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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)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 1

This question is now closed.

My friends, when they were at Uni
were living with a stunning girl called Claire. Words cannot express how gorgeous she was.

*misty eyes*

Anyway, one day one of her house mates was perusing a "gentleman's" publication and found a picture of a girl who looked uncannily like Claire. Sensing an opportunity for merriment he cut it out and presented it to her, pretending to be outraged.

We expected a response along the lines of "Ha, ha, very funny. Wow, she does look a bit like me, doesn't she?" Instead Claire spent a long minute staring at the picture. She took it from him and examined it in minute detail, a frown creasing her brow.

Eventually she handed it back to him, saying "Nah, that's not me."

Her response gave us all a clue about what she might be doing to support herself at University.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 14:15, 3 replies)
I have 2 flat mates who are real spongers. They never pay any rent and eat all of my food.

They both have appaling habits, making such a mess when they eat (and never cleaning up after themselves) and worst of all, one of them regularly wets herself when she has had too much to drink.

I like my sleep but both of them are often awake at all times of the night, making a real racket, having little consideration for those of us that have to go to work in the morning.

As I'm the only one with a car, I seem to be the one that ferries them around all over the place. They never give me a penny for that either.

Sometimes I wonder why I had kids.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 13:50, 6 replies)
Not me, but a friend...
First year of uni. She'd moved out of her first flat to escape the drunken, drugged revelry and hopefully move into a calmer place to live. That was the idea. What she got was a boy I shall call Brian.

Brian was an interesting person and, considering the last report I've heard about him claims he's been hobbling around campus on crutches with his shirt undone, he's probably still an interesting person. Brian loved drink. He loved drugs. He loved to mix the two all night long, every night - when he wasn't getting laid, anyway. Or maybe he didn't even stop for that. Brian would sit, naked, in the kitchen, with only an acoustic guitar to cover his shame. Brian would get high on ecstacy and headbutt doors. I refuse to discuss what he did to the unfortunate gerbil he bought. The other flatmates were similarly exciting, but not quite at his level.

But the incident that really takes the biscuit happened, unsurprisingly, after another night of excess. My friend, who was trying to sleep at the unreasonable hour of four AM, was slightly startled to hear an incredibly convincing impression of a cockrel. Even though it had disturbed her sleep, she was pretty impressed, and made a note to ask who'd done it in the morning.

A few hours later, there was banging on her door.
"We've got something to show youuuu," Brian crooned. She threw the bedcovers back, then stopped. No. It couldn't be. She shook her head and opened the door. She was greeted by a flailing pair of claws. Claws that were, indeed, attached to a cockrel.

One of her other flatmates had lived on a farm and had learned the slightly unusual skill of catching birds. There are birds near a lake on campus. Last night, he and Brian had thought that it would be a good idea to bring these facts together into one happy marriage, and the offspring was the squawking mess in front of her.

What really confuses me is why a student, of all people, would ever think it is a good idea to bring home what is basically nature's alarm clock.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 13:43, 1 reply)
Not technically MY housemate but...
my girlfriend is in her final year at uni and lives in the standard "student" house in Surrey (ill-fitting appliacnces, threadbare carpet that sort of thing). Me being 4 years older, and a full-time wage earner since the age of 18, has never had to put up with this type of accommodation. 2 out of the 3 other housemates are nice - girls who are clean, tidy and will usually wash up the next morning, or after cooking/eating.

Then there's the boy housemate, H. H is a pig! And yes, an actual pig would probably be a better housemate than H. H only lives about 20 minutes away from the uni, but am guessing he was sent to live away to "experience life"

Even though this life experience involves him going home EVERY weekend, the simple chores he was assigned from the cleaning rota (vacuum the hall, stairs and landing) and basic keeping his room clean are done by HIS MOTHER every week! So Monday his room will be tidy. Each day after eating, plates & glasses etc will stay in his room, ready for mummy to come and clean up.

He once left a buttery knife on his shelf in the fridge for over a week.

The GF and I had ordered takeaway and not being able to finish it put the rest in the fridge for following days lunch, leaving the naan bread on the side ready to put away later on. GF returns to discover naan missing, then spots it down the side of the dryer. H the pig had knocked it down there and not even bothered to come and apologise! He also has a habit of watching TV in the sitting room, eating popcorn and leaving a general scummy mess in his wake!

I'm so glad she's in her last year... we're moving out together... alone!!
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 13:42, 2 replies)
Am I the only one....
Who is scouring these stories, trying to work out if anyone is talking about me?

So far, so good!

*prays housemate doesn't come on here*
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 13:41, 11 replies)
The shiniest trike in the South East.
So, as I said earlier, I used to live in a biker's chapter house. One of the guys was a fanatical biker but couldn't ride safely as he'd taken a bullet to the thigh in Goose Green.
Being a lully bunch of chappies we decided to make him a trike from scratch from beetle parts and whatever we could get out hands on.

About this time there was a huge marijuana shortage and some of the guys thought it'd be a good idea to travel to a 'contact' in Reading and pick up five ounces and make a tidy profit.

Obviously I had nothing to do with thing as this would have been highly illegal. They, not me, get back and the guy they, not me, bought it off was so wasted they, not me, got about eight ounces not five.

Now this being obviously a master plan every other bugger had the same idea. They, not me, now had eight ounces of mind bending hashish and no one wants to buy it.

Anyway back to the trike. We start sorting through all the parts of greasy, rusty parts and start cleaning them up with T-cut.

Back to the eight six ounces of hash. We've only cleaned up some of the parts but boy, are they shiny!

Obviously as we weren't going to shift any of the gear we're smoking the evidence and the cyclic, repetitive motions of cleaning up the parts are just what you want when stoned. They go from rusty to blackish, from blackish to clean, from clean to shiny, from shiny to super shiny, from super shiny to dazzling and from dazzling to divine, godly brilliance.

There were only four currently in residence at the time and within a month we get through all eight ounces and make a trike so shiny it probably blinded the oncoming traffic.

Still to this day hearing any songs from Jagged Little Pill reminds me of these times and the beautifully hot, sunny Summer we had that year.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 13:23, 2 replies)
That's all I have to say!
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 13:22, 9 replies)
Office hours
I spent a long hot summer living above a doctors surgery in Bolton.

I shared the flat with a mate and the doctor who ran the surgery downstairs.

One time my girlfriend came up to visit and we spent the day between the sheets, catching up.

In the early evening I finally left the love shack to stock up on some supplies from the kitchen. The doctor was sat at the table, he looks up at me above his horn rimmed glasses and asks how my afternoon went with a quirky smile.

"Oh, you know. Nice," I said as I rummaged round, attempting to cobble together a meal.

"The reason I ask is your room's directly above my office. And the floorboards are rather creaky, to say the least..."

I stopped making the sandwiches I was so lovingly preparing for my girlfriend - seems I'd spent the whole day stuffing something or other inside her various orifaces.

"Oh?" I replied.

The doctor places his glasses on the table and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"I had to keep a patient in with me for half an hour longer than I would've liked. She was deaf, you see... At round three-thirty? Just until the noise died down a bit."

I nodded, thinking back to what my girlfriend and I were doing leading up to three-thirty. "Sorry, Doc - Won't happen again."

"I don't mind what you do in the evening, but during surgery hours I'd appreciate it if you, well, didn't," he looks me straight in the eye. "This old lady only came in for a repeat prescription, and I ended up giving her a full physical."

I went to open my mouth, thought better of it, and scuttled back to my room.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 12:53, 4 replies)
The Doorbell
This realy isn't about a housemate but sort of related. I've not long moved into a new flat. I'm always waiting for parcels or packets to be delivered. I vaguely remember one of those remote carry around doorbell things lurking in a kitchen cupboard. I check it out and its the same as the one on the front door. Good I don't have to buy one.
Now I wont miss my parcel.
But it keeps going off at odd times of the day or night. and there's never anybody there. Rushing down the stairs thinking it's my parcel turn up. or rushing to the window at 3am to catch them running away, I'm always too slow to catch them.
I live on a main road so put it down to kids. This morning I go over the road to the shop and take it with me, and it goes off, I look back and there's nobody there.

I've now worked it out.

Next door is the local office for the Samaritans. That would account for the bell going off in the night.

On looking closer they have the same doorbell.

So to sumarise.

Inadverdantly I'm being harrased by the Samaritans!
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 12:53, 5 replies)
As previously mentioned, I had a housemate who went by the name of Cocky, a big, scary looking Goth with a heart that was really as soft as shite. He was known as Cocky, due to his original surname being Cochrane. Obvious, really.

I say original surname; his mum had remarried and he adopted his step father's surname, which was Thomas. But the nickname of Cocky stuck.

One evening, and having just dropped a tab of acid, he began ruminating about this nickname, and came to the following conclusion.

"DG", he said, "you know how my nickname is Cocky"?


"And that it's because of my birth surname".


"But my surname is now Thomas".


"Well, I just realised something. My first name is the Irish version of 'John', so now I'm technically called John Thomas. So there's really no escaping the fact - all my life I'll never be anything other than a big cock".

Looking back on this, I can't really argue, as the increased acid usage (first half a tab, then one, then one and a half, then two a night) conspired to fry his brain and turn him into a paranoid hulk prone to extreme temper loss. We lost contact pretty quickly after I moved out.

I did hear, however, that he went into psychiatric nursing, and there's a possibility he'll be at my wedding celebrations as I've recently got to know his brother and got back in contact again. Could be interesting...
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 12:25, Reply)
well, i'm still at home...
so it's probably me who's the obnoxious housemate who can't afford to leave, but my neighbours have just started their daily fight and make-up sex session, in front of their open window, right next to my bedroom. he doesn't show his love for her anymore, apparently. every fucking day!
last week they were drunk, and the girl had to break off their make-up sex to throw up. she then passed out in the bathroom, whilst he yelled at her through the door.
i wish they'd move.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 12:22, Reply)
Who the feck are Stryper?
In my 3rd year at college I shared a 4 bedroom house with 2 guys and 1 girl. The girl was Jan who was from a very christian family in Somerset. She'd been raised in some kind of parallel world that differed only in one respect - that almost everything was prefixed with the word "christian".

She didn't listen to Rock, she listened to Christian Rock. She was immersed to the point of disbelief when no-one had a clue what she was talking about.

"What shite music is this Jan?"
"It's Stryper! The christian rock band? I can't believe you haven't heard of Stryper! Everyone's heard of them. They're just as good as normal bands."

This on it's own was amusing. What made her memorable was that she was also trying to rebel. In 1st year her parents had arranged christian contacts in her new town and she'd dutifully attended various meetings. Now however she wanted to break away and this coincided with her becoming dimly aware of feminism.

Not being the most, um, shapely woman she found it easy to adopt the stereotypical dungaree and combat boot image. She then added to this by rejecting the shallow limitations imposed on women by an uncaring patriarchal society.

She wouldn't be dainty, she stomped everywhere, especially up and down the stairs to her tiny box room. She wouldn't wear deodorant. She'd burp and fart, just like men. She wouldn't wash up. She'd slam doors, wear terrible second hand clothes and play loud music. Although that would still be loud christian music.

In short she did everything she could to turn herself into a walking caricature of unreconstructed masculinity. This, as it happened, also resembled our landlord, a giant barrel of a man whose day job was to deliver fish in an old post office van. He told jokes along the lines of "A man's alone in a room. What does he do?" "Um, dunno" "He has a wank. Hur hur. D'you get it?"

Jan's worst habit was wearing a giant woolly jumper that looked very much like a dead sheep dipped in pink dye. A bad jumper on it's own but much worse when it was the only thing she had on. We would try to eat breakfast as she belched, farted and sat on a broken old sofa with her muff on display. She'd tug the jumper down a bit if asked. It would quickly ride back up. And, in case you're in any doubt, this was the very opposite of sexy.

Did we walk around with our cocks out? No. We didn't even hang around in boxer shorts. She had to go.

Did the landlord rejoice when he heard she was turning into a cartoon man? Was he pleased? Did he appreciate the effort? Did he fuck. He was a fat old sexist, but he was our fat old sexist.

At the end of the month he kicked her out and left the room empty because "box rooms are for weirdos" and he didn't want the rest of us to leave and deprive him of income.

To rub it in the other two guys went to a party the following week dressed as her, wearing charity shop dresses she'd left in the wardrobe. I don't think she forgave them.

The lessons?
1: Don't join Christian Union, the other kids will laugh at you.
2: Read more than one book on feminism, especially if that book is written by Andrea Dworkin.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 11:45, 6 replies)
God, I've shared houses with some nutters.
Although they may well refer to me as one.
Nige, he decided to move into our old flat. Trouble was, there were no spare rooms, so he moved into my walk in wardrobe, for a year or so. He got it quite homely, pillow duvet. Although it was a bit awkward stepping over him every morning, to get my clothes.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 11:39, Reply)
"I'm the Hulk BITCH!"
...is what my dipshit house mate who goes the gym far too often to be considered human kept saying whilst at a superhero theme club night.

He was annoying the crap out of me and all I wanted to do was punch his stupid linconshire imbred face in. Problem is, he's big, I'm small...imagine my happiness when, 5 minutes later, some complete random decked him.

I bought him a pint.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 11:33, Reply)
I used to share a house with a few others.
Among them a girl.
She had this annoying habit of leaving notes everywhere. Usually on my door. She'd complain about noisy all night sessions, usually coming from my room.
One day I came in, shed written in LIPSTICK on the bath, reserving said bath when she got in, as she was planning a night out.
Annoying cow. I wiped my arse on her towel though. Ha, that showed her.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 11:20, Reply)
Not the housemate, but her dog
This particular housemate had a spaniel - originally intended to be trained as hearing dog for the deaf (as she was deaf) but only partially trained so pretty useless in that role. The main 'issue' with it was that it had some kind of gential lice problem that she seemed unaware of or reluctant to get sorted. It made the dog very angry and the only way he could vent his frustration was to bark at his own testicals. A lot.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 11:18, 2 replies)
Cracked Cribb
So about 11.15 and I’m stuck at the girlfriend, Loopy (for that was how she acted) mum’s house for a sleep over. Bored shitless as I was and thinking it’s time to say good night, when the phone rings. World’s best flat mate is on the phone; he has forgotten his keys and is locked out. Our mate Stewy has climbed up on to the balcony but, that door is locked and none of the boys can get in. Right mate I say, I am on my way. So I hurried explain to Loopy the situation (perhaps a little too gleefully) to which she replies, “well that’s fucking convenient, you been acting like you didn’t want to be here all night” and then demanded once I had opened the door I return to sleep on the floor of the spare room. Obviously I refused, and suggested she was inebriated and should think about going to bed. I thanked her rather pissed mum for having me to which she replied, “garncarmndgissyarmartherinlawacardoor” (sound it out) and hit the road, silently thanking the gods that her old man the beer nazi (tight fucker wouldn’t share more than 2 cans per visit) had been so vigilant and I was right to drive (although if I had been seeing double with half a can in my hand and there was a cop car parked out side the house, I would still have run the gauntlet).

So off I dash, Princes Highway, President Avenue, Kiora Road, and who should I spy standing on the corner of Kiora Road and the Kingsway but, and ol flame from the office Tiona, with a couple of the other girls from the office, Classy Marcy and Kim the receptionist. I pulled over and had a chat. It seems that they had taken Tiona out for the night as she had been too homely since her wedding and they wanted to see if she still had it in her. Apparently the night was not going so well and they where thinking of call it in, so, I suggested they come back to my place for a couple of drinks and a couple of joints. Marcy thought it was a good idea, Kim was going with the flow and Tiona looked a trifle concerned. They piled into the Corolla and we drove the 150 meters to the flat.

On arrival, I found world’s best flat mate sitting on the front steps, Stewy on my veranda unable to stand up and being noisily sick

Marcy got all maternal and felt it her duty to take care of Stewy, apparently her husband had known Stewy many years before so she felt a connection. Although I think she just wanted to check out his wang when she got him off the balcony and put him in the shower.

So WBFM, Tiona, Kim and I settled into the lounge room. I poured a few what ever it was we where drinking back then, probably Bacardi and Coke and rather than messing about with papers and rolling joints pulled out the bong. We all had a bit of a smoke, Tiona went silly and started playing video games, Kim went all chatty and I just listened (well pretended to listen while having evil thoughts). WBFM didn’t smoke very often so he just had a drink and sat shyly on the couch, occasionally talking to Tiona.

As a background piece of information, WBFM was the very shy type and had not had the delight of knowing a woman carnally. I decided then and there that something needed to be done about WBFM’s virginity. So I started trying to convince Kim she had a duty to help him out. I had always thought Kim was alright, country girl, with big boobs and a bit of a bum on her but, friendly in a no bullshit country girl kind of way. She of course thought this was a terrible suggestion but, I persisted as I felt it was the least I could do for a mate after what he had got me out of on that night. Marcy put Stewy to bed (in my bed mind you) and came out to the lounge room. She thought it was a wonderful idea I had and started to assist with the persuasion. Barney (WBFM) was now the colour of puce, but, he didn’t try to stop us!!

After a while Kim cracked and agreed with the plans. I think Marcy telling her she wouldn’t get another chance to bag a virgin was the clincher. SO WBFM and Kim head off to his room. A few minutes later there is a big crash from the bedroom and Kim’s voice yelling, get it off me. I shot up the hallway into Barneys room to see what was going on. Not through any duty of care I just wanted to see what all the commotion was about. I find Barney in his undies pulling his clock radio and lamp off of kim who is sprawled about legs akimbo in her bra and undies on the mattress of a collapsed single bed. (Did I mention WBFM only had a single bed? I am sure you can see the tragedy of the situation he was in). Of course the mood was lost and Barney’s cherry stayed in tact for another night. It seems in his excitement, WBFM had ripped off his gear and physically jumped from the floor onto the bed causing the collapse and pulling the side table over with it. The girls left by Taxi about 3.30 in the morning and Barney and I where left in the flat. Stewy was passed out in my bed, so I was looking at a night on the couch.

WBFM gets up to rebuild he bed and go to sleep, he turns around to me and says “you know hook” (for that was my nick name) “this really has been a shit night”.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 11:11, 2 replies)
Early one morning, doing my rounds...
...I took a shot of cocaine and I shot my woman down...

Wait...I fucked that up...let me start again.

In the wee small hours of one student morning, doing a couple of lines of something I shouldn't have been with a friend and playing on the NES (God, I am SO old).

We hear the front door open, We hear footsteps on the stairs.

We hear giggling, We hear moaning, We hear the unmistakable sounds of my Irish Cassanova flatmate getting down to the physical act of love.

I look at my co-conspirator, we shrug, and go back to our slightly aggressive game of Sensible Soccer, turning the volume up slightly, waiting for the inevitable signal that he had 'completed the task'

Why 'inevitable?' Well, we had a game, it was a very childish game admittedly, but it was our game nevertheless. If any of us pulled (and when I say any of us, I wasn't the most successful sexual adventurer as a student, so it was mainly the other guys), at the moment of climax, we'd have to shout an advertising slogan as loud as we could. You'd get a point for each housemate that heard it...

What would it be this time? we'd already recently had what I considered the unbeatable 'The Lion Goes From Strength To Strength!' yelled at about 9am on a Sunday morning.

We played another game of Sensible

And then we heard it, in a loud Irish Accent...

...'Don't Forget The Honey, Mummy!'

And we cracked. Cracked in the way that only two immature Charlie'd up wanker students could.

We were in hysterics, tears, crying, wheezing, giggling like buffoons.

We couldn't stop. I swear, it must have been 15 minutes later when, us still laughing, the door opened and in walked this girl we had never seen before.

She just said, 'I was just on my way home, but I had to come and see what was so funny'

So we explained, she didn't seem too put out, and, in fact, possibly even relieved that she had an explanation for the odd orgasm exclamation.

She was really sweet actually, and she stayed, talking to us, in a lovely, lilting Irish brogue for a good half hour.

I was beginning to think we could actually be friends.

Until the door burst open.

Irish Cassanova walked boldy in, wrapped in just a towel and proudly stated

'Oi, lads, oi've just fucked Terry Wogan's daughter...oh...I thought you'd left...'

She did.


For good.

Shame. It could have been my turn next.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 10:57, 9 replies)
Loosely on topic as we did share the same building…
This tale starts back in ‘73 when I was leaving the pit town I live in to study further at University in Manchester.

I was lucky enough to move into a single room apartment thanks to my dad pulling a few strings with his mates so I didn’t have the horror of sharing a space with some drop out nutter who could easily distract me from my education (His words exactly).

The place itself was a dive and I did my best to make it habitable. I was also amused that thanks to my dads attempt to keep me away from nutters he had moved me into a place that housed the biggest nutcase I have ever met, S a bloke who lived upstairs.

I heard that he had something to do with the police but my guess is that was just made up by the other people that lived in the same block as me. I will admit that I did see the same policewoman pass me on to go to see him on several occasions but S seemed too strange to work at a police station.

My guess is that he was a recovering drug addict as if you passed him on the stairway he was a sound bloke, when he was in his apartment however I would constantly hear him having arguments with noone in particular.

Almost every night I can remember getting home to hear S yelling at the TV even though there was nothing on (As I mentioned earlier this was in the 70’s and the test card came on most of the night).

Anywhoo this went on for quite a while and he would usually go out with his mates (A local hard man and a couple of lackeys) and return at night to shout at nothing. I realised that as time wore on I began to turn a bit strange myself as I started to look forward to listening to these nightly rants.

Then it stopped.

I finally plucked up the courage to speak to S a few weeks later and asked him about the nighttime arguments etc.

Turns out that he had a chance to return to 2006 and didn’t really like it anymore. I may have only shared a wall with him but the strangest bloke I have ever shared a place with will always be Sam Tyler.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 10:42, 4 replies)
.. was a copper-haired Mancunian our landlord moved in with us to fill a spare room in our student digs. He was a complete twat.

He looked like a normal person but just a lot bigger.. Like someone had inflated him. A bit like in Total Recall before they pop. His head was vast and he had big fat sausage fingers. He used to eat three dinners.

He had a guitar which he could just about muster a melody on and would perform in promptu concerts in the living room while Match of the Day was on. His voice sounded like the tape recording of a torture chamber mixed with the tape recording of a slaughterhouse. He entered X Factor.

He smelt of urine. It got so bad the smell of his room started to invade the whole house. He was obsessed with Manchester City FC and would snort lines of Maxwell House to "get up for going out".

One night after some drinking my friend Ash invented an extreme sport called The Gag. Essentially you had to thrust your face into his rancid bedsheets for as long as you could possibly bare it while others timed your effort. Ash also used his Man City shirt to wipe his bum. Phil thought it was a mud stain from playing in the park.

Everyday he would go on HotorNot and give himself a 10 rating.

I often wonder what became of Big Phil.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 10:39, Reply)
A packet a day keeps the housemates away
Has anyone else ever lived with a packet a day smoker? Who's been going for more years than I can conveniently count?

Mr Kitimariana and I had a friend stay with us for a bit while he left his demented missus, and whilst he's one of the nicest blokes you could hope to meet, every morning was the same.

He'd wake up, stumble to the bathroom, and proceed to spend anything from 10 to 20 minutes coughing, hacking and spewing up what can only be described as "gunk" into the sink.

I think I found some lung in there once. Surely he needs that?
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 10:27, 3 replies)
So today I walk down to the kitchen to make some dinner and I notice that all the washing up has been done, all the surfaces have been cleaned and generaly anything that looks untidy has been taken care of.
It turns out that there is going to be an inspection of the communal areas of every flat in our halls tomorrow and the winning flat in each block gets free alcohol of their choice.
One of my flatmates joked that the alcohol would probably end up being the stuff that they couldnt sell in the Students Union and I said to him that I would be annoyed if there wasnt a choice as to what you could have. Just then, another of my flatmates walked in and smugly replied "You dont even get a choice because you didnt contribute."
That may sound fair enough but when the letters about the inspection/competition were given to us nobody said anything about taking part in the competition or anything about cleaning the kitchen so I couldnt have even helped if I wanted to (not that any of the washing up washing up that needed to be done was mine anyway). So if we win anything from this I wont even be allowed it anyway because I wasnt a part of it even though I didnt even know I was.
Not long left until I move out though on the bright side.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 3:39, 10 replies)
Peter Peter mushroom eater
Set the scene shared house near birmingham university new girlfriend mad land lady, and Pete, bit of a rugger bugger nice enough chap, in that over familiar firm handshake posh school sort of way.

one time i left a bit of homegrown on the table in the lounge, pete helped himself to the lot while we were out, i was a bit annoyed but let it go.

this is around the time acid house and dance culture in general took off, tremendously exiting time, house parties warehouse parties clubs, gigs, all manner of new stuff to try and fun to be had.

the evenings entertainment usually started abut 9ish, getting lashed on sainsburys vodka and a bit of substance abuse before going out.

One night had a bunch of folks up from london all of them pretty hardcore clubbers so we decided to show them a good time, i had a humongous stash of "ahem" wild mushrooms, freshly picked, and the time was right so we cooked em up and went out raving, leaving about three hundred or so on the lounge table to dry out.

One seriously good night out later we returned, only to find nobody had any keys to get in, there is a light on in the lounge i peers through a gap in the curtains and saw Pete sitting on the sofa with the maddest looking eyes i have ever seen , i hammer on the window "let us in pete we have no keys" i say, pete leaps from the sofa runs around the room a bit and legs it upstairs.

so tripping my nuts off and giggling like a loon i have to climb up a drainpipe and squeeze myself through a tiny bathroom window, to let everybody in.

the silly bastard never had any before, only gone and necked the lot.

i did wonder if i should mention the screaming horde of black bats gathering above the house but then i thought nah, fuck him he'l find out about them soon enough.

length... about 16 hours

he left soon after that and i moved in.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 3:31, 3 replies)
Inappropriate behaviour....
When one of my best friends from uni, Jilly, went home for a weekend with the folks she asked the girl in the room next to her to look after her room for the weekend.
Ruth, is bi-sexual which is fine. What was not fine was when Jilly returned slightly earlier than expected to find Ruth sitting on her bed sniffing Jilly's underwear while watchin tv.
Cue akward silence......
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 1:52, Reply)
I came home to find a note on the wall
'Internet is 10mb and costs £6.20 a month each. If you leave ANY of your stuff in the living room, it will be removed.'

So I've removed my TV. Oh, and I had previously told everybody that seeing as I was paying for the net, I'd only charge them a fiver each.

(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 0:44, 3 replies)
My housemate is nice but a bit weird
Our housemate is a nice enough dude but he occasionally really gets on my nerves. I'm quite an introvert and get a bit annoyed when people invade my personal space.

Some weird things he does:

- Walked into the bedroom where I was having a bit of a cuddle with Mr Chicken. The door was partially closed. Rather than do the whole "oh shit sorry" thing and walk away, he stood there and stared, and eventually said "Aww, how cute." And stared some more. After an uncomfortable silence he left the room. We definitely make sure we close the door now.

- Although he does randomly open the door when I'm inside and asks, "How are you?" During which I am so shocked that he just barged into my room without knocking that all I can say is "um, good thanks". One day he'll catch me watching porn and then he'll be sorry.

- Does not answer the door or pick up the phone. He told me that if someone knocked at the door and asked for him, I had to tell them he wasn't there. Not sure why. Nevertheless the phone rings constantly and he never answers it.

- Except this morning when it rang at 6am and he decided to have a long, loud conversation outside my bedroom. I'm a night shift worker and was not particularly impressed.

- He drank 3 litres of milk by himself in one night. Wasn't impressed when I went to make a coffee the next day.

- Never sleeps in his bedroom. He spends 90% of his time sitting on the couch in front of the TV. He set up a sleeping bag and everything. He never leaves the loungeroom.

- Mr Chicken, being the nice bloke he is, keeps trying to make an effort to get housemate off the couch and get him to be more social. We all went to the pub once. Halfway through the night we all went outside for a smoke and somehow lost him. I ran around the pub and finally found him talking to some random couple. He told us to go home without him because he just wanted to talk to them, not us. Huh?

I'm probably overreacting though. Considering Mr Chicken and I have a habit of playing music, getting really stoned and cooking random things in the kitchen and having loud sex, we're probably the bad housemates. And he was kind enough to let us live with him and pay insanely cheap rent in the first place, so I should probably be a bit nicer to him...
(, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 23:45, 2 replies)
Back in 90 something, I was in Halls, at Leicester Uni. Being a bit of a geek at school I was relieved to find out that at Uni I was fucking cool.

OK not true. Still a geek. Whatever. At least I cared slightly less. The number of people in halls allowed us to partake in an activity that to this day, has (probably) never been repeated.

Yes thats right. We played Trivial Pursuit, with 6 teams of 6 people. The legal maximum.

We used the common room, it was very exciting. My team - The Geeks, were not particularly welcome as it was the Cool Kids Team game really but they reluctantly allowed us to play, thinking that cos they were cool, they might win, and therefore humiliate us.

No one could have predicted what happened that night. Even I dont believe it. Only those who were there know this. And they dont believe it. You get the idea.

By some twist of fate, we got to go first. A nice easy History question, and bang! Moved to a cheese. Sport & Leisure. Might as well get it out of the way for us geeks, it would be a long time before our turn came round again. Turns out, we knew that one and goddamn if we aint just got our first piece. We got the next question right, and the next, and the next... in fact, we had 4 cheeses within 20 minutes and we hadnt got one wrong. There were 30 very pissed off people.

10 minutes later, 5 cheeses.

20 minutes... 6 cheeses. Still not dropped a point.

We get to the centre. The excitement was palpablicious.

As are the rules when arriving at the centre, the other teams get to choose the category. They chose Art & Literature. Their stupid little faces light up when they see the question and we are nervous.

Cool Fuckwit reads aloud. "Who...wrote....the...Sci...Fi...Television series Blake's 7?"

They all high five each other and stare longingly at each others dicks. They think they've stumped us.

We all look at each other, pretend to look stumped, and in perfect unison we point and shout "TERRY NATION!!!!!!!".

Motherfuckers got pwned that night. Thinking we wouldnt know that.

Cool kids are shit.
(, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 23:33, 8 replies)
former hosemates
I know this isnt really connected... but when I was helping my brother move in to his new flat in nottingham, we had to clear a lot of crap from the previous tentant, most of it was the usual crap, old jars of food, clothes etc, however we did get a bit of a shock when we opened one cupboard and found... a false leg and a pogo stick...
(, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 23:29, Reply)
Far too many...
I still live in halls, and therefore my 'housemates' span 40 people
We're all pretty friendly with one another, and arguments hardly ever happen...
Sometimes I think I'm a pretty bad housemate though.
We had a party the other week, and two of the lads and I decided we'd give 'Extreme Baking' a try.
This consisted of throwing various cake-related ingredients at one another and letting them collide in mid-air.
The WHOLE stairwell was covered in flour, egg, sugar, etc.
We still haven't cleaned it.
(, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 22:52, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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