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This is a question Housemates

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

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

Uh-oh Hoss, the Ojibway are attacking!
When I was a mere froshie, I had a housemate that was not so much crazy as trying to be interestingly eccentric. It was a failure.

She was an art student in the early '70's, so she was a walking advertisment for her various neuroses projects.

-She crocheted every dirty lost mitten she found in the filthy snow on her hat so there was a mismatched cascade of polyester down her back.

-She fucked this anaemic skinny bastard in the coat closet across from my room incessantly to the same Dylan record for months. I now have a pathological aversion to whiny rockers.

-On her day to cook, she made these appalling vegetarian messes an ox wouldn't eat. One lentil loaf was so bad, we held a funeral for it in the backyard. It was a huge waste of money the house couldn't afford.

-But the best, oho the best was in the spring when everyone was moving out. My own roommate was a Parks and Natural Resources major and did things like hunt her own dinner with bow and arrows. Hunting arrows are four razor blades set in a criss-cross pattern and "a 55 pound compound bow" doesn't refer to the price.
She picked it up, notched an arrow and started waving it around in a drug-addled haze. We all froze, afraid if she let it go, one of us would be killed. Those fuckers take down full grown bucks.
We're all talking in soothing, gentle voices, "Come on, now, just put the bow down, take the arrow out of the bow, Juanita, it's ok, you don't want to hurt anyone," etc. The arrow trembles in her grip and suddenly she decides to shoot the couch/sofa/davenport/chesterfield. Only she misses and the arrow goes through the bay window out into the street, narrowly missing some poor clown walking to class.

When the insurance guy came later to inspect our claim (since "arrow through window" looked a bit odd) he was disgusted and refused to pay out. "Your homeowner's insurance covers damages and theft, not goddam Indian attacks!"
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 22:52, 3 replies)
College Room Mates
When I were but a lad, I went to a Teacher Training College in the country. With the emphasis on "count", I guess. I shared a room with a lad called Geoff, from Sheffield. True Yorkshire lad, bluff and relatively humourless.

We had the loveliest tennis courts, where I once parked Geoff's Vauhhall Viva mk1, right in the centre of both courts, thereby rendering them unusable for all (both?) tennis loving students.

It took the college gardeners a week to work out how I'd managed to get the thing inside a court with only a gate wide enough for a single person.

On another occasion me and another roommate Andy (sadly no longer with us) got so fed up of Nev shagging loudly in the next room that we turfed it for him, and left a sheep inside.

Sheep get very worried in confined spaces....................
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 20:38, 9 replies)
A tenderly roasted petit pois for le compo
Back at uni in Hatfield, I ended up living in a shared house with some mates from 1st year. It was a blinding house, made even better that the house next door was rented by 4 other mates from 1st year. By removing the fence in between the two gardens, we created one massive garden suitable for barbecues, drinking, silly games, drinking, attacking each other with BB guns, drinking and er...drinking. It was fucking brilliant.

Anyway, this story concentrates on one of my housemates, Mark. I am unsure how it started, but we got involved in a practical joke war. Always bad, especially when Mark was an equally inventive bastard as I was. Highlights included him bursting a baloon filled with pepper over my head when I was asleep (imaginitive, I give him that)and me finding his spare keys and moving his car around the corner so that he thought it had been nicked. After his latest effort of putting blue food dye in my shampoo (made me look like a fucking smurf) I decided to exact terrible revenge. I got every single alarm clock in the house, and set them to 20 minute intervals and hid them around his bedroom. The first alarm, however, was his radio. Now Mark is a bit of a music fan and had a fairly powerful speaker system which I noticed he never turned up above quarter volume (even that was enough to melt earwax). So, I set his music system to radio mode, tuned the FM dial to static noise, and turned it off, setting the volume to full.

As it happens, I was on a night shift the next day, so I was able to stay up until 3am when my master plan came into play. I could hear the static quite clearly through a 10 inch brick wall at normal conversation volume, followed by Mark's muffled screaming. After he turned it off and (I imagine) went back to sleep, the first alarm went off. This contined every half hour until 6am!

I was nearly murdered the next morning.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 19:36, 5 replies)
House 1
Posage's horrible story reminded me of my first term at Bristol Poly. I've mentioned before that the on-campus halls are houses, with six or seven students each. I was assigned to house 1. At the beginning of the year, the Student Admissions Director put up a one-pager on the house noticeboard, introducing each student to the house.

My house had Ralph, me, Ged, Mark, Pete, and another Mark. Ralph was nice, and rarely home. He was the first to arrive in the house. Then came Ged and Pete. These two were a right pair of retards. They knew each other from before. Pete was a black gentleman, and Ged was a carrot crunching mong. Ged and Ralph were in the two downstairs bedrooms, the rest of us upstairs.

Mark 1 was the next to arrive. In his bedroom, he had a full-size Nazi flag on the wall above his bed, and a 4' poster of Maggie Thatcher on another wall. On the back of his door, a poster of Hitler giving the Nazi salute. He was blonde, blue-eyed and quite, quite mad.

Then me, and then Mark 2. Mark 2 was on my course, and we got along fine. However, things were not so good with Pete, Ged and Mark 1. Pete had seen the note on the board introducing me as a South African, and had immediately decided that I was a racist, apartheid-loving cunt (I'm not). He and Ged decided to treat me accordingly, before I even arrived. So my room - on the day of my arrival - had had the lock superglued. They formed a bizarre alliance with Mark 1 (an Aryan and a black guy?) and set out to make my life a living hell. Deliberately cooking metal to blow my microwave up; stealing my food; repeatedly supergluing my door lock; loud music at 4am up against my door; screaming at me and other bullying. It was quite unpleasant.

However. I'm not really one to submit to this sort of thing passively, so I took my revenge in countless small, and not so small, ways. Hope you enjoyed my cum in your potato salad, Pete. Didya like my shit in your peanut butter, Ged? Hope you all enjoyed the piss in your apple juice, you cunts. But the bullying continued, and so did the petty, stealthy revenges, along with a slow but inexorable escalation.

Pete and Ged were away one weekend, so I picked their door locks, scattered cress seeds on their carpets, watered it and locked the doors again. Mark was harder. He'd (against the rules) drilled the door and fitted another lock - one I couldn't pick quickly. So over the course of a week when he was away, I blew (using a sheet of paper and a hairdryer) about 5lbs of finely ground flour under his door. When he opened the room, everything in there was covered in a pretty white layer.

There were two bogs in the house; downstairs and upstairs. Pete didn't use the upstairs bog, because he didn't want to share a toilet with the South African (who's the racist here?).

For a painful four days, I held in my poo. My arse was groaning and I spent two days squeaking out those little poo-farts. Then I drank four pints of Guinness and skulked to the downstairs bog. I shat out the biggest, most monumental and apocalyptic turd I've ever seen in my life (I checked my arse to see if it was broken) and then left it - unflushed. I snuck back upstairs to wipe up. The smell permeated the whole downstairs, and by the time the Graf Bummelin was discovered in the morning, it needed to be broken up before it would flush. Of course, since they didn't do this immediately, they flushed and flooded the bathroom. I let it be known about campus that it was Pete's prodigious poo. The downstairs reeked for ages after that.

While this was going on, I applied for a move and got assigned to house 52 with three Indians (lovely blokes and really good cooks) and a couple of white guys. We got on like a house afire. I had one of the downstairs rooms, and a much happier life.

However, my mates decided that enough revenge had not yet been perpetrated on House 1. One of them (Spam) visited with a large number of quite potent French firecrackers. So one evening, after sitting around drinking and playing cards, Mrs LF and I set up the visiting mates with sleeping bags and went to bed. What I didn't know was that they'd decided to act.

Mrs LF and I were woken at around 3am by a distant but quite impressive "boom", followed by running feet, the front door slamming, footsteps running upstairs and then hammering on our door. I opened it to have Spam and my Welsh mate dive under our bed, alternately giggling and panting.

The next morning (after the mates had left), the director of student accomodations accused me of trying to blow up House 1 in "a racist attack". I pointed out that a) I had been in bed and had an alibi b) I didn't have any blowing up materials and c) she'd put me in a house full of Indians - without any problems at all - and therefore how could it possibly be racist?

These were all good points, and after they'd searched our rooms to find no firecrackers or anything like, the matter was dropped. A mate of the Mrs' went to look at the damage to house 1.

Turns out my mates had lit a large number of huge French firecrackers and tossed them through the letterbox. They'd exploded all at once, and then set fire to the door mat. The hallway was scorched and blackened, and I do believe that the house inmates might have done a little poo when the explosion went off.

So does that make me the bad housemate?
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 19:06, 2 replies)
Bukkake Flashmob
Harold arrived in my shared house in 1994. He quickly endeared himself to the populace by leaving turds of biblical proportions unflushed in the toilet bowl for us to admire and congratulate him on, and leaving hardcore dutch pornography lying around the house.

One of the other housemates allowed a girl from his course to sleep off her Saturday night's libations on our sofa. Harold took it upon himself to ejaculate copiously over her comatose face. I was surprised one human being could produce so much ejaculate in one sitting, at least that was before I was priveliged to sit through a Peter North film.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 18:50, Reply)
When it all goes too far...
Fortunately not my housemate but one of my coursemates...
My friend 'E' shared a room in a student house; a square room with no partition to allow any privacy, all she could really do was pretend to be asleep and pull the covers up when her room mate brought guys back for an energetic shag in the opposite bed.
Her room mate (cant remember her name now so it may as well be 'A') didnt get on with two 3rd year girls in the house, who had roomed together all the way through Uni and so a bit of a feud began. What sparked it off no one could really remember but it was possibly the long, exuberant sessions with a noisy vibrator in the communal bathroom which was situated next to their room (shaging with her roommate present was OK but wanking must have been a more personal matter?!?)
Anyway, to cut an already rambling story down to size, suffice it to say that a few rounds of tit for tat soon got out of hand.
Starting with all the bathroom products being poured down the drain (and creating an unwanted foam party behind the house), oranges being injected with ink and pickle jars with a new bleach additive, it almost ended with 'A' moving out. Unfortunately 'A' still had her front door key and used it to come back one final time and leave some not-very-fresh badger roadkill in one of the kitchen cupboards.
Rentakill had to come fully suited up to remove the poor creature and all the maggots and flies that it had spawned during its short stay.
How could this have been avoided? Follow the Golden Rule : Always get the keys back.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 18:27, Reply)
Our Fluffeh Flatmate (Shameless Fluffeh-enhanced Entry)
Meet Chewbakka... mostly called "Kitteh" or "Chewie".. or "Dildo" (when kitty's being a dildo) He used to be called Edward... but that's a shit name for a cat. I wasn't allowed to call him "Elwood", Nor was I allowed to call him "Dog 1" so Chewie had to suffice.

Missus Humpty and I got him from a russian lady: he was unwanted an' un-welcome in her home. He's fully vaccinated, chipped and has no nadgers. He's also the perfect combination of softy, sloth, and a toothy and clawed ball of Pure e-bil.

Mostly though he's a bit of a mong, and likes nothing more than attacking carbon fibre rods.

We love him... and he's moving to the country with us :)
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 18:11, 11 replies)
They're NOT flatmates
The Humpty wench and I have just bought a house. It rocks.

So we're trying to get rid of our flat...

Now those who know me well enough know that my loves for climbing and complex rope-work plus voracious appetite for good sex regularly get combined. To this end, I have 4 ring-bolts in the ceiling of the spare room each rated at 250Kg.

'Nuff Said.

Two blokes just came to look around the flat. Suited and Lisping with classic mincing motion, these guys were the idyllic poster-boys for the leather-clad doughnut-punchers hanging out at the Blue Oyster Bar.

I jokingly alluded to the ring-bolts and enjoyable acts of depravity that could be had should they be so inclined.... and received an icy stare and a "We don't live together". It was then that I realised... Sure, They may fit the stereotype, but then again so do most Swedish blokes.

(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 17:46, 7 replies)
The Pink Torpedo
The Pink Torpedo has saved me from many a fatal falw, and yes, I have many. The time he picked me up literally by wrist and ankle off my bedroom floor and put me into bed, despite me threatening to beat him when I sobered up enough to put myself in to bed. I did repay him though. We went out foir The Pink Torpedo's 30th, we were in a club of ill repute in Camden. We drank solidly until the bar shut at around 4am. I joined the cue for the coats, the Pink Torpedo sunk to the floor at my feet, filled a pint glass with sick, put on his coat, and lay down in the pouring freezing rain to sleep. The Queen then left the Torpedo in the capable hands of some very nice gay men and proceeded to the Woody Grill for some meat wrapped in flat bread, and returned sporting water chewing gum and cash (for a taxi). The Queen then proceeded to releive the Gay Gentlemen of their duty and threw the water straight into The Torpedo's groin. The Queen then bought the taxi home. Sadly The Queen and the Torpedo no longer share the sdame abode, however we still continiue our various tours of destruction every now and then.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 17:19, 3 replies)
Why did the hedgehog cross the road?

To see its flat mate.

(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 17:05, 4 replies)
my flatmate
was run over by a steamroller.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 16:54, Reply)
Bloody Housemates (part 2)
My housemate is terrible.

She wakes up and immediately demands to be changed as she has filled her diapers. She can’t wash herself properly and needs dressing. She can’t feed herself properly and dribbles everywhere. She sits there for hours on end looking bloody miserable. She had no self respect and can’t even brush her own hair. The bloody washing machine is on non stop to take care of her bloody dirty soiled clothes.

Mind you, she is my paraplegic wife.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 16:48, 4 replies)
Not so much a housemate...
... but I lived in a tenement flat in Aberdeen and got on pretty well with the guy across the landing. Nice enough guy, always took his turn of cleaning the stairs and mowing the back garden, got shopping in for the old wifey that lived in the flat above, and generally kept an eye on the place since he was at home most of the day. He was, however, one of Aberdeen's most well-known handlers of stolen property.

Still, good fences make good neighbours.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 16:14, 1 reply)
i used to have a flat mate called eric
really cool guy. he was rather yellow though, i always wondered if he suffered from jaundice or something.

anyway, he was quite a successful actor for a time. mainly did adverts though, and mostly for levi's i believe. you may have seen the adverts on the telly
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 15:49, 5 replies)
When I was younger
I went to stay with a friend for a few weeks.

He was a bit strange to some, but I thought he was absolutely brilliant, it was like we were on the same level. His house was awsome, it was massive, like a palace, really. He even had servants who’d bring me sandwiches and pop when I wanted. Probably the most amazing thing was all the fun stuff we’d do together, he even had fun fair rides in his garden.

Absolutely awsome!

Then one night he crawled into bed with me and asked me to touch him in his secret place...

I left the next day and sued the dirty fucker. Thankfully, we reached a settlement out of court.

Unfortunately he didn’t actually have the money he agreed to pay me, but apparently he’s announcing a new tour today, so I’m hopeful I’ll receive it soon.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 15:49, 3 replies)
Drug Dealers
I think I can honestly say I have never ever, ever met a drug dealer in any shape or form, but it appears that everyone else in the world has shared a house with one! Or else there is a tiny bit of exageration or massaging the truth going on...........
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 15:43, 22 replies)
G from N London (ex Wales)
Halls of residence. London University, 1st year.

Mad Welsh guy in halls. Bizarrely an amazing chemist. Seriously intelligent but normally smacked of his tits on a mixture of acid, coke and even ketamine. Used to disappear for days and we had to check his room to make sure he had not gone for a burton. He used to accept any dare thrown at him which normally resulted in him smashing pint glasses across his head and crucnhing the glass between his teeth. I dared him to headbutt the glass cover of the fussball table. He did. Glass broke. Came round in hospital after 3 days. Oopsy
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 14:50, 3 replies)
The Pond Incident
3 of us shared the house. All of us blokes.
Ians parents had moved out to live on a narrow boat in their retirement. He was looking for people to move in. Result. Cheap rent, all inclusive and Ian was a bit of a small time dope dealer ala Moz in Ideal. So plenty of smoke to be found.

The other lad that came to stay was Russ. Now Russ is one of the most laid back blokes I know. Was skinny as a rake. A chef during the day, and a stoned D&B bedroom DJ by night.

He moved in in early summertime, and as we had a respectable garden many BBQ's were held outback, many of which he frequented. Towards the back of the garden the level of the ground rose quite sharply and Ians parents had made a lovely 3 tier waterfall going into a nice large pond inhabited with Koi.

There was also a shed on this 'high ground' and the steps upto the shed required you to walk directly next to said waterfall.(Shed to the right water to the left)

Winter soon arrives and Russ, as usual is up at silly am to get into work. He wakes me up with his usual scampering round to get ready routine, he then comes into my room at 0530 and asks if we have got a snow shovel as its white over outside and he might struggle to get out of the street. I tell him there is one in the shed.

5 mins later in comes Russ back into my room, he asks "How long have we had a pond?"
It took a few seconds to register what he had done.

Dozy sod had only trudged up to the shed in the garden white over with snow. The quickest route was over teh frozen pond!!

I have never laughed so much in my entire life. The look of him standing there at the foot of my bed with both legs dripping with icy cold water and a look on his face of total bewilderment.

After I had calmed down a little, he was still silent so I casually asked, "Are the fish okay?"
"Not sure" was his reply.

Russ you are a legend mate.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 13:49, 3 replies)
Is my flatmate.

We stay in and he makes me cum just about every night.

Its ace.

He's my battery operated boyfriend.

That is all.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 12:49, 9 replies)
I used to live with a coke dealer
i did alot of it...alot. I don't think you can grasp the amount, and it was all paid for by cooking and cleaning. I was a bitch but that year was fucking awesome!
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 12:31, 13 replies)
I decided
it would be a good idea to study in Italy, the weather would be nice, the food even better and the wine, oh yes, the wine.

I found a great flat with some folk who had an 'interesting' social life. My flatmates friends seemed nice at first and coming from the UK, i got lots of attention, which was a good thing.

It all kicked off one Halloween, i went out dressed as a vampire and had a superb time. A bit later, four of us decided to go back to the flat. We had a few reefers and some of that wine i mentioned earlier.

Things began to get a bit steamy and we headed to the room and my flatmate suggested we had a foursome. I declined as i wasn't that sort of girl, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. So they raped me and cut my throat.

Bye for now

Meredith Kercher
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 11:34, 4 replies)
one way to avoid embarrassment
in 1st year of uni i think i lived with the most disgusting students ever... ok i was just as bad!!

but rob, if you're reading this, what you did was just filthy.

we had all met at one of those "secure a home days" so we didn't really know each other. 2 years later in the 3rd year, each living in a different place rob made a confession...

turns out on the day we moved in rob was unpacking his stuff while our other house mate bren was just settling in the room next door. rob felt a rumble from previous unhealthy diets and positioned his behind to ease a nice trump.

unfortunately for rob it had followed through and now felt himself completely soiled. quickly going to the bathroom to wash him self he soon realised the dilemma he was in, he had just moved in with people he doesn't know and had shat himself! how was he gonna escape the bath room without his new house mates knowing that he shat him self!?!

*Option 1: wear the same pants when leaving and discard them later
(but defeats the purpose of washing him self)

*Options 2: carry the grotty cloth out of bathroom (but theres the risk of new housemates noticing, especially Bren in next room)

good old rob, rob being rob he went for option 3....

to hide the soiled pants in the top part of the toilet swimming around the flush valves and other mechanical stuff.

rob confessed this to us over 2 years later, when we asked if he removed it... well...

yep... you guessed right, it's probably still there now!
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 11:30, Reply)
Not so much housemates
as chaps with whom I was at boarding school. I recall a time in the upper sixth when the lads who lived in the corridor commonly known as Rugby Row for reasons self-evident, elected to engage in a new pass-time called "bog wars".

Each boy's (single) room adjoined a sort of shower-loo cupboard thing which was shared with the room next door, and bog wars consisted of trying to block each others' toilets using only bodily waste. After a while, the shit actually protruded above the level of the seat.

When the cleaners came along to do their chatting and drinking tea in the corridor, the heinous heaps of sin in the loos caused two of the three to add to the noisome mountains of arse-cake with vomit, and they refused to clean.

Eventually they had to get the hazmat people in to clean and disinfect.

Height? The biggest pile was about 1'6" at its peak.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 11:24, 1 reply)
I lived with aliens.
I am still convinced to this day that I shared a house with aliens.
It was a house in Reading UK about 1994 and downstairs lived two very strange men in the same room, who never spoke and never made a sound. They looked like identical twins, even their clothes were the same and they each carried at all times a small black box with a switch, a red light and a curly cable that went up one of their sleeves. They had a very calm, diffident air to their characters, moving slowly and somewhat awkwardly. If I spoke to them, they would just smile and nod. In the morning they would leave early, get into their van and drive off, sometimes not coming back for days, when they did come back they would go to their room straight away, and never a sound was heard and as far as I can tell they never used the toilet. Aliens I tell you!
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 11:18, 2 replies)
Just wrong
Deep, deep breath.

Ok – as ridiculous as it may sound, I have buried my experiences at university deep in the recesses of my mind. I genuinely get very, very angry when I recall them in detail and as a result rarely ever talk about them. So I am sure I will need some sort of tranquiliser after this.

I spent most of my first year miserable and depressed, after the systematic bullying of myself and two other flatmates. There were eight people to a corridor, five were guys and us three girls were the ones being targeted. Both myself and one of the other girls had a boyfriend, and the third girl was quite introverted. The fact that none of the guys were going to able to sleep with us was a possible contributing factor to their extreme nastiness and spiteful behaviour.

The ringleader of the fucktards was N – an outwardly charming and friendly guy who turned into a vicious and cruel bully if you didn’t worship him as some sort of leader, as the other guys did. He would made snide and horrible remarks about how everyone hated us, that we weren’t getting into the “party spirit”.

The idiots made best friends with some other apes from adjacent flats, and they spent most of their time round at ours, smoking weed and fags in the lounge, even though we’d asked them not to. If we dared enter the lounge when said male bonding was taking place we were verbally abused and laughed at.

The lounge and kitchen were a permanent state – absolutely disgusting and vile. We ended up having to buy our own mini fridges and portable grills for our rooms because the ape-men would throw our food and plates out of the window.

One of the apes was particularly nasty, and when drunk would attempt to physically or sexually assault any girl within range (usually me – I am so lucky), and once spent a good half an hour screaming racist abuse through the door of an Asian flatmate, who was too terrified to come out.

We made several appeals to the Managers and supervisors of the halls, the people who were supposed to protect us, but to no avail. We wrote down all the damage they had done to the flat (pulling curtains down, discharging all the fire extinguishers, smashing windows, throwing beer up the walls) but the hall Managers basically shrugged their shoulders and said that if the boys didn’t admit to doing it themselves it would still be coming out of all our deposits.

We spent as much time as possible away from the flat, and I returned one day to find that they had unscrewed the spyhole of my door from the outside and sprayed the fire extinguisher through it, ruining everything within range on the inside.

They knew one of the girls had a very important exam one day so the night before they came back at about three in the morning from whichever sleazy club they’d been at, made as much noise as possible for as long as they could stay awake, and then turned the hoover on in the corridor and left it running while they all went to bed in a drug-induced haze.

One night I was the only one in the flat, the girls having gone back home for the weekend to escape, and the boys came back from the student union with what seemed to be about 20-30 other people. What followed was the most awful, chaotic amount of noise I have ever heard. People kept trying to get into my room even though I had locked it, they were shouting abuse at me and each other. I could hear things smashing, people fighting and things ripping and breaking. After several hours the noise suddenly stopped (I found out later that the pathetic excuse for security guards had finally asked them nicely to disperse).

I cautiously ventured outside into the corridor and saw absolute destruction. Everything was ruined - the carpets, the walls, the chairs, the tables, the sofas. Everything had beer, sick, drink or blood on it. I was astounded to see one of the boys standing, topless in a weird trance in the middle of it all, he had scratches down his back and he couldn’t focus on me.

I went absolutely, fucking mental. Bat shit crazy. I screamed and screamed and screamed at this guy to start cleaning everything up or I would fucking kill him and his entire family. He had no idea where the other guys had gone.

After much confused slurring he finally seemed to realise that they had really gone too far, and started to half-heartedly clean up. I went back to bed in an apocalyptic rage. Thankfully the end of the year was only weeks away by this point and they were barely civil for the duration.

The really sad thing is, I was looking forward to university so much. I am a friendly, sociable person. I like to get drunk and have a great time with my friends. That year at university affected me for years afterwards, I was angry at everyone – me for not sticking up for myself more – my university for not helping us when we asked for it – my friends from home for having an amazing time in their first years.

But mostly I hated them. Those fucking bastards who ruined it all. They turned me into an introverted, unsociable, unconfident person who struggled to find the energy to have a good time. It’s only now, nearly 6 years later, that I finally feel like me again – such was the way they wore me down.

I wish I could say my next 2 years at uni were better, in some ways they were worse! But I won’t go into that, that first year was hard enough to tell.

Apologies for length, it’s probably as long as the noose I’d like to string them up with.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 11:18, 15 replies)
I miss Germany...
Many moons ago in the Army, close to Christmas in Minden. My Room mate, Ali (a Pisshead of the really rough sort) fell into the room at about 3 in the morning. Being used to this I just turned over and was about to go back to sleep when I heard someone playing the Guitar and singing Jingle Bells in a Quivering voice. Lo and behold, at the foot of Ali`s bet sat a young German fella', somewhat the worse for wear. He had been busking in the Pub behind the Barracks and Ali had decided that he needed to be sung to sleep. He more or less kidnapped the guy, somehow managed to sneak him in to camp and dragged him back to the block, threatening to kill him if he didn`t sing. I have never seen anybody so shit scared in all my life! - Luckily Ali was crashed the minute he hit the matress and we managed to smuggle the guy back out without any incident.
The same Ali also returned on other occasions with things he'd stolen. A whopping great huge Petrol station sign and a complete Roof Rack from an RMP ford escort - complete with Blue lights, and MP Sign - that one cost him 28 days in jail and a lot of beer tokens!
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 10:48, 1 reply)
My housemate
tried to grow some pot from seeds she'd got from a boy on her course. She spent lots of money getting all the equipment. A few weeks later she had some very nice tomato plants.

That is all.
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 9:29, 3 replies)
Bloody Housemates!
One of my housemates was really terrible!

He didn’t wash himself, he dribbled all his food everywhere, spaced out for days on end whilst soiling himself. He ran me ragged for 6 bloody years! It was awful, he didn’t even speak to me most of the time, just moaned or grimaced.

Mind you, he’s gone now. Poor little Ivan.

EDIT: Too soon?
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 8:53, 9 replies)
I still live at home, with one brother, who's a right bastard. Because he works and has to get up early he thinks it's alright to wake me up, and even thumps me awake. He comes in totally bladdered at the weekend and makes me get him undressed and into bed, like I don't have anything else better to do.

Then he's always at me to put his bets on at the bookies. He's fucking hopeless at the horses, usually wins nothing (some "bloke" is always giving him "a good tip", 15-1, you know all that shite). So I started to not even put the bet on and keep the money - he was none the wiser, and I needed the money for my hobby (I'm a bit of an ornithologist).

But one time I spent his bet and the bloody horse came in! He spent the whole day looking for me, then when I came home he'd killed my kestrel.

(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 5:26, 9 replies)
Re: Todd
My brother lived with his old friend Todd for a while, until he wised up. In the summer Todd was too lazy to turn off the air conditioner when the apartment cooled off, so he would open up the windows to warm up the place.
Not that he ever paid the electric bill which was one of his obligations.
Todd never did the wash but would use my brother's clean clothes and linens. My brother took to folding up the dirty towels and throwing the clean ones on the floor! My brother also took to keeping some clean dishes and cups in the sink.
Wait a minute, which one was the weird housemate?
(, Wed 4 Mar 2009, 2:43, Reply)

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