teenage bastards
several years ago, i lived in that horrific modern shitpile known as a high-rise block. after my upstairs neighbour, due to his ineptness at plumbing in his own washing machine, had flooded me out 5 times, i saw to it that he had to leave his flat suddenly. i thought i would then get neighbours who were nicer and more considerate of those around them.

i was so very, very wrong.

3 months after captain wetness left, my new neighbour moved in. i should have been wary from the start, as he was 17 and a known drug addict. however, i gave him the benefit of the doubt.
within one month, he had broken every window in his flat, kicked a hole in his toilet and drenched my hallway in foul-smelling toilet water. every night, he and his friends would play music at full volume until at least 3 a.m. it was like trying to sleep on a dancefloor and my nerves were shredded.
when i complained, he plugged up his bath and sinks, then turned on the taps and went out.
it soon began to rain in my hallway.
calling the police did nothing. as he had friends in the same block, he would bugger off to one of their flats as soon as he saw the police coming. the housing weren't much better. i had to log complaints for a month, after which they issued him with a warning.
3 months later, another warning.
3 months after that, a final warning.
the housing told him that, if he gave up the flat even one day before his eviction case went to court, they would give him another flat somewhere else. if, however, he refused to go, he would be evicted and would not be able to get another council flat.
so, of course, he stayed put.
during the 8 months it took to get rid of him, i had to suffer:
nightly fights between him and his coked-up friends
shit music blasted to ear-shattering levels
green paint poured down my windows
repeated floodings
broken windows
a plastic bucket that he had been using as a makeshift toilet, tied to a rope and used to try to break my living-room windows. it was still full of shit.
my nerves were so frayed by the time he left that, the day the council put the iron door over his front door, i almost wept with relief. i've had bad neighbours since, but never as bad as him.

sorry for lack of funnies, but he was a cunt.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 18:35, 8 replies)

'love thy neighbour'
(story doesn't involve sex or humus... don't want anyone misled or feeling their time has been wasted :P )My cousin stayed with me throughout august, sleeping on my couch while he attended this years Edinburgh festival getting some experience on stage as a comedian. Didn't ask for any money or anything because, well... you help family out right? Towards the end of his stay he flooded the bathroom and consequently the neighbours flat below us. Kind of destroying his bathroom and kitchen ceiling.

I spoke to the neighbour, said i'd pay for anything the insurance didn't cover. trying to do the right thing etc, he was my guest and as such anything happening in my flat is my responsibility. For the next couple of weeks I didn't hear anything, but put aside what money i could knowing a bill of some kind was gonna land on the welcome mat soon.

While waiting for this bill, i ended up in a minor road accident. A Bin got blown onto a main road as i cycled past. Knocking me off my bike and resulting on my getting clipped by a car from behind. queue one minor skull fracture and muscle damage in my right arm... plus a trashed bike.

So while i healed my bike went in for repair... knowing how much cash i had, and thinking 'if i set aside £250 for this flood thing, that'll be ok...' i later picked up my bike and paid them for the repairs. New gear cassette, new front transmission, new bike chain, front wheel bent back into shape, new front light. total bill £180. not happy with the cost, but i cycle everywhere and without my bike i just feel stuck.

The day after picking my bike up the neighbour drops the bill on me of £510. oh shit! I'd discovered last night i couldn't cycle, because the damage had left my right arm weak, so when cycling i kept veering off to the left and wasn't safe on the road. So the timing was bad... if i'd known this i would have done without the bike i can't use and been in better shape to pay this bill (i reckon i could have found the extra £80 somewhere). But as it was, being currently unemployed i find myself buggered.

Then this week (a few days later) my sister tells me she's moving out to live with her boyfriend. I'd been letting a room out to her for £200 a month including ALL bills (very cheap... family rates etc). I'd always known she'd move out and all i'd ask for was a months notice. I got 6 days.

So being in pain, with a hefty chunk of my income pulled out from under my feet I spoke to my neighbour. Explaining my situation and asking if i could pay him £300 now and £210 over the next few months... him being a devout practising christian, and well up on the 'love thy neighbour' stuff said 'no', and made it clear he'd take me to court for the full amount if i don't pay up.

September has just been shit beyond belief. Learnt my lesson though... don't accept responsibility for anything, don't trust family, don't pay for anything you can get away with not paying. lovely world :S
( Shiodome has realised numbers in names aren't cool., Thu 1 Oct 2009, 18:05, 12 replies)

I was leaning out the window of my flat, finishing a cigarette a couple of years ago
and I could hear one of my neighbours having a very loud wank. Granted everyone spanks the monkey from time to time, it's a given, but I could see what he was watching on the TV as his window was open and the screen was reflected in it.

Choice of wank fodder: Keeping up appearances
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 18:01, 4 replies)

My flat was invaded by wasps this summer
Had a nest up in the loft. Nasty. Very nasty.

One time when it was very hot - I mean hotter than a slurpy deepthroat blowjob from a busty stripper with a fever, dressed in a sexy Satan outfit, who’s frigging herself with a bunch of jalepenos while telling you how she likes to take it up the shitpipe hot – I’d just made myself a lovely strawberry jam sandwich.

I settled down to eat the fucker. Shit. Forgot the can of lifeforce I’d left in the fridge. I get up, go and get my beer, and when I return two, count them TWO fucking wasps were chomping down on my pride and joy, my jam sarnie.

I picked up the plate, rushed to the window and shook the little fuckers off into the outside world, screaming: “FUCKING DIE YOU YELLOW AND BLACK BASTARDS!!!”

That’s when I noticed my neighbours, the people who have the flat below me and the flat to the side, stood outside in the street having a nice little chat. They both stared, they both looked like they wanted to murder me. I chuckled, waved, they turned away and continued their conversation. Bastards try their best to avoid me now.

Though in my defense, I can’t fucking help it that I live in multicultural North London. I mean, there’s not many people in England who have one load of neighbours originally from Tokyo and another load originally from Ghana...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 17:31, 2 replies)

My upstairs nieghbour
Within the first week of moving in, we started hearing the couple upstairs shouting at eachother, accompanied by crashing and banging coming through the ceiling. After one particularly vicious sounding argument, I passed the woman in the hallway.
She started going on and on about how if we heard anything, banging etc., don't worry but please don't ask her what it was.
I think she said her name was Luka.
(CaraVAGgio, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 17:20, 6 replies)

I'm not going to tell you where I live...
...cause I know some of you will want to form a queue.

But my next-door neighbour insists on topless sunbathing (and mostly with only a bit of dental floss to cover up her lower lady bits) whenever there is the slightest threat of sunshine. The problems are this, however:

1/ This is the front garden I am talking about.
2/ Part of said garden is directly in front of my living-room bay window.
3/ There is only a low wall between the front garden and the street.
4/ There is a bus stop at the end of my front path.
5/ We have builders in at the present.

So consequently there are mixed blessings to this:

1/ Passers by are funny to watch. Newbies do a visible double-take, regulars slow down to tie shoelaces, dog-walkers exercise their animals several times a day and always pick up doggydo's, and mothers taking their toddlers to the day-care centre at the end of the road strangely always cross the road to the narrower pavement.

2/ Whenever I have visitors, I have to steer them away from the window. They are here to visit ME not ogle the neighbour, dammit. It's embarrassing having clients round though; they need to walk past her to get to my (home) office and the conversations get increasingly strained until I break the ice by cheerfully asking if she is still out there.

3/ Cars slow down miraculously on nice days, never on bad days. Occasionally they stall, or the driver pulls over to answer his mobile phone / look for something in the back seat / look for something on the passenger seat. Sometimes they even manage to break down, with the driver getting out to open the bonnet, stand around a while shaking his head and generally looking pensive, before closing the bonnet and driving off.

4/ The bus always stops at our stop. Whether it needs to or not. And sometimes - I kid you not - the driver takes a sandwich / fag break if there is nobody on the bus. The council are threatening to divert our bus service for lack of use, but the drivers always complain and the route stays. Result!

5/ We can't get rid of the builders because they just keep coming back to do the final bits of "snagging" (yeah, right. That's a new word for it.)
( wuffle, the b3ta bunny 's flea collar isn't working on, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 17:18, Reply)

Terrace houses in East London.
On one side we have a lovely Eastern European couple & their young son. We have a decent relationship with them, they lend us tools & we water the plants when they're away. How very old fashioned. Apart from them never giving me their names when I introduced myself. I still don't know their names.

On the other side we have a seemingly deaf pensioner with the mouth of a sailor. He looks like the kind of guy that would be strung up by an angry mob for being a peedo regardless of any kind of evidence. He enjoys nothing more than listening to AOR & playing playstation one games all night. At full volume. Nothing quite like the big reveal of a decent thriller being soundtracked by what I imagine Clarksons ipod to sound like. But then, I can't really complain as we are pretty loud ourselves (only in a more considerate, not all night kind of way). He also has a grave sized pit in his garden that is always covered by a tarp & still has an outhouse that he uses (not sure if he even has a indoor flusher). I've had one encounter with him one saturday morning when he locked himself out of his house. After ignoring my request to 'give me a sec to chuck some jeans on' he barged through my house to the garden. Being the neighbourly type I offered to hop his/our fence & let him in but he was aggressively against that, instead choosing to borrow a ladder from a group of builders & prop it up on our dilapidated fence. Up he goes, looking like he's going to tumble at any second, with me trying to stay in a position where I might be able to at least break his fall a bit if not catch him. I offer again & again to hop the fence but no. The struggle continues & the swearing gets louder but he still refuses my offer to hop the fence. I'm no Spiderman but this fence is only 5ft or so. Eventually he makes it over safely & disappears into his house. He doesn't emerge for anything so I'm left carrying a ladder around my street asking random builder types if it's theirs. He still hasn't said thank you. Bastard.

I won't go into the pikeys over the road as thats far too long a story.
(MyFakeName, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 16:58, Reply)

Stiffness and Pussy
I once lived next door to a middle-aged lady whose cat was old and arthritic (well what were you expecting the story to be about from the title, eh?)

When I first moved in, there was a pile of boxes on my side of the fence, staggered to create steps, and the same on her side, so the creaky little chap could clamber over the fence.

When we moved the boxes - she came round and asked us to put them back, politely, which we did. When the binmen took them away one day, she asked us to put them back. When we said we couldn't because they'd been taken away, she got angry.

It was at this point that I asked why it was so important the cat got into our garden, since it was our garden anyway.

'I don't want him going to the toilet in MY garden.'

It was at this point I told her to fuck off.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 16:56, 7 replies)

Doorbell shenanigans
I, like the next smoker am partial to a post coital cigarette. I live with the missus and a couple of other people and to appease those 'other people' we have agreed no smoking in the flat

This particular occasion the missus and I decided to walk down the 4 floors to spark up our cancer sticks in the late night breeze and relax further into our endorphine filled state of euphoria.

Until....I suddenly became too relaxed and let out a little fart that carried with it a bit too much weight.

I promptly explained to the better half that I would have to leave her as I was cooking up my own little bum brownie and it wanted to pop out of the oven.

Scrambling the 4 flights of stairs, I arrived at my door, burst through and deployed my shit submarine into the deepest darkest place it could go. NOW I was relaxed.

My girlfriend however, had embarked on a little adventure of her own whilst I was decorating the toilet bowl. She had finished her cigarette and walked up towards our flat door. When she got there, she found the door to be locked. 'Russ must be fucking around' she thought and incessantly, without reluctance started ringing the doorbell to the tune of Axel F/ Beverly hills cop theme over an over again.

Bear in mind that it is well into the night and the majority of office types who live in the block will be fast asleep preparing themselves for work the next day.

A naked, dreary eyed asian man opens the door, looks at a stunned young girl still pressing his doorbell and says "please dont do that" she made her babbled apologies and scuttled away.

The daft wench had gone up 1 too many flights of stairs and as the corridors all look the same, didnt pay any attention to the number on the door.

Now every time we see him, it's more than a little awkward!
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Thu 1 Oct 2009, 16:56, 1 reply)

My New Neighbours
There they were a fresh faced young couple trying to start their first home together. I was next door reattaching the heat shield to the exhaust of my motorbike. I stood up and looked over the fence at the young (trying to be) alpha male as he checked out his garden. i tipped him the nod and we started a small talk conversation about the house and local area.
His mrs (who was in the kitchen unloading boxes)shouts through to her boyfriend "can you please explain to me how I got rugburn on my tits?"

What could we say to each other after that ?
(Cov Boy, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 16:27, 4 replies)

The former residents of both my current and last homes are coincidentally now my neighbours.
The last people to live in my last house got into serious debt and did a moonlight. They were seen in the wee hours, pushing a double bed loaded with everything they owned down the street and round the corner.

The house where I live now was extensively 'remodelled' by the former owners, who removed a supporting wall in the kitchen, so that the upstairs floors dropped a couple of inches - we'd joke that you could pass a bogroll under the wall from a bedroom to the bathroom.

They also artexed the ENTIRE house, floor to ceiling, built kitchen units and wall panelling out of old pallets and wired up wall lights to the cooker circuit. Tasteful, and no danger at all of electrocution.

I got the house cheap but it cost a bit to put right!

Both families have ended up living nearby. My milkman reckons the family who wrecked my current house are always tinkering with their new place and he seriously wonders how long it'll be before it falls down.

The 'debtor' family still had bailiffs popping round here until just a few years ago, and they routinely give my address for things that might cost them money.

Both families are known for being troublesome but they give me a wide berth - it's called keeping your head down!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 16:17, Reply)

Buck-toothed hillbillies, lesbian nurses and chavs
We've lived in our house for 10 years or so. The first lot of neighbours were a buck-toothed, fuckwitted lot into line-dancing or some such. Harmless enough. They moved, and a couple of nurses moved in together. I thought I'd died and joined a wankathon. Lots of whispers that they were drinking from the furry cup, until I asked and they both had boyfriends, just worked together. Shame. Didn't stop me throttling myself whenever I saw them in their uniforms. They moved on and Mr. & Mrs. Chav moved in with their 2 sprogs and his 3 from his previous marriage at weekends; 5 kids and 2 adults in a 3-bed semi. Could get quite noisy and kids were fucking annoying little bastards.

One day Mrs. Chav is in the garden. Had a chat over the fence. Told me she wishes she'd never moved here (that's the gratitude we get for being good neighbours). Of course I asked her why. She seemed less than keen to say. Pressed her for more info. Turns out Mr. Chav has been screwing the woman who they sold their last house to. Oooh.....she meant, literally, she wishes they'd never moved. Oops.

He's fucked off and left her with one of the sprogs. Can't afford to sell. Glad to get shot of him though. Right twunt. Saw him in the garden, arseholed one night, on the phone to the police complaining that the two policemen in the garden with him, trying to arrest him, were threatening to use pepper spray or some such.
(Tighthead, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 16:08, Reply)

Famous relatives
My neighbour's grandfather was an influential Spanish artist who was part of the 1920s Paris scene. She's very proud of her ancestry, even if he died a year before she was born, so wherever possible she writes her name as Maria Fuentes (née Bores).
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 16:02, Reply)

neighbours running in pants!
last year there was a spat of car crimes in my area, where windscreens were smashed, tyres slashed and cars generally "went missing!"

now... I had a really old banger, that wasnt worth anything, so wasnt partically worried that the theifs would nick it, as they wouldnt get anything for it, or be able to drive it away very fast...

but one saturday night about 2am i get frantic knocks on my front door with an out of breath neighbour in just his pants weilding a big metal pole of some sort saying someone has just tried to nick my car!

he'd heard some commotion outside and decided to check it out, and when he saw 2 hooded yobs in my car he ran out and chased them down the road (in just his pants!! LOL)

i called the police, who came round and took statements and dusted for prints etc, but no-one has yet been caught sadly!

My mechanic the next day, came to repair the damage, (wires had been cut where the ignition is) and said they wouldnt have got far anyway, as they had cut the wrong wires!! LOL - AMATURES!!

Yay, for good neighbours tho!

*and i have a new car now with an imobiliser and a heavy duty steering wheel lock!!!
(piggietress, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 15:30, Reply)

Not so much a neighbour more a new house mate
lived with him a few years back and forgot what a t@@t he is. Loud smelly and Themanwiththeplan.
Cunt
(Shitquest is as shitquest does, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 15:29, 4 replies)

I have a chav
family living 3 or 4 doors down from mine.

You know, the type that live in their pajamas and have no control of their kids.

Anyway - recently a new type of behaviour has emerged. Whereby people drop by, but remain in their car. Their friend will beep their horn the door will open. Because the car will have its engine running they will talk loudly / shout to each other. All whilst having a brew.

Now I might this is a terraced house where the street is all of 1 metre from the front door.

How is it difficult to get out of your car and knock on the door?
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 15:27, Reply)

Used to live next door to a disco dancer
She died.

Never spoke to her.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 15:25, Reply)

Ex-Neighbours
My ex-neighbours, Jim and Dee, were awesome. Jim had a subscription to SeeFilmFirst or whatever it is and would always lend me the DVDs in exchange for a bit of whatever cake I happened to have made that week. They had a lovely husky called Caesar who is the soppiest dog I've ever met.

I always used to wake up on a Sunday morning, go hang the washing and be greeted with the sight of Jim doing something hilarious, like seeing how many clothes pegs he could attach to his beard.

They were awesome. Thankfully, they've only moved a few streets away. Still miss them though.
( cakelady, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 15:20, Reply)

I suppose he was my neighbour for a brief few minutes
A couple of hours ago I slunk off to the gents' for a brief constitutional (well, to expunge my humming bowels of last night's unexpected surfeit of ale*) and all went well.

Just as I was expelling the last few sulphurous clouds, I heard the door close in the cubicle next to mine. I didn't think this unusual, but then I heard the sound of the cubicle's recently acquired occupant taking a wad of toilet paper.

And then another.
And another.
And many more, in quick succession.

I was perplexed by this behaviour. Was this some OCD-related compulsion? Was he getting prepped for a post-lunch hand shandy? Had he already spluffed in his pants and come to the cubicle to frantically clean himself up? Or did he just not feel comfortable in a toilet cubicle unless he was able to nestle himself in a cocoon of bumwad?

So there we go: he was my neighbour, of sorts, for a couple of minutes and I deduced him to be odd by listening to what he was doing in his cubicle. I'm such a hypocrite.

*_{Coniston now make an Oatmeal Stout, I discovered last night, and it's fucking lovely. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven, before I woke up this morning farting like an ox.}
(LongJohnBaldry, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 15:16, 2 replies)

My neighbour is an idiot
My neighbour to one side is an consultant surgeon from Egypt, and while this means he is presumably an intelligent enough chap, he was probably having a crafty wank when they were handing out common sense. His complete and utter lack of nous became evident when I decided I wanted a new fence round my back garden, as the existing one had just about lost the will to live.

I replaced the two sides that were my responsibility, but had to approach Dr Numpty about the side between our gardens (technically his boundary). He replied with the demeanour of a merchant in a Cairo market, gesturing wildly with his hands and loudly talking over me before I was halfway through my first sentence. "No, no, no, no - is OK, is OK!". I offered to share the cost, to no avail, and so things were left as they were for a while. In the meantime I cleared the garden of all the stumps from the nasty leylandii that the owners previous to the previous owners had planted several years ago, and wondered what to do next.

Some time later a rather nasty storm hit us one night, and in the morning I saw the fence flat on its side in my garden. When I pointed out to my neighbour that now might be a good time to get a replacement, he said that he'd been watching me digging my holes in my garden, and when I explained about the tree stumps the hand waving started in earnest again - "no, no, no, no - you make it fall down! Is not 'trees'!" as though I had concocted the most fantastic fence-felling ruse. I propped the fence back up against his trees and wondered what to do next.

Then, out of the blue, he came round one day later and told me that he'd decided to get a new fence, just like mine. Keen not to jeopardise this new opportunity I went out of my way to measure the fence and give him a detailed breakdown of materials, splitting the cost 50/50. He was happy with my proposal, so I ordered everything required, leaving the fence panels in my garage so I could thoroughly stain them before assembly.

When he came home from work once and saw me brushing stain into one of the panels, told me he was determined to do his share and asked that I leave the garage unlocked and the "paint" out, which I agreed to do.

The first "incident" occurred pretty soon afterwards - when I came home from work one day my neighbour from three doors down sauntered over with a big grin on his face. Apparently he'd come home at lunchtime and been alerted by a noisy disturbance in my garage - deducing that I was at work because my car was absent and that it must therefore have been a burglar, he picked up the first heavy thing in his toolbox and went to confront the miscreant. However, all the menace left him when he saw who was there - my crazy Egyptian neighbour, painting fence panels, in his usual work clothes. I wish I'd been there to see the bright red streaks and spots of paint all over his white dress shirt and tie, but I had to make do with the colourful description my neighbour enthusiastically provided.

The next time he decided to "help" wasn't quite so funny. My (first) house is fairly compact, with the garage incorporated into the ground floor, underneath my bedroom. At 05:00 one morning I was woken up by the most annoying banging noise coming from the floor, which my sleepy brain finally realised was the impact of heavy wooden panels against the garage wall. I patiently explained to my neighbour after a repeat performance that "helping" before he went to work wasn't very sociable, so he curtailed the early morning activity.

Now, you would expect a surgeon to be dextrous, co-ordinated and, to be fair, clinical in what he does. This particular specimen, however, completely failed to step up to the mark when it came to staining a fence - eschewing the called-for method of brushing the preservative *into* the wood, simply dipping the brush in the liquid and painting a liberal stripe down each slat from top to bottom in one go, leaving visible gaps on the faces of the slats, let alone the edges. I then began an elaborate ballet of moving the fence panels around the garage so that (a) he could only ever get at the "flat" sides which were easier for me to rectify afterwards, and (b) towards the end he'd be painting the three panels I'd decided were destined for the end of his garden, and I had the rest covered.

Meanwhile, work started outside. When he was available to agree on the exact centreline on our pair of semi-detached houses, I dug the first hole, put in the end post, checked and double-checked that it was vertical, immobilised it with a couple of rocks, checked it again, and went to the garage for a bag of post mix. Returned to the garden to find him cheerfully filling the hole in around the post with the earth I'd excavated. Patiently explained that it needed to be fixed with concrete if it was going to stay where it was, dug out all the earth, and filled the hole with concrete instead.

The next step was to remove the bases of the old fence posts ( the fence itself had practically removed itself), which were embedded in the ground in long metal spikes. Realising that the new posts were likely to go in close to the old ones, I went to great lengths to surgically remove them without digging too much earth from around the metal spikes, which made for pretty slow progress, and I only removed two the first night, but with hardly a scar left in the ground. Luckily the furthest post from the house was still intact, so I left it in situ to give me a straight line marker.

I should have expected it really, but it was still utterly heartbreaking to come home from work the next day and see four or five absolutely massive craters in the ground where the other metal spikes - and, of course, the last fence post - had been.

After that, I put up the rest of the fence myself. It was just easier that way.
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 15:04, 1 reply)

My downstair's neighbour is ace.
In the few years he's been here he's managed so much.

Called the fire brigade out, cos someone had lit a joss stick in the corridor, in a holder. The same week that the guy drove a range Rover into Glasgow Airport, with gas bombs. As you can imagine, the emergency services were on pretty high alert that week. 2 wagons turned out, with the big ladder, (12 storey block.)
Called them out again, for my right hand neighbour, who was having a barbie on his balcony.
Called the police out to have same neighbour's gf arrested for assault. She'd slapped right hand neighbour's face in our car park, in the midst of one of their many rows. She spent the night in the nick. She's 18 ffs.
He constantly removes his door, and the Lease peeps just put him a new one on, no questions asked.
Caused 4 grands worth of damage to an exterior builder's lift,those cradle things. They'd knocked his Sky dish, so he tied the power cable to the ground, and at about 20 feet it snapped and they were stranded for a few hours. Nearly got fucking electrocuted.
Police and ambulance round on a regular basis, for his pretend suicide attempts.
Threatens to rape people if they make complaints.
His defence is "I'm a gay disabled man"; he's slightly epileptic. Mongs, don't you love them?
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Thu 1 Oct 2009, 14:55, 5 replies)

I hate my neighbours
My neighbours are extremely boring. They don't do anything apart from getting rode all day and night and letting out high pitched noises constantly

It's suprising I still live next to the stables i should move away from my Neigh bores
(NuffMuff fucks shrubbery, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 14:44, Reply)

Albert the Knob
My area's a bit of a croak estate, so it's full of oldies with nothing better to do than find things to complain about.

Unfortunately next door to me is an old Scottish twat and his wife.
He constantly complains about anything, even though my wife and I are out all day and give him no reason.

He complained once that some branches of my tree were overhanging his garden (by around 2 feet I think, about 25 feet up). He said he'd consulted the C.A.B. and was within his rights to cut them off. I would have done it for him, but after that I let the crippled 70-year-old do it himself.

Anyhow, I built a nice big 12'x12' brick shed at the end of my garden, and felt the rough, unpainted, offcut adored side facing him needed something to finish it off. So I put this on the apex;

4.bp.blogspot.com/_T27jvCPoJf4/SkN76kUgoTI/AAAAAAAAb1E/P8i7Gz0FHL0/s1600-h/SHED_P1010682_crop.JPG

It's been up for a while now. My wife suggested I pained it pink, but that wouldn't be subtle enough, would it. I want it to slowly dawn on him...
(Kliper Filllets Getting noticed by twats on the internet since, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 14:43, 21 replies)

Roger
One can never be certain but when one observes that a bit of a prick has married an Oriental lady with not very good English, the word "catalogue" does come to mind. Roger was one such person and he moved in next door to me.

He was often away, travelling salesman I presume and would phone his beloved of an evening. I once overheard her shouting the following:
"What? You are with another woman! Me no want you come home no more!".

He was back the next day. She made her bed or rather sold it, maybe.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 14:40, Reply)

My neighbours.
My neighbours – one side fuckwitted unfunny irritant. The other side – weekend wanking with a walking stick.

Introducing on my left with the red front door…. …. Malcolm. Malcolm who, whenever I’m outside and either mowing the small bit of lawn, washing my car, sweeping up some leaves, painting a window frame… absolutely anything. He’ll come up and say with a grin ‘ooh, you can do mine next’ – admittedly, we’ve probably all said something like that from time to time, but every time he see’s me he has to try and squeeze it in to the conversation. ‘Mr Mullered! What sends you out of the house at 11am on a Saturday morning?’ ..bites tongue and replies.. ‘I’m going the supermarket to do my weekly shop’ Malcolm – as quick as a flash with his shit eating grin ‘Oooh, you can do mine if you like when you are there!’

He irritates fuck out of me. It’s not like he is in the middle of doing something himself ‘outdoors’ no, he’ll haul himself off his sofa, put his shoes on – and his peter fucking storm ‘wind-cheeta’ and drag himself outside to be the unfunny cunt he is. Oh, yeah, whatever it is you are doing, he’ll stand there and watch you. He’s like a badly observed Harry Enfield character – he has one line of conversation, namely ‘you can do mine if you want’ and that’s it.

He is probably about 50 and married, so don’t give it the whole ‘he’s probably lonely’ thing. He’s just a cock. A big cock.

On the other side is an old-boy, probably early 80’s and quite frail. He’s one of the old-school who has clearly seen some action during his national service. He always wears a tie and a blazer. You know the sort – like being presentable. The problem is, Mr Lloyd is none too quick these days, and with me having a lot of time for the elderly, it made sense – when I saw him struggle – to go to the newsagents for him the other Sunday. I was on my way to get a copy of the times and some rizla and Mr Lloyd is struggling to get past his gate.

Naturally, I offer to get him his newspaper and any other sundry items he might require. He – to my amazement accepted – and so that’s how on a Sunday I now have to get up earlier than I’d like, to walk the five minutes to the newsagents to get myself a paper, some tabs and maybe a bit of milk for me, as well as buying Mr Lloyd a copy of the Sunday Sport.

I feel violated that I buy what your average OAP would consider an obscene publication, a spaff-mag for a pensioner. To think of Mr Lloyd there, deflated todger in hand desperately trying to get his vari-focals far enough down his bulbuls nose so he can get a proper view of some fat girls norks has absolutely ruined my weekend.

Thing is, my local paper shop (I’m sure of this) reckon that the ‘old man’ story was just that when I told them. So now it’s costing me a fortune to go out of my way to the newsagents every day for a copy of the Guardian, just to reaffirm my ‘I only read proper papers’ status.

No, I’ve got no idea as to Mr Lloyds length – and frankly, I don’t want to. What I do know is that I never fancy one off the wrist after I’ve been to the paper-shop.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 14:27, 4 replies)

How to confuse your neighbours
I live in an area where I am surrounded by Pakistani neighbours. On my stretch of the street there are just a few large extended families in a number of small terraced houses like mine.

My living arrangements have obviously been a source of puzzlement to them for some time now, and my next door neighbour came right out and asked me which of the two men in my house was my husband.

I explained that one is my lodger and the other is my boyfriend, but she still appeared to be very confused about the whole business.

She is very nice though - after my recent birthday bash which involved lots of people playing music live in the garden until silly o'clock I apologised for the noise. She just said she really enjoyed the music.
(misspiggy In danger of having to get a job, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 14:26, 6 replies)

I used to live on this street in Liverpool
I swear it was the craziest spot on the planet. For starters the house numbering system was non-sequencial which made the whole place a little disorientating. The house next to mine was occupied by the chaviest family you can imagine. As luck would have it however their presence was pretty sporadic as the adults where in and out of prison and the kids in and out of care.

Across the street was a sharp-suited businessman type who either liked lady's clothes out of hours or had very masculine twin sister. Always thought it'd be a laugh to set him up with the guy in number 18 who looked like he could've been in the village people if they all took steriods (he definitely had the roid-rage). Further up from him was the rev. Miller who's passion for gardening had him digging well into the night.

And don't get me started on the middle-aged, mustachioed arab guy who used to swan around in military uniform.

Sorry.
( Raindance Work is inversely proportional to post-count, Thu 1 Oct 2009, 14:26, 9 replies)

Spanky and Brian
Many years ago, I lived in a tenement flat on the top floor. On the floor below and on the otherside of the building lived a couple. Now, this wasn't one of your modern "fart on the top floor and they can here you on the ground floor" flat, it's proper thick stone all round.

One evening, whilst romantically engaged with the young lady who was to become my wife, we were slightly distracted by ecstatic screams of "Brian! Oh Brian!!!". Fair enough, I'm getting a few ecstatic moans myself. Then ... >SpankSpankSpankSpank< Briaaaannnn!".

Length? About three hours, or 2 and a half hours longer than us.
(Haviland drinking like they're going to ban beer., Thu 1 Oct 2009, 14:23, Reply)