, if you're unlucky enough to fall into either category?

A) The Filthy
The kind of person who is apparently unaware of the existence of or use for vacuum cleaners, binbags, sponges and cleaning products. Has never worked out that housework doesn't happen by magic; an understandable view at 17 or 18, worthy of a good smack past about 20.

B) The Obsessive
The compulsively and near-psychotically clean, who cannot bear a single thing to be out of place or tolerate the existence of a smudge of dust on one skirting board behind the wardrobe. Best ignored, since you cannot possibly conform to their standards.

Added: C) The Schizophrenic (or possibly; The Squeaky Wheel)
An appalling mix of the worst points of both of the above, the complaints heard from this person about the state of the house are far in excess of the actual amount of work put in. Anal by nature but slobbish in behaviour, anyone who ends up living with an example of option C is liable to end up killing either them or themselves.

Three completely different kinds of housework fail, but which is worse?
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 21:19, 4 replies)

Light Bulbs
I used to have to buy lower wattage light bulbs instead of cleaning, expensive I know but a great time saver. Thank god for energy saving light bulbs, isn't technology marvellous!
(johnners hitting things with hammers until they work, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 21:12, 3 replies)

This is a second hand story.

A friend of mine used to live with a man who was for want of a better word, filthy.
His bedroom was an utter utter state, and in the three years that they lived together my friend never saw him clean anything, let alone push a hoover around.

In a bid to try and get him to tidy his room and maybe get rid of some of the stench that overflowed on to the landing, him and his other flatmate stopped by a pet shop one day and bought a frozen mouse, the type that you'd feed to a snake.

They figured that the smell of a mouse decomposing in his room would be enough to spur him on.

Another year went by and they forgot all about the mouse, and then came moving day. They were all moving out at the same time, packing boxes up and the like. When my friend was startled by a cry from the other room.

"Look, the skeleton of a mouse!"

A whole year and he hadn't noticed it was about a foot away from his bed.
(headwood, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 20:56, Reply)

Once upon a time...
My lovely daughter went out upon the lash, to celebrate the birth of her friend's daughter. Said friend used to drive her to school. He was Irish, and had a penchant for celebrating with whiskey, she would have been 17 or so.

She fell through the door at 11.30pm. Thudded upstairs to her bedroom with her hand over her mouth, tumbled retching through the bedroom doorway like a psychedelic lawn-sprinkler and promptly passed out. I fetched her a pint of water, put her in the recovery position and left her to it.
Next day dawned bright and shiny, and groany from her bedroom.. I fetched her more water to drink, and some more in a bucket, hot, soapy water with cloths to help her clean up. To be fair , she did the most part but somehow, we could never seem to get rid of the smell completely. Despite the bicarbonate of soda, the joss sticks, air freshener, et al down the following four years.

Last year, I dismantled the cabin bed, prior to decorating the room and rearranging it. Daughter had a cabin bed, with a big, sturdy wooden set of steps. Smooth wooden steps, apart from the undersides, which were really lumpy.. "That's funny" I thought, scraping away chunks of five-year-old Jameson-scented daughter vomit from under my fingernails...
I am a scutter, sometimes...
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 20:52, 2 replies)

The first thing you should do when you move in with new people is make a cleaning rota
Otherwise the person with the lowest filth threshold always ends up doing all of the cleaning. Other than the time I lived with someone who thought that everything should be cleaned at least every other day, that person always ends up being me. My filth threshold is pretty high but I somehow always end up living with people with even higher filth thresholds than myself. Highlights include the time I lived with two other girls and a guy and after a few months realising that I was the only person who ever cleaned the kitchen or the bathroom. I decided to stop doing it to see how long it would take before somebody else did it. After about a month I really wanted to clean the bathroom but managed to restrain myself, two months passed and still nobody had cleaned it. By about the three month stage the toilet bowl started turning orange(?!?) and still nobody cleaned it. I was reaching the point where I couldn't restrain myself anymore when one of my housemates mentioned that a friend of hers was coming at the weekend, "surely she'll have to clean the bathroom before her friend gets here - there's no way anyone could have visitors over with the loo in that state" I thought, so left it as it was. After her friend had been I gave up and cleaned the bathroom - anyone who could have a friend to stay and leave the toilet bowl orange was obviously never going to do any cleaning. Bizarrely these people who would think nothing of an orange toilet bowl always kept their rooms and the living room meticulously tidy (the kitchen was another story altogether).

The guys I live with at the moment seem to be impervious to mess and dirt though. If I stop constantly tidying up after them it takes about two days for the dining and coffee tables to be piled so high with crap that you get mini avalanches and about three days for the kitchen counters to get to a similar state (this takes slightly longer due to the fact that they will use the bin most of the time until it gets full - it never occurs to them to empty it). They will occasionally do dishes but will never wash all of them and I'm pretty sure neither of them have ever wiped the counter tops. I'm the only one who has ever cleaned the bathroom or kitchen. I figured out early on that neither one of them would end up doing it so I made a deal with them that I'd do most of the cleaning as long as they did the hoovering (I have a serious dust allergy so hoovering has me reaching for my inhaler every time). Despite this deal I've done the hoovering more times than the two of them combined. Basically every time I spend a whole evening (sometimes the whole day) cleaning the house (maybe once every three weeks or so - I told you I had a high filth threshold) I'll ask them each individually if they can do the hoovering (they both always say they'll do it). When it got to the point where downstairs had a whole medium sized tree's worth of leaves on the floor after not being hoovered for three months, I gave in and did it myself. I did, however, make one of them empty the hoover bag for me because the last time I did that I ended up in A&E.

I still prefer my current housemates to the old ones though. One time I was seriously ill with the flu (actual flu - not just a cold) and they had a house party where all of their mates were so pissed that they were falling all over the place, puking in the bath, and pissing on the toilet floor. I got kept awake til 5AM by this party and actually got shouted at by my housemate when I asked if it would be possible to wind the party up since I had a splitting headache. By the next evening they'd tidied but not cleaned the piss off the toilet floor, the puke out of the bath, or the red wine off the walls. So since I was fed up of putting my shoes on to go to the loo, didn't want to have to scrape encrusted vomit off the bath when I was eventually able to stand for long enough to shower, and didn't want to lose money out of my deposit due to red wine stains on the walls, I ended up sobbing on my hands and knees scrubbing away the filth from their party. They watched me do this and didn't even offer to help let alone do it instead.
(mmm....beer, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 20:50, Reply)

My flatmate and I
Console ourselves with the thought that "At least we won't get Lupus" whenever bits of the floor start to stick to our socks, and the mould in the sink looks like becoming sentinent.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 20:24, 2 replies)

Coffee - the little known facts.
We had a race at college, after my buddy and later flatmate (see previous post) met up with some lass through the classifieds and decided to get all intimate on our sofa.

We decided that a cup of coffee was the appropriate course of action as we didn't have a bucket of cold water to hand, so offered to make them both one.

After a bit they fucked off and no doubt did unspeakable things to each other, but at least not on my sofa (he lived down the road from us).

Three weeks later, the (untouched) cups of coffee were discovered, tucked away under the sofa, and so the coffee challenge was born!

You see, one of them took milk but no sugar, and the other liked it black and sweet, and after three weeks, we were getting a good head of growth on both those puppies.

Black and sweet rapidly took the lead, heaving out of the cup like some diseased phallus, though we were all curious as to the mould growth prospects of milky milky.
Bored mates would come round to see how our two pets were coming on, and were usually stunned by their progress which could be close to an inch a week.

Ultimately the end of term came along, and at the final measure, black and sweet was hung like a donkey at well over 10", whilst milky milky lagged behind somewhat at closer to 6".

Strange, but true - I really miss my student days, which passed in a stoned sea of filth, and I still believe that a proper day should start at 12pm
(justin7926, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 20:24, 1 reply)

doglick
i've nothing against dogs, except the really yappy ones, but i do have a particular problem with some dog owner.
it is NOT OKAY to put your plate on the floor after you've finished a meal, then call your dog into the room and allow it to lick your plate, before PUTTING IT BACK IN THE FUCKING CUPBOARD, YOU SCUMMY BASTARDS!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 25 Mar 2010, 20:12, 7 replies)