He's a greasy lover.
The house we used to live in had some bizarre neighbours. We used to call them 'Greasy Lover' and 'Horrorwoman'. He had a quiff which was impossible as defined by the laws of physics, she was just simply an ugly fat beast-munter. And they were both nearly 50.

They used to hold parties every weekend. Nothing wrong with that, but these used to go on until 6 or 7am on a Monday morning. And the music? Country and Western. That's not all. These freaks had disco lights. This is in a two-up/two-down terrace. It was that bad that I was getting up for work and they'd still be going, singing karaoke to Elvis. My girlfriend (now wife) used to regularly get out of bed and sleepwalk, thinking they were in the house it was that loud.

Just before we moved out, Horrorwoman moved in her army of offspring. Cue three weeks of not just parties, but also a gaggle of spotty kids bouncing round the house.

Then one day, they disappeared. Never saw them again.

No apologies for length, because it was quite short. Much shorter than the cat turd the missus left smeared around the lid of their dustbin after being kept awake all night, though.
( Biscuitzs -.. . -- ----- ...- -.- --. -.-, Wed 31 Aug 2005, 11:57, Reply)