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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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Mad Juan
Mad Juan was an interesting character. About 5ft tall, shaven headed, bearded, with a perpetual fag dangling from the corner of his mouth, his left hand invariably cupped around a beaker of red wine, and his right hand either dealing with his smoke, groping the nearest available female, or strumming on a clapped out guitar.

I lived with him for a month and a half in Cordoba, Argentina. He wasn't actually supposed to be living in the house I was staying in, but his parents had kicked him out after he had failed his medical degree (he was about 30). He'd moved in on the grounds that his best friend was going out with a German girl who also lived in the same house as I did.

Mad Juan had no concept of privacy. Or sobriety. Or none drug use. I'd met him before, but living with him was a bit of a shock. He'd get through 3 or 4 bottles of red wine a day, as well as numerous bottles of sickly Quilmes beer, porn mags, weed, ketamine and coke.

The major problem was that Juan was somewhat frustrated with life. He'd failed his degree and was slowly drinking and drugging himself insensible in response, yet wondering why he couldn't get a girl. The house was rented by one of the most attractive girls I have ever met. Maria was slim wasted, with a fantastic body that she was never afraid to show off in tight lycra running gear, with chestnut hair falling down to her pert behind.

Juan had his beady drugged up eye set on her. Maria, being only 19, wanted none of it.

Juan tried all the sophisticated chat up lines he knew, generally over dinner as we all sat there slightly embarrassed.

"Hey Maria, I have a 45cm penis, come take a look at it!"

"Hey Maria, see that salami? I'm bigger than that!"

"Hey Maria, stop looking at the Pirate*, everyone knows all the English are homosexuals, you want some red meat with me"

He tried to impress her by inviting over his friends and getting them all to help him serenade her with tango and folklorico songs. At 4am. In a quiet neighbourhood. Three shotgun toting policemen turned up and Juan tried to bribe them to leave. He managed to bribe them, but still got cracked across the head for being disrespectful.

After this Juan went down hill somewhat. The boyfriend of my other housemate got him a job in a nightclub bar, and Juan would stagger home at 9am stinking of booze and piss and climb into the first bed he could find. There really is nothing like having a sweaty, pissy smelling drunkard climb into bed with you when you least expect it. Maria and the other girl took to barricading their door.

The end finally came after a memorable night when Juan picked up two American girls in the club and brought them back to our house, for some reason with another 2 Argentine guys he'd just met.

I'm not too clear on what happened as I had spent a lot of the previous evening trying (and failing) to impress Maria and had gone to bed alone after far too much wine.

All I know is that around 8am there was a lot of screaming from the front room. I bounded to my door, arriving in the hall at the same time as Maria (who was, pleasingly, wearing very small sleeping shorts and a t-shirt). We cautiously crept to the front room and saw Juan, naked as the day he was born, shriveled gentialia bouncing around as one of the random Argentine guys beat him with the buckle end of a belt, whilst the other was doing a line of coke off a table. The two American girls, half dressed, looked fairly shocked. It was then that Maria nudged me and pointed to the bag of coke (the LARGE bag of coke), the wad of pesos, and the large knife.

We looked at the American girls. They looked at us. Slowly and carefully, they crept towards us, and into the hall way. We closed the door and dragged a heavy table in front of it. Maria called the police and we sat waiting, listening to Juan shouting and screaming. After a few minutes Maria shouted through the door telling the two guys to fuck off as she'd called the police, and after a brief barrage of shouting back they left.

A few minutes passed, and then we heard Juan laughing manically. We opened the door and he was stood there, stark naked, eyes like saucers, cock in hand. Maria told him to get dressed and get the hell out.

The American girls couldn't provide much detail. All they really remembered was drinking a lot of vodka and rum and then that there had been some sort of argument between Juan and the other two.

I saw Juan a couple of times later on before I left Cordoba. He'd decided to sort his life out (so he said) but I have no idea if he ever managed to.

*Pirates = Argentine slang for the British
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 2:15, 4 replies)
Unlocked room a foolish mistake!
I think we are all each others housemates from hell, All 6 of us are pretty tight. Plenty of pluses but we basically have little to no boundarys with eachother. Immense mirth is gained from humilating that days target to to the lowest possible extent. This weekend one foolish follish little housemate S went away for the weekend.

The rest of us had super important essays to do so obviously we

put her bed at a 90 degreee angle up against the wall and pinned all the sheets in place so her bed was perfectly made just perpindicular to its original.

taped all her toothbrushes, toothpaste, make up etc to the ceiling

swopped the contents of her cupboard with the content of her wardrobe, the contents of her bookshelf with the fridge, and the contents of her drawers with the cutlery.

took all her meteal grooming stuff (tweezers nail clippers etc) and jewelrry and froze it in a tub of water in the freezer

and marked out a dead body on the floor CSI style

pretty tame I know in comparison to the other stuff on here but it happened this week and we liked it!

To be honest we are the flat that invented Loveknobs (take a song with the word love in it and replace it with knob. HOURS neigh WEEKS of fun, knob will tear us apart and If this aint knob then why does it feel so good being out top faves at the mo) So honestly I think she really should of expected nothing less.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 0:47, 9 replies)
Sabena the (older than) teenage bitch
When I met Mr Carrot, he was in a houseshare in Gosforth (nice place in north end of Newcastle) and I had some fucking how landed a gorgeous flat on the Quayside. Needless to say, more nights were spent at mine than his, mainly due to the fact that there was privacy there, and of course being new to a relationship, we were rutting like a pair of horny gophers on speed.

One night, probably due to the fact that 'im indoors was working the next morning, and his work was right next door to his house, we decided to stay over. His house was shared with 2 girls, one who was a weird Mexican hypochondriac called Vanessa, and the aforementioned bitchslag Sabena. Honestly, the girl was the kind of person you wanted to shoot and then bill her estate for the lead. Which was a shame because her mum was lovely when I met her.

Examples of her general cuntwhorishness:

Repeatedly turning the heating off. This house was a big old victorian place with no double glazing and more draughts than a CAMRA convention. Consequently, in the height of a north eastern winter, it was colder than Francesca Anobile's nipples (/hull)

Refusing to allow us to use the dishwasher because "it wasted electricity" but using the tumble dryer for her clothes all. the. fucking. time. Even if there was a force 8 gale blowing.

Her dinner would often consist of boiled cabbage, tomatoes and battered fish. She felt this fairly represented all food groups.

She was insane with use by dates. If something went even one day over its use by, it was chucked. This included stuff in the freezer.

So, as I said. Mad bitch, but this is all background.

Now we must speak about Vanessa, the Mexican housemate. Lovely, but a bit of a hypochondriac. Regularly complained of chest infections, but took about half a course of antibiotics and then stopped as she felt better. One freshly shaved wombat goes to whoever can guess what happened next.

One night, I'm in Mr C's room watching TV (as the bitch and the leper are in the living room and I cannot be bothered to speak to them). Anyway, suddenly I see blue flashing lights outside, followed by a ring on the doorbell. I look outside to see an ambulance parked in the road, and two of my erstwhile colleagues walking up the garden path. I pull on some shreddies and walk out to the hall to greet my mate John, another paramedic, as he comes through the door, which is being held open by the fuckbiscuit.

"What," I politely enquire "the sweet juddering fuck is going on?"

"Oh," says Sabena "Veronica has been taken ill. She has pains in her chest. I called an ambulance."

"Why" I gently ask" did you not think about asking the paramedic who is currently IN YOUR FUCKING HOUSE?"

"Well," the cuntweasle replies "you're not supposed to be here. This isn't your house so I decided to call the professionals."

I had my anger on the back ring on a slow gentle simmer to allow the flavours to fully develop. At this stage, I moved it right to the boiling ring and lit a thermic lance under it. How I did not kick her so hard in her festering axe wound at that stage is beyond me.

I walked with the crew into the living room. Veronica is lying on the couch in full dying swan mode. And then, Sabena says to me something that makes me bite through my lip.

"Carrot, you shouldn't be in here. You're breaching her patient confidentiality."

"So, what grounds do YOU, a completely unqualified layman have, to be here."

"Well, I'M her friend. I cared enough to call."

To which Vanessa says "Actually Sabena, I'd prefer Dave to be here. You can go and make a cup of tea.

Back. of. the. fucking net!!!

The expression on Sabena's face was like Jade Goody's hairdresser as she stormed out of the room. We did the tests, which all came out fine, and I referred Vanessa to the out of hours service. Job done. Apart from, obviously, the complete ribbing that's going to come my way any time I walk onto an ambulance station for the next 4 weeks.

2 days later, we get a letter under the door.

"Carrot and Carrot, I think due to current tensions in the house that it would be better if you move out as soon as possible. I have contacted the landlord to arrange a meeting." Turns out Vanessa had exactly the same letter.

The meeting comes. We all tell the landlord what a complete cockferret Sabena has been. He gives her 2 weeks' notice.



(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 0:44, 8 replies)
my housemates all wake up at 7 in the morning
I think that's crazy and weird enough for me - especially as theydo it when they don't even have lectures.

It scuppers my plans for lie-ins until 9 at least.

Oh, and I don't talk to one of them, never worked out why we're not talking - we're just not!
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 0:06, 1 reply)
University horrors and the great unwashed...
Quickies only.. I can't be assed to type.. Might edit later if people want...

In uni I lived with a fervently english rugby guy.. being welsh i was well up for a light banter only her took it a lot more seriously.. after inviting the entire basketball team to our flat just to piss me off (I was the hall warden) he then got really mad when i gave him a warning and walked through the wall between our rooms when I locked myself in my room. yeah he walked through a wall.. it wasn't brick.. just plasterboard but fairly thick.

later on whilst working away from home for the first time... one of my room mates in my last house share never washed.. ever. you could smell him through the wall he occasionally added to the odour by using cheap body spray to mask his scent....

also he once had a "wee wee" problem that he refused to get checked out and instead stole sanitary towels from me to stem the flow of *gag* fluids.. i caught him in my room in his (greying) boxers, my bag of always ultra in one hand and a towel with some very dodgy looking stains on it in the other

(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 22:41, Reply)
living with The Dictator
Well we started off ok. We managed 3 days living together.

She had been my best friend for 10 years so we thought living together would be a piece of piss. We collared another girl to live with us so we could get a nice 3 bedroom house. The Dictator (As she is now known) decided to take the big ensuite room, to be honest at the time i didnt really care as i had a nice room downstairs so i was happy.

On the second evening girl number 3 cooked dinner for all of us. The dictator began to tell us her kitchen regime when it comes to washing up.

Green Cloth - Plates and bowls
Yellow Cloth - Cutlery
Blue Cloth - Wiping down the surfaces
Pink cloth - Wipe over the hob when you're done cooking
Blue Sponge - Everything else in between.

She then went on to explain all the different types of bleach and cleaning fluid she had bought for us to use daily. Considering i had known this girl for 10 years and after seeing the shit hole she lived in with her parents (literally a hole of shit, i swear they NEVER cleaned their house) i was surprised at how eager she was to keep the place ship shape.

For a second i thought she was joking until i actually realised this fantastic rainbow of cleaning accoutrements was laid out around our communal sink. Jokingly i pointed out that i moved away from home to escape my mother, not to move in with a carbon copy of the woman who birthed me and her strange cleaning equiptment. I jokingly called her a Kitchen Nazi, with a vendetta against germs, which was pretty much true.

So we finished up the meal and all disappeard to our respective rooms to study. A few hours later i get a knock on my door. The Dictator informs me that shes going home to her mothers for a few nights, but will text me when shes coming back.

That was 6 months ago.

She deleted me off of Facebook without even a explanation as to why she was ignoring me. We had a good laugh about that at the pub. Needless to say we changed the locks about a week after she disappeard.

Somewhere in-between she collected her stuff from the house. I arranged a replacement housemate, so we had been packing The Dictators belongings into boxes for a while before she collected them. Delicatly drawing small discreet swasticas on the occasional box of cereal, on the back of her t-shirts and work clothes. Not to mention stealing half of her stuff .....Just for a laugh. And there was this one time that we ran out of loo roll...

Makes me wonder if she washed any of her clothes after she got them back. haha not that i care. She did screw us over by not giving us her share of the bill money, but it was deffinatly worth paying it out of my own pocket just to see the back of her and her dictatorship.

And now she lives in another city with my scrounging low-life ex boyfriend - if you ask me they make a beautiful couple :) and one day they will have cute little herpes babies.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 22:35, 14 replies)
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 20:34, 20 replies)
I mentioned my my house mate with whom I built a tesla coil, tatoo'd tomatoes, went on adventures, debated the hooker status of women on the side of the road with (and ended up giving them a 3 hour ride home afterward to clear up the debate), made movies, created video and board games and ran for city council with - he was gold and I miss him still today.

After him no one could really live up to the title but a few did try.

My brother, who loves glassblowing (no jokes please) moved in at the same time as a civil war reinactor who made her own bullets for her muskets. This meant our basement had a 200lb tank of compressed oxygen, a propane tank - and a 5lb bag of gunpowder stored next to each other for quite a while. My bedroom was directly over the storage room and I comforted myself with the fact that, if it ever went up ... I'd probably never know it.

We had a young man who moved across country to live with a girl, who when he arrived he learned she'd shacked up with someone else (in fact had done so a month before he left, but didn't have the heart to tell him and hurt him), he gave living with them both a go - but it didn't really work.

He spent the next year in our basement playing Diablo2, occasionally coming out to balance large objects on his cats. Otherwise we didn't really see or encounter him. Turns out in the end he's an incredibly good guy - just wasn't feeling very social there for a while (understandably I think.)

Replaced with the incredibly sweet, very good hearted yet - slightly sheltered new guy, who would helpfully explain to you how the world worked (as he figured it out for himself) - gems of knowledge included:

"Allisade, I need to tell you something, this is a very important thing, and it's very easy not to know, so I think, you, being a smart person - should be warned... Allisade, I found out tonight, and this is important... Allisade... Smart Girls... they can be crazy."

Thank you my friend, truly, I am enlightened =)

He also explained to me the distinction between "retardedness" and "drama", for those who are curious:

"retardedness" is when a girl does something abusive / stupid / self damaging / emotionally blackmailing / etc in the immediate, that is - right there in front of you, or to you directly, like that.

"Drama" is the *ongoing* stupidity in their life that you have to listen to or are expected to fix, deal with, or otherwise suffer through - that's their own fault.

He determined, after some amount of research, that both are bad - and to be avoided.

Again - he shared that info with me as well, and now I can pass it on to you - and we are all enlightened.

These were two rules of five he developed for dealing with women ("No retardedness", "No drama" - the other three could basically be summed up with "I should really wear a condom" - he really could be the next Buddha as far as I'm concerned.)

He is absolutely one of my favorite people.

He was followed a blond bombshell of pillowy goodness (in all the right places and none of the wrong), who as far as I can tell was missing a chip in her head. She would invariably start conversations in the middle and expect you to know what the flying fudge whip she was talking about, IM's or opening lines in conversations that consisted entirely of

"6billion?! Can you believe it? How can they think that allisade? explain this to me!"


"well, he wasn't my favorite either but I didn't think it was very fair what they did to him"

They were said straight faced and then, when you'd ask wtf? she'd get annoyed at you for being so silly as to not know what she's been talking about with everyone else all day while she was at work

Her additional ability to create panic stricken emotional realities whole cloth from nothing more than a sense of entitlement mixed with deep insecurity was fascinating to watch in action, when it wasn't your life she was tearing apart in her throes of irrationality.

Her deep conviction that (deep breath) the landlord hated her, was going to take all her money, and kick her out - so: she had to move into the unfinished basement of a frat boy, pay double the rent she was currently paying, and move out by the end of the week ... was entirely based on the landlord commenting that the empty soda can being used as a flower pot in the front window didn't look very classy and would she mind putting it in the back window.

However, out of all our roommates throughout time - the lesbian navy seal doctor was my favorite, but that's probably understandable - she liked to cuddle.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 20:33, Reply)
Worst flat'mate'(?).
The absolute very worst person I have had the misfortune to share a flat with, was my lunatic elder brother.
We used to get pissed together, i'd fall asleep on the sofa, snoring, usually.
'His' way of waking me, and asking me to be quiet?
Booting the fuck out of my face, kicking me around the flat, while wearing steel toe capped boots. This lily-livered twat would never dream of upsetting anyone that is close to his height, or build, but would attack me for no apparent reason. Usually from behind, when I was asleep, while I was doing other things, any time apart, from the front, with me sober enough to defend myself.
This prick, is 45, and has NEVER had a job. I mean that. From school, he has done fuck all, except bum off the world.
The last time I saw him, was out the front of my house, which I share with my mrs. I was two days out of hospital, my arm strapped to my shoulder. I'd just had an operation on my hand, squished my fingers at work, badly.
So, with my right arm strapped to my left shoulder, this twat decides to attack me again, in broad daylight, outside my home. Only this time, he was spotted, and someone came running across the road to ask what the hell he thought he was doing attacking someone so obviously not able to defend themselves.
He fucked off.
I haven't seen the prick since.
Suits me.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 20:31, 3 replies)
not mine, thankfully (stolen from a friend's blahg)
In order to make things easier for you, the reader, I decided to use the symptoms of a sociopath as a way to better describe the crazy person I lived with for three months. Let's call him Damien.
Here we go:

*Glibness and Superficial Charm
Wow. Was he charming or what! I can’t tell you all the sweet things he said to me in that first week we hung out. He was cute, and even flew halfway across the country to help me move! I mean, he was a total dream for any girl (not that I was about to date a roommate).

* Manipulative and Conning
"They never recognize the rights of others and see their self-serving behaviors as permissible. They appear to be charming, yet are covertly hostile and domineering, seeing their victim as merely an instrument to be used. They may dominate and humiliate their victims."

Damien began to try to control my life in any way possible. For example, when I was baking banana bread one night, he asked me to please ‘keep baking to normal hours’ because he couldn’t sleep. The smell was keeping him awake. He scolded me via email about paying a bill I slipped under his door in cash, saying that the coins in the envelope hurt his foot when he stepped on them. After a few days of his phone calls and text messages about my ‘mistakes’ such as leaving out the vacuum after cleaning (By the way, according to him, I was lucky my other roommates didn’t see it, as he knew they would be extremely upset over this), I decided to talk to my roommates about it.

When I talked to Jane, my female roommate, she said that he took weeks to choose a female roommate. It took 6 interviews with women before he chose me, and according to her, he chose me because I was hot (a charge that he denied). Jason, our other roommate, was one of the first candidates interviewed and was given the room on the spot. Damien was looking for a girlfriend through craigslist. He tried to date Jane when she first moved in and told me he insisted she text message or email all of the roommates whenever she had someone over, even if she was just hooking up with a guy. When she did, the other roommates told her there was no reason for her to do so.

* Grandiose Sense of Self
"Feels entitled to certain things as 'their right.'"

Damien liked to create rules for the apartment that did not apply to him and only applied to us. He created the list about two months into my stay, and most of them were directed toward me. Here are a few examples:

Quiet Hours

10pm - 8am, Monday through Friday.

If you are going to listen to music loudly, watch TV using the Home Theater System, sing, tap dance, talk on the phone or to each other loudly in any of the common areas, please DONT DO IT between the hours of 10pm and 8am, Monday through Friday.

Jason and Jane live right next to the living room. Please keep that in mind if you are watching TV, listening to music, talking on the phone or to each other loudly when they are in their rooms.


Please bring up everyone's mail from the mailbox, including the mail for your roommates. Place all mail that's not yours right on the coffee table.

Utility Bills

All Utilities are paid by Damien.

Electric: Damien can see what the previous months total is on the 9th of each month which is around when he'll divide by four and post on the white board. Checks are preferred over cash.

Musical Instruments

No musical instruments. Sound carries too well in the apartment, please practice elsewhere.


Please let all the other roommates know as far in advance as possible. if you are going to have someone staying over for a couple days or more.

Guests staying two weeks or more NEED APPROVAL from ALL THREE other roommates and also chip in on the utilities.

General Common Courtesy

No catty comments or bitchy looks or attitude. If you have a problem with one of the roommates, dont play the "Im going to be rude until he/she asks me whats wrong" game or talk behind peoples backs. Its childish, makes people uncomfortable and most of all: annoying! We are all adults here.

Damien regularly taped over the things we saved on DVR, never cleaned beyond taking out the garbage, and broke his quiet hours rules, as well as having guests over without approval. He also has bad grammar that very much annoys me.

* Shallow Emotions
"When they show what seems to be warmth, joy, love and compassion it is more feigned than experienced and serves an ulterior motive. Outraged by insignificant matters, yet remaining unmoved and cold by what would upset a normal person. Since they are not genuine, neither are their promises."

The breaking point for my roommates and I came around Christmastime, when I decided to tape some of the cards we had received on a closet door in the kitchen. The day after I put them up, they disappeared. The other two roommates and I decided to leave Damien a note saying that we wanted them up and put the cards back on the door. Jane later caught him taking them down and asked him why.

“You can’t just go putting stuff up without asking, or take a roommate vote and totally disregard what I think and not ask me,” he said.

“But you can’t just take someone’s stuff down without asking. It’s rude. What is your problem with the cards?”

“They’re tacky.”

At this point, I could hear them from my room and he’s yelling at her. Jane is completely calm and rational and he is yelling, outraged. Jason overhears and comes into the kitchen.

“What’s the problem here Damien?”

Damien’s entire demeanor changes. He becomes almost calm, kind, and collected.

“Well, I just don’t want these cards up.”

“What’s the real problem here?”

And after a bit of prodding, he said, “Well, maybe I just don’t want these cards with their cheer looking at me and trying to make me happy. Maybe I just don’t want to be happy.”

It was at that point when we all realized it was time to move out. Pronto.

Did I mention he was extremely secretive and paranoid and kept his door deadbolted at all times? At one point, on Thanskgiving I knocked to see if he needed anything from the store. He later told me to never, ever knock on his door again if it was closed because it means he does not want to be disturbed.

Heaven forbid a fire start, because I wouldn’t want to break one of his rules.

* Pathological Lying
"Has no problem lying coolly and easily and it is almost impossible for them to be truthful on a consistent basis. Can create, and get caught up in, a complex belief about their own powers and abilities. Extremely convincing and even able to pass lie detector tests."

On top of passing white lies, Damien said he’d help us find new roommates when the three of us decided to move out on him. He said he’d put up an ad, but when we checked, he had taken it down. We put up our own and he had it flagged and removed from craigslist. The move-out process was a nightmare. We didn’t know if he was trying to screw us or just temporarily fuck with our minds.

At that point, we were all sleeping with our doors locked and I was fortunate enough to have met the guy I’m dating now, who let me stay with him fairly often.

I didn’t even say goodbye when I left because I was just so damn happy to be rid of the biggest asshole I’ve ever met. It’s a feeling of relief, but sadness too because honestly, the apartment was a great place, but not worth what I had to go through.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 20:18, Reply)
I've lived in a few houses with a few people
In brief here are some of them:

Jason 'thieving cunt' Pope (real name) - He at first seemed alright, but had a tendency to laugh at very shit jokes, burn his food and steal mine. The food stealing escalated into personal theft and i later got revenge by pissing into his blackcurrant juice and kicking his SKY dish off his roof.
He later stole a fellow housemate's DJ equipment THE DAY HE MOVED OUT... CUNT.

Big, fat, scouse Dave - A middle class twat, a bully in a suit and a complete prick.
He talked to everyone like he was still in the office and assumed because he had some high-class position in his line of work, and that he deserved instant respect from us lowly forms.

He once accused me of 'stealing his spoons so i could eat my pot noodles at work'... despite the fact that i hate pot noodles and i always bought my own food and i was under the impression that you ate pot noodles with a fork. One of my work mates later had a fight with him and neither me nor big, fat,scouse Dave spoke to each other in the house for about three months. Except when he told me off for using 'his spoon to make that cup of tea'. Twat.

Nutter 1: - I can't remember his name and i didn't really speak to him, but i loved him for the sole fact that Biig-fat-scouse-Dave once awoke to find nutter 1 rooting through his personal belongings whilst he was sleeping. When big-fat-scouse-dave asked him what he was doing, the nutter guy replied 'I'm not sure' and walked out. They never mentioned the incident again, but funnily enough i never got accused of stealing anything again either.

Daz - Insane, but one of the funniest guys on the planet. Words cannot express what a pleasure it was to live with this guy and he kept me sane when BFSD tried to ruin my life with his accusations of spoon-theft.

Tim - Another crazy bastard. He built himself a bed out of old crates, tarpaulin and netting. He once tried to climb into the refrigerator whilst drunk. He had a habit of smashing up his musical instruments in the pretense that he was Keith Moon.... don't ask.

Foster - Dope dealer, compulsive liar and conspiracy theorist, but top bloke. I think he believes Princess Diana was a lizard or something.

Baggy - A great, great guy who allowed me to live on his couch when the going got tough after a bad split up with an ex Mrs Lizard.
Although he was quite possibly the messiest person i have EVER met, despite the fact he was a cool guy and always looked strangely smart in his suit. His bedroom was horrendous, the bath contained a dead pigeon and there were chicken bones scattered across the kitchen floor. Yet he managed to hold down a great job and always dressed very smartly.

Colin - My current housemate. Addicted to world of warcraft and allowed a beautiful girl to slip out of his life due to his habit. Good enough guy though.

Nutter 2: - Can't remember his name, but he was about twenty five and had no teeth. I would always seem to pass him on the stairs and he always seemed to be in posession of a bowl of sponge cake and custard. I think he may have been a druggie, but he left me alone.

Loads more.... but i simply don't have the time.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 17:59, 2 replies)
Sorry for the length of this, this housemate annoys me more than I'd anticipated.

This housemate has been mentioned somewhere in this QOTW before, the one about the crap burglar. He's older than the rest of the other 3 housemates, who've known each other for years, so thinks (and has actually told me this on an occasion) that he has more of a say in the house because he knows how to live with people more than we do.

Only problem is, despite this nasty attitude of his in which he constantly looks down at us, he keeps making silly errors that show he has no idea how to live on his own. He never locks the door (which led to a burglar sneaking into the house), he once put some chips in the oven, fell asleep in the kitchen for 3 hours while he waited for them and then just turned off the oven and went to bed. The next morning I found what I thought to be sticks of charcoal in the oven on a baking tray.

But he persists, and he's created rules, mainly to save electricity, that we have to stick to, but just the simple ones like making sure nothing's on standby, turning off lights when we're not using them. Common sense stuff, he doesn't want the bills to be high and neither do we. Only problem is, despite this insistence on not using stupid amounts of electricity, he decided to bring his own freezer into the house despite the fact that the massive freezer that came with the house is only ever a quarter filled by the rest of us. And of course, he likes to keep his freezer on the highest fast-freeze setting, despite only having a loaf of bread in there most of the time.

But I let him have his freezer, mainly because I like to keep the ground floor hall light on in the evenings, it's energy-saving and only on for about 4/5 hours a night, not too much really, just means that since I live on the ground floor, I don't constantly walk into pitch-black every time I leave my room and have to search for a light switch every time. Quite annoying when you're trying to dash to the shower room. Also it makes it seem like we live in the dark ages when every light in the house but two back bedroom lights is off, not very welcoming for guests.

But no! He does not like this, every time he sees the hall light on, he has to turn it off! That's wasting electricity! Let's completely ignore his cold bread in the pointless freezer!

So we've had a constant back-and-forth, until yesterday evening, when I tried to turn on the light to go to the bathroom, the light didn't work... he'd actually gone to the effort and getting a ladder and un-screwing the bulb, leaving it on the window ledge in clear view as a message to me. Don't fuck with him and his electricity, he has a ladder. Except, I decided to not take that as the message, I'm playing dumb and thinking that he just wants us to put all the bulbs we can on that ledge, so every day I plan to buy a new pack of bulbs and just keep piling them up until the window and ledge are covered. It's already getting quite high. I love playing the dumb card.

And if that fails, I'm just gonna unplug his freezer. Sucker.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 17:22, 14 replies)
Not so much the housemates but the landlord
So I ended up lodging in wonderful Reading about 15 years ago, nice house, other lodger that was rarely seen - an Ethiopian studying meteorology at the Uni, though I don't know how he needed a degree to say "It's going to be hot". But I digress. The landlord we shall call "Andy", because that's what we all called him and how his letters were addressed. A chubby gay bloke from Huddersfield, but nice enough. All started well, but after a few months, things startd getting a little more relaxed, him leaving his copy of "Down and Brown" in the video for example, and asking a friend of ours who was round for a few beers if he could quicly slip one up his arse. Things started taking a downward turn though, when I started noticing an odd smell in my drinking glasses. Then, I noticied it. Dried cum in the glass - BASTARD! So I started washing all my glases, plates, knives, forks etc in stupidly hot water *before* I used them. Then he sarted getting piss drunk every night falling asleep in his chair, and pissing it.

Yes, *every* night. The fucking thing was rotting and the house stunk of piss. Which is when I started looking for somewhere else.

The crowning achievment though was hearing a noise one night, ignoring it and going back to sleep, then coming down in the morning and finding the place looking like a bomb had hit it. I had a quick tidy up then fucked off to work. I came home in the evening and fuond Andy in the pissy chair, with his now broken arm in a sling. "I slipped over in the kitchen going to the bog last night" he say, with a nervous laugh. Fair enough, lino floor etc. Except when I was sweeping/mopping the following day. Little brown skate marks on the floor. The dirty bastard must have been covered in his own shit after playing with it, come downstairs for a shower, and lost his grip on the lino.

Mind you, my parting gift the day before I left was a load of rabbit guts in the kitchen bin from a bunny I caught a couple of days before.

If you're reading this Andy, I've got the money I owe for the telephone bill waiting for you to come and collect it.

Length? Fuck off.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 16:31, 2 replies)
dddrrrrrrrrrr, dum dum dum
That was what the noise was, waking me up at 3 in the morning to find a pro golfer, very stoned wearing nothing but white skimpy briefs and an eye-patch practising golf in the kitchen, giggling insanely with a bowl of chopped weed and big bong at his side.

Other times I'd have my room raided by the 2 aussies with underpants on their heads, weilding golf clubs and screaming obcenities. This would only occur when I was doing sex with lovely ladies.

Sometimes I could hear one of them 'touching himself' in the living room while watching porn.

We had a wild cat that lived under the house. We called her underhousecat. She ate possums.

They were top housemates and I miss them.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 16:25, 2 replies)
I share with two good looking women
who have a bit of a problem tidying up or doing the dishes , particularly after they've been in the house alone for any length of time . I'm not paticularly vindictive but enough is enough and so today I have hidden most of the crockery and furniture . We'll see just how much of a mess they can make with one cup .....
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 16:17, 9 replies)
The dinner party…

A posh friend of the family has just retired, and has decided to keep herself busy by learning the arts of the gourmet. Last Saturday, my (whole) family and I were amongst several guests cordially invited to a right proper la-de-fucking-da bash, with the finest expensive cuisine available

(This was, to be honest, totally wasted on my common-as-muck taste-buds, which have long since been obliterated by the savage combination of cheap cider and diet of ‘Tesco-value-blue-stripe-super-saver-don’t-even-know-what-it-is-because-the-label-has-fell-off-the-tin-but-fuck-it-anyway-it-was-reduced-so-it-will-do’ fodder.)

Note to self - no more fuck-off sized multi-hyphenated phrases

I apologise.

Moving on…

So, toffed-up-to-the-nines, we turn up. The present Mrs Pooflake looks stunningly resplendant in her sophisticated black dress, the flakelets adorable in their little suits. The finest china and silverware is out, and everybody is on their supremely best behaviour. (I was on top form…I think I only said ‘cunt-flap’ once, accidentally, and I believe it went unnoticed – result!)

The meal is excellent and goes well, I spend the whole time showing off, lying through my teeth pretending to be a veritable raconteur of the finer things in life, whilst my miniature Aryan race children are a credit to TPMP and I, sensible and well spoken, they display manners and knowledge beyond their years.

The party soon moves from the dining room to the bit where the kids go off to play, the ladies use an excuse to scuttle off to the kitchen so they can gossip and slag off the men, and the gentlemen have moved on for port, cigars and other such pretentious bullshit whilst we discuss ‘manly’ subject like brake-horsepower, world affairs, and the miracle that was Cov City’s latest victory.

After a while, the women join us and as we are all congregated in the conservatory before leaving. I casually mention the fabled tradition in my family of my boys being allowed to stay up late with me on a Saturday to watch ‘Match Of The Day’. Just then, the kids enter the room. As they approach, they are accosted by one of the old trouts who grabs my 5 year old son, rattles his cheek and cackles:

“So then, sonny, I’ve heard about you…tell me, what do your family do every Saturday?”

My son grins hugely and replies instantly: “We get a massive chinky in!”

“Mmmf” I say, spitting a gob-full of posh plonk across the room before trying to correct him in the vain hope of resurrecting some degree of poshness.“Erm…..ha haha….Noooo….after that…”

“Ooooh yeah” my son says, realising his mistake before continuing: “We watch ‘Match Of The Day.’ It’s brilliant!” he bleats with a big smile and a cute ‘thumbs up’, prompting everyone to laugh, and me to sigh deeply, having rescued the conversation.

But then, just when I thought I had gotten away with it, my youngest continues to blurt out: “Then...after that….we have to go to bed…(here he frowns and grumbles)...because it’s Mummy & Daddy’s ‘BIG SEXY TIME’!”*

At this point, my long-suffering missus tries to melt the walls with the glowing shame-heat from her face, as my sons launch into sounds effects like: ‘Mwwaah!, Mmmmmwaahh! Uh Uh Uh Uh Uhhhhh!”

I tell you, from the look on some of those witches’ faces, you’d think they’d never had a nice stiff cock inside ‘em at one time or another.

What…? Tenuous?...kids are housemates too aren’t they?

*The thing is…I don’t even know where he got the idea from…Every Saturday? I fucking WISH!
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 16:05, 8 replies)
Inexplicably I ended up living in a house with 3 drug dealers (there were 5 of us in total - the other guy was like a stoner, skinny version of Mike from Spaced) who had a penchant for Ketamine.

I never did it because A) I like my drug experiences to be fun B) the K hole is not a place I want to visit and C) I don't like the idea of monging about the kitchen like a drooling zombie or taking 45 minutes to walk down the stairs, gripping rigedly to the banister as if surrounded by molten lava.

Not that I had a problem with it mind. We all got on well and I enjoyed their company. This did mean however, that we had endless visitors at all hours and miniature raves in our living room. I was working on my thesis at the time but luckily had a room downstairs that must have been a former bomb shelter because I never heard a goddamn thing.

When I did join the raves they were quite fun but come the morning, when I would be eating a crumpet on a scrap of furniture amongst the sea of passed out bodies and dreadlocks, I felt like Mark from Peep Show when he just wants to open the curtains and put on radio 4.

Now that I sit here, at my desk, surrounded by my filing I cant help but reminisce. Good times. I don't like radio 4 by the way.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 16:01, 1 reply)
Ive had 43 different flatmates
Just counted them up. Overall i'd say there were faaar more good ones than bad ones.
...em...so there.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 15:58, 3 replies)
The perils of the shared room
This story is not about me, but about people who lived in the same hall of residence.

Hull University had shared rooms in some of its accommodation. Ordinarily, these were (of course) single-sex - but an exception was made for a couple who came to university together, having been going out for ages and who planned to marry.

Each of them had been well and truly walloped by the ugly stick - but that's a merely gratuitous detail, so I won't mention it again.

Inevitably, the relationship broke down. The bloke moved out, but he remained on reasonably good terms with his ex.

One night, his ex pulled. (I assumed at the time that it must have been pulling in the same sense that the moon pulls the oceans... But I said I wouldn't mention their looks again, didn't I?) He found out, and asked her - a bit creepily in retrospect - who the unfortunate man was.

"Um... it wasn't a man..." came the reply.

So that'll be why the relationship ended, then...
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 15:48, 2 replies)
I hated the only housemates I ever had...
...raging alcohol abuse, filthy language and they rarely washed or showed any signs of love for even their closest relatives...so I moved out of my parents place as soon as I could.

Moved into a tiny one bedroom flat and me and the girlfriend went around to see an old couple who were selling a cheap stove.
They took pity on us and gave us a sofa, some rugs and some chairs - all for free. The old couple just asked us to do the same for someone else one day.
My girlfriend moved in with me and it was pure bliss. We owned pretty crappy 'stuff', but it was bliss nonetheless.
We gradually got nicer stuff without ever borrowing any money and now many years on we are doing okay, married, lovely kid, bliss, blah, blah blah.

A young couple came around to buy a bed off us last weekend. Felt sorry for them as they didn't have much cash, just starting out etc, hmm - sounds familiar.
We also had a TV, TV cabinet and a wardrobe that we wanted to sell.
I remembered the kindly old couple and their request that we help someone else someday.

Then I remembered what a tightarse I am and told them to fuck off if they didn't have the money.

Just kidding, we did give them loads of stuff for nicks. But I bet the fuckers sold it all to buy drugs...
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 15:36, Reply)
a good comeback with a lil help from b3ta
this is a long one so please read next post if not keen on length etc.

i'm not sure if it was rob manual who created the animation but it provided me with a great way to annoy some one who, to be fair, was being a complete cunt!

any way, i've been sharing a flat with a girl for last year or so, and to be honest at times things haven't gone swimmingly. for example i was once yelled at/treated like an arse hole for accidentally stepping on glass and bleeding on the carpet, yet it was prob her that left the broken glass on floor. so that gives you the jist of how unreasonable things have been

so if you're still reading, let me tell you a tale of how the best way to get back at some one who is clearly in the wrong and being unreasonable is to simply annoy the feck out of them!

~~~~~~~~~~wavey lines~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

now and again my flatmate likes to photograph bands and celebrities at signings and gigs. she doesn't have an SLR camera herself so i don't mind her borrowing mine. she doesn't really need to ask if she can borrow it, i'm usually a good natured person and this has often been taken advantage of.

one month she photographed one celebrity at a gig and used up all memory of two 1 gig memory cards, 2 weeks later i needed the camera and both memory cards to go on holiday with. so naturally i deleted all pics on memory card and went off on my merry way.

2 months later we went for a drink at bar after work, she asked me if i had put the pics on her PC. "dunno" says i, "i can hardly remember what i did 2 minutes ago let alone 2 months", she protested "but they're important, i expected you to put them on my PC!". now why would she ever expect such a thing!? pretty much was a crap visit to the pub as all the time i was warned "i'm not gonna be happy if they aren't on my PC" despite the fact if was her responsibility!

so eventually we got home and i looked on her PC to see if i had saved the pics 2 months prior, from looking initially i couldn't find them so i assumed that i hadn't put them on her PC and deleted them from my memory cards.

all hell broke loose in the flat, "YOU FUCKIN' CUNT, HOW COULD YOU DO THIS!?", "I WANT YOU OUT OF THIS FUCKIN' FLAT", "JUST DON'T TALK TO ME, I'M READY TO FUCKIN HIT YOU!" (these were all her words, not mine), again she protested "THESE PICTURES WERE IMPORTANT!", but surely if they were that important she would have saved the pictures her self and not remember them 2 months later.

all this time i tried to remind her that she was using MY camera and MY memory cards and she can forget using them in future. some one else's pictures are really not my responsibility, it was just tough luck really.
plus it ain't my PC to save anything on. but accepted NO responsibility and according to her it was all my fault!

"YOU FUCKIN ABSENT MINDED CUNT, HOW COULD YOU DO SUCH A THING!?!?!", doors were slamming, feet were stomping and faces were reddening with rage.... believe me it was quite a performance!

again may i remind you, i really don't think i did anything wrong, like i mention i'm usually a good natured person and offer help to most people pretty much all the time, so i think she kinda expected me to save the pics as a duty and not as a favour.

she then proceeded to get on phone to her boyfriend and slag me to him "I'M FUCKIN SICK OF HIM, DELETED MY PHOTOS" etc, then got on phone to landlady all within earshot to both vent her frustrations and to piss me off.

later when her boyfriend arrived they escaped out of my way into her bedroom, through the walls i could hear the rage as she ranted about how "selfish" i was (i mean come on, the memory cards belong to me, i'll do what i like). things quietened down so i can only assume that they were having a little hanky-panky in there.

so how did b3ta help with this matter?

well when things were quiet i went back to look on her PC for one final look for the pictures... they were there, the reason why i didn't notice them is because they weren't saved under celeb's name. i'm really crap with recognising celebs cos well... doesn't really interest me. so 2 month prior it turns out that i did save the pics under a folder with generic name like 'celeb pics' or something like that.

of course i was happy, yet still fuming but needed a way to milk this. simply telling her after that performance wasn't good enough. i needed a way to make her feel like a total idiot!

so i went on b3ta to cool down a little, when i noticed it... the perfect come back to the argument...


thinking that she was prob in her room having a lil "private time" with her boyfriend i thought this was about as perfect as i could find. knowing this would play in a loop i turned the volume up really loud and knew it would be extra annoying at the "OWW-OW" parts of the song.

with this song playing in a loop i put the pictures she assumed were deleted in a slide show, looping along with the song.

then... then well just fucked off to the pub with it playing.

only regret is not being there to see the egg on her face as she rages out of her bedroom to see that she had behaved like a complete and utter twat!

so thanks for the song b3ta, will always remain a classic to me :)

sorry for length
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 15:35, 3 replies)
..asked me if I would shag his Misses whilst he watched.

I said to him "No way Dad."
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 15:21, 2 replies)
I shared a house for three months with someone whom I never engaged in a full conversation with, which is pretty difficult in a small terraced house.

Alex worked nights as a programmer and was apparently a Christian. If I said 'hi' to him he would mumble something I could not make out, point in a vague manner towards his door and scuttle off without ever making eye contact. I tried to be polite and talk with him but he had the personality of a slug. If I was watching TV and he walked in he would pretend not to have seen me and walk out again. He would even time his run from his bedroom to the front door when I was in the shower to avoid communication.

Sure, each to their own but after a short while this 'shyness' ends up being really annoying so I started to try and wind him up with small things like not washing up to see if it got a reaction (no), then it was having parties, leaving occult books out, smoking weed whilst he was around, deliberately having my then girlfriend scream like a banshee as we banged the bed against the wall.

Nothing. He just avoided me.

He did eventually move out after a friend and I decorated the walls of the front room, kitchen and hallway - top to bottom - with gay porn. (we found it - honest)

The following day he was gone without any trace he had ever been there.

There is a footnote to this story.

I bumped into Alex at a rave circa 1989. He was a tie-dyed, arms in the air, gurning loon giving it loads on the dancefloor. I stared totally gobsmacked at him until his dilated pupils slowly focussed on me and the synapsis registered who I was. Being in a 'friendly state' at the time I walked towards him and raised my arms in the universal 'gimme a hug you old bastard' manner only to see him go white and leg it as fast as he could.

There is another footnote to this story - his replacement was a lad who made Shaun Ryder look like a Mormon who had a whiz factory at his girls house. Sorted.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 15:04, Reply)
I used to think I was a pro at winding door-to-door god-botheres up...
"hello, I'm Elder Jones and this is Elder Griffiths"
Holy Crap!! You've got the same name and the same suit!! What's the chances of that eh?? Must be a miracle. etc.

"No, you must not resucitate the clinicly dead: it's against God's will.
So when Elijah performed CPR on that kid, He condemned himself to hell??

I had few retorts, and even less knowledge of the bible.. I habitually resorted to rudeness to get rid of them. Thankfully the Scientologists were still working out their accounting system back then, so they never came round.

Enter John: I had the pleasure of being his room-mate and the house-mate for consecutive years at Uni.

John is an absolutely lovely bloke, Born and bred in the nasty bits of London and the bearer of a Weebl+Bob grin that was only a couple of inches from causing his head to hinge in an alarming fashion. He also had a killer cockney accent and a habit of calmly sitting in our pink sofa wearing a dressing-gown and slippers while systematically yet slowly disposing of the previous night's pizza, or Unlucky Fried Kitten.

Understandably - having been invited in by John for "a chat" Johns entire persona would set off a superiority complex with the cleanly-suited god-botherers, and cause them to quote verse at him with alarming and mis-guided persistance. He'd ask questions, get God-related answers and Grin.

And this is why.

John's Dad is a priest and John is of seriously strong faith. John's mum is A Jamaican Evangelist. John's first book was the bible, and he read it through and through and He can quote the bible word for word and verse for verse.

Sat there, munching his chicken and with his slippered feet on the table at 3pm on a sunday afternoon, he'd take everything these fools had to offer, point out how they'd abused the phrase or verse they'd quoted, give 3 or so more verses that backed him up, tell them where they were wrong, and suggest that they were missing the entire point behind the word of God.

This cycle would carry on with John grinning his gentle grin and munching his chicken. Eventualy he'd get bored and point out that "maybe you guys would be better suited to working in a fast-food joint..... you clearly have trouble reading that bible and understanding it.... Do you want some chicken?".

The rest of us would be there in fits of giggles until the teenage "Elders" left.

John was and IS clearly heroic at annoying these people, and even more amusingly, when they left in a huff with John's Lunatic Grin following them out of the house saying "Do come back for another cuppa when you've learnt something"

Hooray for Facebook.... I've been able to find out that John's alive and well while leading an excellent and chilled life :)
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 15:01, 5 replies)
I have no habit of picking on bespectacled people, But 'Drew was best described as a Whining, Stinking, Spekky, Ginger Twat.

Second year of Uni I moved to Nr 56 Birkhouse Lane in Huddersfield. I was living with John (the son of a preacher-man), Ian (of Accrington fame), and Ogwen.

Oh. And Andrew Forster. aka Drew.

Drew was short, smelly, balding and a dickhead. Doubtless the runt of the litter, he had a chip on his shoulder that seemed to weigh his diminutive self down.

He had a pug 205 - his pride and joy - which he drove everywhere at break-neck speeds with no regard for others while blasting Queen out at full volume.

He decided that he'd make a bit of money by running a breaker's yard from the carpark. "Oval Griffon Breakers" it was called... specialising in ford and Peugeout. He took one car to pieces, dumped the gearbox in the hallway and left it there seeping EP90 gearbox oil into the carpet. The place stank.
He smoked like fuck: his teeth were brown, and his flaking bald scalp left a dusty residue on his glasses.... and to cap things off he had a nasal drone of a voice that would step up into higher registers when he got gobby.

The Ginger twat would also mouth off at people who were twice his size, expect us to stand up for him, and then get stroppy when he deservédly got hit.

His crowning glory was when he got piss-drunk and took A few people on a terrifying ride in his car... after they managed to escape from the vehicle he sped off through town, ran a red light and jammed his in the side of a big Hoyer truck. The weasly little shit then went on a stella-rampage and tried to fight the arresting officer... I'm so sorry that I wasn't there.

No laughs. Just a twat.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 14:44, Reply)
Bloody women
I shared a house in Manchester with six student nurses. They managed to outwit nature by syncronising their periods in an unusual way. Rather than all being on at once, they somehow managed to ensure that at least one of them was on at any given time. The PMT that went with it was unpredicatble in its timing or viciousness. It really was hellish.
All my mates thought sharing with student nurses would be briliant, but it turned out that some of them were totaly prick teases, who would cop off with a bloke in a club, bring him home and then rely on me to tell him to sling his hook.
The worst of the girls was a militant veggie who I once caught eating chicken off the carcass at 4am. She also tried to pay her rent by using the house account chequebook three times.
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 14:34, 1 reply)
very tenous
i'm buying a house


no fucking housemates for me, i'll make do with the miserable cunt who lurks somewhere behind my eyelids.

Maybe a cat as well
(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 14:27, 22 replies)
Pee roast
While at Uni I shared a house with Ian ... Ian was a touch older than the rest of us - I say a touch but mean 10 years - and he had a thing for body building and young girls quite how he ever pulled or kept them I shall never know.

His entire diet was either "rice with boiled egg, peas and tuna" or "pasta with cheese and tuna" and he used to eat it by the bucket load.


I saw Ian last year (or more now) and am led to believe that he's still at the young ones and the tuna - 15(or 17) years on!

(, Tue 3 Mar 2009, 14:20, 1 reply)

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