The People's Republic of Shithole
When we were students, my brother and I lived in a house owned by our mother (who lived far away) and rented out a room to my best friends from high school. He was, sadly, not the best of tenants. He was an avid socialist and put his ideology into practice by helping himself to any food in the kitchen, regardless of whose it was. He rarely contributed to grocery shopping but would eat the lion's share of whatever we bought. He lived off of his student loans, so he only had money at the beginning of the semester (when we'd eat like kings, admittedly), but rarely had a job, instead spending his spare time protesting and putting up posters.

His personal habits were also suspect. He would often hang out in the living room in his underwear watching TV with his black lab licking his belly button (which it did with disturbing frequency and vigor). He picked a corner of the dining room in which to throw his used beer bottles, breaking them against the radiator there. Truth be told, though, none of us was living a healthy existence and the place was a shit hole as none of us was motivated to keep it clean. It was a low point of all of our lives and depression didn't help. I recall spending a couple days sleeping on the couch. Our roommate mournfully lamented, "Eric didn't get up today." Of course, I have never had more fun than I did during this period of my life. We had a language made of references to our favorite movies, songs, and books and our perfectly synced senses of humor made our lives like some sort of dark comedy. We daydreamed about starting a band and calling it "Karl Marx and the Instruments of Labor" and would scavenge for dimes for ten cent chicken wing night at the local bar (which eventually threw us out).

One interesting bit was when a friend of his from NYC moved in when he started to attend the local university. He was a neat, spiritual guy who quickly learned to never leave his room, where he would often chant and meditate (which was oddly soothing when you'd take a bath, as the bathroom shared a wall with his room). After living there only a few months, he returned home to find us slobbing about around the TV and yelled "What's wrong with you people?" and went to his room. He didn't return after Christmas break, just sent for his stuff. We were such sad, pathetic creatures that we broke the Buddhist.
(bergec is filled with inertia, Tue 11 Jan 2011, 17:54, Reply)