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This is a question Housemates

Catch21 says "I go out of my way to make life hell for my shitty middle-class housemates who go running to the landlord every time I break wind". Weird housemates are the gift that keep on giving - tell us about yours.

(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:28)
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This question is now closed.

I live alone.
It's fucking awesome.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 14:19, 14 replies)
Mad Welsh Woman
I lived with a psychotic lesbian Welshwoman for two years as a student.

During this time she:
* Was obsessed with Carter USM (a heinous crime)
* Would lock herself away in her room for days at a stretch.
* Would bring back a pride full of gays back to our place for a party then go to bed.
* Was of the opinon that as she liked The Fast Show first, no-one else ws allowed to like it.
* Started frenziedly kicking the kitchen wall when I asked her to take a rubbish bin she'd left outside the front door to the wheely bin.
* Decided to have a party, to which no-one (literally not one person) came.
* Would sit legs akimbo so you saw her pants (as she usually wore long skirts).

Yup, she was a bit gaga all right. I think she died of brain cancer a few years back. Shame really.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 14:19, 5 replies)
Hasn't this one...
...been done already?

www.b3ta.com/questions/housematesfromhell/ Ah, that'd be a "yes" then.

See you next week.

EDIT/AFTERTHOUGHT: One thing though, is the same thought that sprang to my mind as did the last time: What the fuck is wrong with (some of) you people? I've shared houses with folks here and there and never had problems like some of those described here, but if I had, the offender in question would have been dragged out of whatever pit they'd misguidedly made thier own and soundly beaten until they agreed to fuck the fuck off, with a promise that more beating would be thiers to not-enjoy if they decided to make something of it afterwards. Maybe there's a connection between this policy and the fact that I/we never had any problems - you decide.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 14:18, 9 replies)
My housemate at the moment is a complete mental....
Our housemate is a bit of an ego-freak, who needs the attention of others to validate her own existence, in addition to that though she's got one hell of a temper on her and frquently breaks down into screaming, crying hissy fits. I swear a couple of times she even stopped breathing she was so angry and for why? Well...

1. Whenever Lady Doom and I cook some food, housemate has to know what's going on and demands that we make her some food as well. We can't sit down and eat ours first though, that would be too easy - instead we've got to let our dinner go cold while we prepare something for her to keep the peace.

2. ALL telly watching is verboten. Seriously, ten minutes of Jeremy Kyle or Cash In The Attic would be televisual paradise in our house. We foolishly started trying to sneak in DVD episodes of The Wire when we thought the coast was clear, but somehow her sixth sense kicks in and there she is, kicking off again.

3. As she has no job, she finds it perfectly reasonable to sleep all day and stay awake all night, which would be fine if she was quiet about it and we could get forty winks... Needless to say her need for recognition and attention knows no boundaries and at the first sign of one or other of us droping she gets bored and we have to somehow find a way to occupy her time (despite the fact that our own interests are completely marginalised).

We're in this for the long term though, we can't get rid of her. She's only seven weeks old.

/length gag
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 14:09, 14 replies)
Peetoast - Victoria Bitchbury
I lived with a frog sluttin’ brat from Hades at university for three months that seemed to last for a glacial ice age period (at least as long as the current Holocene, glacier fans).

Her name was Vicky (I will post her surname as well when I remember it) and she was a posh talking mummy’s girl who had gone to Cheltenham Ladies College (and never let anyone forget it). Her harpy-like face was at odds with her admittedly hot body. She actually looked like one of those witches from the end of ‘Army of Darkness’ and was a living embodiment of a BOBFOC.

She used to regularly get mummy to come down (from Surrey) down to Exeter to go shopping. Mummy used to love it as well and bought her all sorts of treats and furniture for her room. One occasion she ordered mummy to bring a computer and a computer desk as she needed them. Mummy and a handyman arrived to put the desk together, and I was asked to ‘sort out the computer’. I told the smirking harridan that I was currently suffering from ‘statics’ and could literally blow the computer inside out if I touched it. Fearfully, they then called up for a ‘computer expert’ to help them.

She was studying classics but found studying at university to be ‘trying’. This was the reason she failed all three years and later I found out that she actually spent six years doing a three years course.

She carefully and studiously ignored all cleaning rotas and on one occasion when the rest of my housemates and I had totally deep cleaned the entire house including doing all her washing up (we had taken a stand and not done it but the smell got to be too much), she came down to the kitchen where I was drying some glasses, took a knife out the drawer and some cheese out of the fridge, cut a slice directly on the counter, ate it, and left the knife, cheese, and cheese crumbs where they were and wandered off. With my face aghast, I promptly put the remaining cheese carefully into the pocket of one of her pairs of jeans that was on top of her laundry.

Other highlights include:

- Asked for an extra pizza to be ordered when we were ordering and refused to pay for it because she ‘only had a little pizza and we could sort it out’. This led to a big argument and we ended up sending the little pizza back and got us blacklisted from perfect pizza.

- Initially refused to pay for fairly split gas and electricity bills as ‘she didn’t use any’. We switched off her radiator and disconnected her room from the electricity. She did end up paying.

- One of our housemates had a car and we all used to go shopping on a Sunday. We would then get a list from her of the stuff she wanted while she went a coffee shop with her horsy friends. No money was provided and it proved to be a nightmare to recover the money as apparently ‘we had deliberately chosen sub-standard vegetables and fruit’. Needless to say we never got her any food again.

- She used to be absolutely obsessed with calling up the mega premium numbers that come with those guaranteed win scratchcards that come in shitty magazines and would invariably win a holiday for one to Norfolk on the 29th February departing from the Isle of Skye. Of course when we got the phone bill she denied that she had called anybody anywhere until we managed to prove that only she was in the house when the calls got made.

- Got her dad to buy her a Mercedes EVEN THOUGH SHE COULDN’T DRIVE. It was for learning in apparently.

- Tried to get us to agree to have one of her horses in our back garden living out of a trailer. We said no but she had the horse brought down anyway. She soon had him taken back to her stables when we called the RSPCA to come and inspect our property and they threatened to prosecute her.

In the end we kicked her out.

Then we had a party.

Then we were sick

Then we went to McDonalds.

Then we were sick again.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 14:02, 8 replies)
The Mysterious World of Kit-Kat
Back when I was at Uni, a Chinese exchange student named Kit-Kat (seriously), moved into the house for the last semester.

We never saw him.


Strangest thing was, he didn't seem to use the bathroom. Ever. He'd come back from his lectures and shoot up to his room, firmly locking the door behind him.

Winter and spring rolls by and one day we wake up from a heavy session at the pub the night before to discover Kit-Kat has fucked off. He moved out without even letting us know. It was only because the door to his room was open that we knew he'd gone, we'd never seen the door open. Not in all the time he was living with us.

Being nosy bastards, my housemates and I ventured into the unknown world of Kit-Kat's room.

The first thing that hit you was the smell. It was like rancid, decaying flesh and shit. And the carpet crunched underfoot. How the fuck do you make a carpet crunchy, for fucks sake?

"This is fucked up," said my mate Blackpool Ben.

I opened the wardrobe. "Fuck ME!!!"

It was stacked floor to ceiling with two litre coke bottles.

Full of piss.

There must've been enough piss to fill a swimming pool in that wardrobe.

And there were flies, swarming over the bottles, desperate - so it seemed - to find a way inside.

At about the same time my other housemate Betty (a bloke, but we called him Betty for some unknown reason) said: "Spanky, you are not gonna fucking believe this..."

Betty was standing over the dresser, he'd opened the first drawer. More flies. Bigger, angrier, faster, buzzier...

I sort of knew what he'd found already, you could tell by the sudden even stronger stentch that assailed the room.

"Shit," said Betty. "Bags of shit."

He opened the next drawer down. More shit. There was a change in the bottom drawer though, this one only had used shit roll, compressed into a drawer-sized brick. Streaky and matted with hair. And more fucking flies. And tiny pure white maggots. Lots of um, weaving about and having a fucking rave.

Blackpool Ben opened the curtains. Light flooded in and we flipped. Now we could see why the carpet was crunchy. It was covered, and I mean COVERED, in a thin film of crusty snot and/or semen in huge fucking random patches. The green carpet resembled a field after the first fall of winter snow, only with snot and cum instead.

The three of us ran like fuck, slamming the door closed behind us.

"Bang goes his deposit," I said, and the others tended to agree.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:57, 26 replies)
Shameless re-post
Maybe we were asking for trouble.

A young couple in our first rented flat, as before, we could only afford rooms or bedsits. We'd been together for a couple of years and could have done with some help with the bills when we invited her to share with us but we weren't ready for the disruption this would cause. Here are some of her worst habits:

She was a grade-A attention seeker and would throw a fit if we ignored her or went off to our bedroom.
A few times she actually shat herself and just continued to sit in it until we passed comment.
She was the pickiest eater imaginable, in fact she usually opted for a liquid lunch.
She would NEVER help with the housework or shopping and was really messy.
She had trouble sleeping and made sure that we both suffered too.
As time went on she got ruder and ruder towards us, pickier and pickier and more and more untidy...

Towards the end of her 18 year tenancy during which time she paid NO rent, she started demanding money with menaces, insisted I give her lifts everywhere, ranted and raged at us for any little thing in her life which didn't appear perfect and managed to blame us for everything.

Strange how much we missed her when she finally went to uni...
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:53, 3 replies)
I had an awesome flat.
Fucking huge and only £37.50 each a week including bills. This was in 2001 as well.

Above a fish and chip shop.

My flatmate was Pete, not the peteloaf but another friend of us both.

He had the best computer of the time and a great net connection so he ran a game server out of his bedroom. He worked in a bacon packing factory and apart from going to work he never left his chair.

My room was a amazing, there was an old on suite shower cubicle that I painted with black gloss and turned in to a media area with an at the time huge TV computers consoles the lot. Everything about my room was awesome and we had many parties and many good girly related times.

Pete ate fish and chips for every meal. We were above the chippy so he just had to walk downstairs. He moved the fridge in to his room so he wouldn't have to get up and go to the kitchen. If in a game he would piss in a bottle rather than get up. He would throw all this in the a black bag until it was full tie it up and throw it against the wall in his room.

When I finally couldn't stand the smell and the possible rodents I moved out.

The bags were floor to cealing against the wall all along the wall and about 5 or 6 bags deep.

After I left the moved back in with his dad. I expect he would have died of some horrible disease if he hadn't
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:53, 1 reply)
my guilty pleasure is answering QOTW
51 weeks late...

too much?
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:52, 6 replies)
This is my housemate.
He's a Jewish rapper who loves pork. He gets consistent firsts on his philosophy degree. He is the easiest person in the world to live with and I've never seen him genuinely angry. He's the most supremely talented person I have ever met. I wish we were both gay so I could marry him.
Seriously. That poetry deserves clicks.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:51, 2 replies)
I'll get this one out of the way so no one else has to.
The guy in my flat is a right lazy cunt, never does any washing up, walks around naked, clothes all over the floor.

Once had a wank in the bathroom with the door open.

Comes home drunk all day or night, watches whatever he wants on TV without asking if it's OK.

Truly, I hate the fucker sometimes.

Mind you, I live on my own.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:51, Reply)
I love my housemates, we all get on like a house on fire.
There is no secret to this blissful living. Just get a maid,you will never argue again.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:51, 1 reply)
I had a housemate once...
Who was a real dirty bugger - he puked into a wicker bin in the middle of the night, left for work the next morning, then spent the next 2 days at his girlfriend's place. By which time the sick had well and truly dribbled all through the wicker and was set into the carpet. It was never the same again.

When he finally left, he didn't do a thing to clean up the room, and I was the only one left, so I did it. At one point I'm cleaning the wall when I notice a funny semi-translucent jelly-like substance clinging to the cloth. I take a step back, and crane my head such that the light reflects off the wall in a certain way, and discover to my horror that he's either been on his hands and knees under his computer desk and hawking back great gobbets of phlegm and flobbing at the wall, or he's spent many an evening just SPUNKING AGAINST THE WALL WHILST WANKING AT HIS PC.

Fucking dirty cunt.

And I knew no-one would believe me when I told them, so I took a picture so they could judge the evidence for themselves.

Dirty dirty cunt.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:49, 6 replies)
Doggy peanut butter
Soooo I live with my boss's son (free rent - with the job), who just about has the sanitary know how of a blob of e-coli.

After moving in the housekeeper and I decided to tackle his room. This man is in his mid-twenties.

His father had just paid for a brand new suite to be put into his bedroom, new bed, mattress, wardrobe... all top of the range lovely stuff.

We attacked his room because I had discovered, upon shoving his shit back in there from ALL OVER THE REST OF THE HOUSE that, after getting the housekeeper to wash his stinking sheets (and iron them) he hadn't bothered to put them back on the new mattress or duvet, and had managed to dye a patch of the new mattress pink.

We got our marigolds on and set to. He'd used the floor as a bin (there was a bin - empty), under his bed as some sort of ecological warzone, and had weird shit marks up the wall, on tissues, on boxers - I can only assume he'd been giving himself a pokeybumwank and not wanted to get his fingers dirty so wrapped them in whatever was closest to hand.

But I digress. That is all background information so that what follows won't sound too naughty.

Roll on a few months. The shithole is back to being a shithole and I've given up. But coming home from a weekend away, after leaving the place spotless to find it utterly trashed I'm not in the best of tempers. My dog is pestering me, so I go to give him a toy that I fill with dog biscuits and peanut butter (to make them stick). Now I KNOW that there was lots of peanut butter left on Friday, but there is none there now.

This mysterious peanut butter vanishing continues for a couple of weeks. I don't mind GIVING people stuff, but if they don't ask first it's stealing.

So when I buy the next pot of peanut butter, I fill the dog's toy, then give the dog the pot, to lick. And leave a good layer of doggy slime on top of what's left.

I've been doing this for 3 weeks now. The pot keeps going down in between doggy licks, and it's about the only thing that has prevented me from murdering the bastard.

I'm planning on ltting him "catch" me giving the dog the pot of peanut butter in a few weeks. Just so he knows.

Ahh, that little rant was cathartic!
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:47, 3 replies)
I hate it when people answer the previous week's question.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:46, 2 replies)
Living in Derby
Sandwiched between two CUNTS called Dave. I couldn't fart without one of them beating on their ceiling or floor.

I ended up a nervous wreck.

One was a long haired krautrock look-a-like, but unfortunately had a dire taste in music, he lived above. And was in fact the most intolerant lump of fuck i ever had the misfortunate to be anywhere near.

The other was an alcoholic, prostitute user.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:46, 2 replies)
I had a really sweet deal going on with my first flat. 3 bedrooms. 2 living rooms. Kitchen. Bathroom with BRILLIANT shower. etc. 50 a week plus gas/electric. No council tax.

Joe (a guy I had worked with before) came and asked if he could possibly move in with me as his flat was in the middle of being sold and he had to find somewhere new to live etc (this turned out to be grade A bullshit). I said yes even though it meant my rent went up but as it would be split by 2 it didn't matter.

He used to complain about coming home from work and my girlfriend being in the house (with me I might add. In my room) but didn't see anything wrong with having his mates round 3 times a week. 3 of them sitting in the living room smoking dope the whole night.

Used to go out to play with his band on a Saturday night. Come home Sunday after a night of Speed and dope and crash out on the sofa. Then whenever you went into the kitchen...
"oh.. shh man. I'm trying to sleep."
"Well Joe. Go to your bed. Not the sofa"
"Nah. I'm fine here."
Maybe you are but it means I have to stay out of the living room/kitchen for the next 6 hours you cunt.

He started dealing speed out of the flat and leaving his dope out when he knew fine my g/f babysat my little bro and my mum would come round to pick him up.

He was frequently late paying his rent (as he grudged the fact that he sub letted from me and had to pay me.) And when the time came for us to look for somewhere new he went a bit bunny boiler and took control. Choosing a place. Negotiating rent. Picking his room. etc before I had even seen the place.

I moved in with my Dad for a few months and left him to it. He wasn't pleased but I'll be fucked if I was paying his bills for him as he was vaguely odd about exact amounts for each thing. Only telling me that I would be due him £££'s every week. I knew he would try to stop my g/f coming round too.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:45, Reply)
I've talked about him before
but nothing I've ever encountered in my life will ever surprise me again after living with Keith (name changed to protect the guilty). We shared a flat in Leicester. It was only two bedrooms, so part of my room was the living room. As such, I acquired two enormous plastic bins and made sure the place was well-furnished with ashtrays. Keith, however, preferred to use his own ashtray - the candlestick, so I'd come home to find every candle-holder jammed full of cig butts, and an empty space amongst the rubbish on the sofa where his arse had been. At a friend's house once, he wanted a cigarette, so he filled his pyrofoam kebab container with orangeade (to the brim!), used that as an ashtray, and then left them to clear away the mess.

He borrowed my favourite pint glass and left it on top of his television set. Every morning when he got up, he would cough his phelgm into it. He referred to it as his own personal lava lamp. He would regularly piss into bottles and leave them in the hallway for me to move. Not plastic bottles, no, glass beer bottles. Without lids.

But the part that took the biscuit, the bit that meant that I would never live with Keith again was that I would often go into the bathroom to find a little pile of poo on the back of the seat. Keith apparently couldn't use a toilet properly (his excuse was that he liked to "sit back" on the seat and lean forward) and so as the shit squirted out of his arsehole, some would collect on the back of the seat. Which he would leave, without fail, for me to clean up.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:43, 6 replies)
A bad 2 months
I had the misfortune to share a house in varsity with 7 people, 4 females and 3 males (one an ex girlfriend). In the few months I was there:
I had one of the girls try and commit suicide because her boyfriend slept with the other housemate (my ex) and half the house spent the night in the hospital byb her side.
A few weeks later this boyfriend appeared and trashed the place.
At a party the pool table ended up in the green swimming pool, we could not even see it at the bottom with all the slime.
We were robbed 5 times in the 2 months I was there because some one did not lock up etc.
When my parents came to visit me at the house for the first time, I got lectured about the people I hang out with and told to move out asap.
And then when I left I had to continue to pay rent for the rest of the lease (10 months)because no one wanted to take my place in the house, which ofcourse I could actually understand.

This all happened at a 1st class university in a relatively posh neighbourhood.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:42, Reply)
On second thoughts, I won't be back.
This question has come at a bad time, as I have a raft of stories I could tell about one particular flatmate.

Unfortunately, because of what he does for a living, I think there's a high chance he at least reads B3ta.

Now, I'm not worried that he would recognise himself and get upset. He's a twat. I don't care.

But a mutual friend is getting married in a few weeks time and I need to keep the peace until after the wedding.

Then I never need see the fucktard again and would be able to tell stories with impunity.

So, I think, unless I drag something about someone else from my dim and distant memory, this is all you will see of me this week.

Have fun.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:39, 1 reply)
WE just evicted a guy
who annoyed us so much, we would spend most of the week back with our parents.

One of the gems he came up with: "Hair is made of fungus. Fungus that your body feeds".

It's not like living with a Karl Pilkington type, because this guy is so arrogant and self-assured that any attempt to disagree with him results in a childish tantrum.

When i disagreed with the hair/fungus bullshittery, i was told to mind my own business and fuck right off.

Despite at the time giving him a lift home on a busy motorway.

Despite 2 years of university-level biology.

And despite my mother owning a hair salon in which i worked for a year.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:36, 2 replies)
Top 20!

I lived in a house once.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:35, Reply)
I came in from work and was startled by high pitched shrieking “Oh lovely” I thought, “M must be back from her weekend away”. I wandered into the dining room to find M holding a pair of her underpants aloft and D swaying back and forth after having obviously been smoking many biffs in the shed all afternoon.

I sat down for five minutes watching M get redder and more high pitched and watching D do…..Well, very little apart from blink in a confused manner. Anyhoo, while I observed this delightful exchange, I gleaned from it that D had dared to hang M’s smalls on the line with his dirty man hands. She was enraged about this for some reason. I went over to crack open a bottle of wine, poured a glass and decided it was time to interject “Did he have them on his head or something M?” I ventured “Don’t be so bloody RIDICULOUS!” She replied.

I took my mirth to the front room and gigglingly sipped my wine. About half way down the glass I heard stomping and a door slamming – M off to boil wash her undercrackers. Then another unindentified thud. I went out to investigate and found D on his back with a beatific smile on his face, when he finally roused himself some 3 hours later he could remember neither hanging M’s pants on the line, nor the resulting spitting, screeching, hellcat fury that ensued.

I love them dearly, I do.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:34, 1 reply)
I don't have any housemates
I decided I could avoid an inevitable murder conviction by buying my own place.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:33, Reply)
fucking fat katy
poisonous bitch - refused to wash up for a week then got chucked out for trying to poision us all with half cooked pork casserole.

Mad she was...fucking mental

(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:31, 3 replies)
Oh dear
I will be back in a minute...
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:31, 1 reply)
My first ever housemate
His breath was so bad in the mornings that if he told me he necked turds all night I would have believed him without question.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:31, Reply)
I shared a flat in Ipswich with 3 others.

Runs away in shame!
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:30, Reply)
My housemates keep telling me what to do, go about like they own the bloody place and frowning at many of my activities.

Still I live with my parents so I can't fault them.
(, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 13:29, 6 replies)

This question is now closed.

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