I've only ever had one housemate.
I was married to her. She had a penchent for shagging other men, it turns out, but to date has the best tits I've ever seen.

Swings and roundabouts.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 2:08, 3 replies)

Judy
Judy wasn't his name,we called him it because like the Richard & Judy sketches on Bo Selecta, "Every time he spoke, he spoiled it!" He was one of those people who's opinions & general inability to shut the funk up, made it hard to like him, & very easy to bully him. Here are just a few of his more memorable "moments"

- Telling us he couldn't eat certain foods because of his heart-burn, then not eating any actual real food in the 6 months he was here, & always chowing down at around 1 a.m before bed.

- Being so ignorant, he once answered one of my farts!

- Telling us we were failures, despite us being 20 years younger & having better jobs, qual's, friends etc than him.

- Having to get his 84 year old dad to pay his back rent for after he stormed out & we took his prized possesion (His T.V!) as collateral.

One night, his many wankerisms got to much, so amongst other things... I cleaned the inside of my foreskin with his toothbrush, Beno pissed & wanked into his trainer & Fabby pissed in the sleeve of his £500 coat!!!
On reflection, perhaps we were bigger cunts than he ever was, we just weren't pathetic with it!
(Dr Fishfinger Want's to see a fat man give a tit wank, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 2:01, 1 reply)

So many choices...
The girls who demanded I pay a share of the food even though I ate at the work canteen or the pub every meal? Nah.
The girl who used my dog's flea soap rather than pay for a cake of regular soap? Nah.
The guy who woke me up waving a running chainsaw at my face? Nah.
For my money it was the girlfriend of a housemate who moved in with us, made life shit in so many petty ways, then convinced him to move out.
I'd steadfastly refused to help him pack, confident it was a stupid move and he'd be back anyway but came back from the pub as they were about to leave.
Everything was boxed up in the truck, goodbyes were being said when she realised the CD currently playing on the stereo was "hers".
"Um... no, that's mine actually," I say.
"No it isn't, it's mine!" she insists, popping it out, putting it in the cover and jamming it into the last box.
"Actually, that is Difficultchild's", her embarrassed boyfriend explains, opening the box to take it back out.
"And... er... so is this one. And this one too. Um and this one."
"But I listen to them all the time!"
"Well that's fine, but they're not actually ours, so we can't take them."
She gets shitty, stamps her feet and glares at me as he starts removing selected CDs and handing them back.
Eventually there's a pile of about 30 cds in front of me when he says.
"Hang on, this is Difficultchild's book too..."
"But I love that book!"
"Yes, but it's not yours... maybe we should just have a quick look through the whole box and make sure there's nothing else that got accidentally mixed up."
And so began what turned out to be more than an hour of unpacking everything from the truck as every box revealed more of my stuff she had packed away because she either used it, liked it, wanted it etc.
I'm talking CDs (more than 100, I was reviewing them at the time and had stacks of the things) DVDs (at least 30), books (about 50), pots, pans, plates, kitchen knives, the blender, a pepper mill, herbs, spices, canned foods, blankets, towells, a skateboard, games, toys, my fucking guitar!!!, plants from the back yard, bottles of wine, stuff from the bathroom, stuff from the junk room (tools, power and otherwise) etc etc etc.
Basically if it wasn't in my locked room, she'd tried to take it.
He was mortified. She was ropable and kept saying "But I use that ALL THE TIME!!!" or something similar.
I was delighted.
The truck was a lot lighter as they left and in the next week I got another box of stuff back he'd found while unpacking.
Then I recovered some more while visiting.
It was all too much, they had a messy break up, he took everything that was his... actually that should read "he took everything" and moved back in.
Funnily enough I ran into her a couple of years later and she asked if I still had that book of hers she'd loaned me.
I laughed so hard beer came out my nose.
( difficultchild, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 2:00, 5 replies)

And another one from first year
A couple of our original housemates dropped out after the first semester so we got some new ones.
One a spanish final year dentish student, and the other a penultimate year american, who basically came over here to get as drunk as possible, good times.

The american guy (adam) taught us the joys of beer pong and kool aid, he got stuff shipped over from the states a few times, it was just a giant box filled with swedish fish (the best things ever) and other american sweets basically.

So we took adam out drinking with us, and by now we had all subjected our livers to first semester of uni drinking, we were used to the paint stripper vodka and whatnot. Adam on the other hand wasnt, he'd only drank sissy yankee beer, needless to say english boozing took its toll. After a think it was 4 nights in a row boozing adam began to feel ill down his side. Off to the hospital he went, he didnt come back for a few days, we were a bit worried. Turned out he had got pancreatitis from drinking too much. The funny thing was tho we had out drank him every night. His parents flew over to see him in the hospital and stayed in his room. So basically we destroyed our housemate!

Length.... about 2 weeks in hospital, and a liftime of really watching what he drank.
( epiphany coming live from sweden, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 1:55, Reply)

First year uni
We had a guy who basically had no social skills whatsoever. He was odd in every which way really in all his mannerisms. The worst thing was that he was a haemophiliac, and thus needed to have injections quite alot, so horribly he decided to keep his sharps bin in the kitchen, needless to say we were pleased with this.

We also managed to fill a jar full of pubes (think 5 of us contributed out of 8) which then got left in someone elses flat.
Fun times
( epiphany coming live from sweden, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 1:49, Reply)

This happened about two years ago
A few years back I shared a house with the a right bunch of weirdos. As is often the case with these things, there was plenty of comings and goings, some people moving out without even telling us they were going. In the whole time I was there I don’t think any of them did a day’s work, most of them being out-of-work actors and unemployed musicians, so they just sat around all day sunbathing in the garden and talking rubbish. Unsurprisingly I didn’t get on with most of them and they didn’t get on with me. In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t think anybody there was really good friends with anybody else, there was always some argument or other going on and plenty of tension in the air. So far, so blah, but unlike the other tales about housemates here we were actually on the national news when it all came to a head.

“Shilpa Poppadom” indeed. That Jade, she really was a character.
( GarbageFan didn't know what to have as a board sig on, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 0:57, Reply)

Peniswall
One of my old flatmates Shaun told me about a time a few years back when he lived in an all-male flat. He'd come home after a successful night of pulling with a comely young thing but, when they made their way to his room, he found to his horror that his flatmates had covered every square inch of the floor and ceiling with crudely drawn cock-and-balls on bits of A4.

The girl ran into the night but Shaun could still see the funny side. Eventually.
(ElGranto, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 0:45, 1 reply)

Uni Halls
When I was in halls I had two foreign flatmates...Franz, the reclusive Swede, and Edwin, the lovely, gentle Taiwanese who barely spoke any English.

Edwin was great, he wore a vest and shorts all the time, did bicep curls with his desk chair, and could climb like a monkey along the skirting boards in the corridor in the flat.

He also had a boiled egg with everything he ate. He was about ten years older than all of us but was really sweet and innocent, and everybody loved him and tried to look out for him because his lack of English meant he was failing everything at Uni. And he was only there because his girlfriend back in Taiwan had left him. He was great though.

Franz on the other hand, peaked early. He seemed great at first, took us to Ikea and introduced us to raw haddock and Swedish schnapps, and loved the ladies...as we all did. He became a bit of a recluse though, took his work too seriously, and never really joined in the fun.

Anyway, the highlight of Franz was at Christmas. He brought us back some genuine Swedish Porn. It was a grotty magazine with a free video. The video was fairly run of the mill porn, a girl being banged in a tree by three men I seem to remember was one of our favourites.

But the main event of the video, was a woman fucking a plant. A plant sort of like this, except about 5 feet tall and about 7cm wide - farm1.static.flickr.com/6/5449708_d55d1d7d1f.jpg

She sawed it in half, sanded to get rid of the rough edges, then lubed it up, and fucked it. It was really weird, but she loved it. Poor plant, I thought, didn't stand a chance.

I was watching this with a couple of mates from home who came through for New Year and didn't leave for a few days. So, picture the scene, three hungover Scots, eating bacon rolls, lying on the couch, watching some mental Swedish girl have sex with a giant plant...and in walks Edwin with two other just-off-the-boat-from-repressed-part-of-the-world friends of his, and immediately spots the TV.

"Ooh" he says, slightly startled.

"BBC?" he mumbles, slightly bemused.

"Erm, no" I said..."video."

"You know, mooovviiieeee" I said slowly...as the backed out of the room nervously.

He didn't watch much TV with us after that.

I don't know where he is now, but I know he had to repeat because he did indeed fail everything because the Uni enrolled him despite his atrocious English. Maybe he went to Sweden?
(Zutroy started without you, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 0:44, Reply)

Fatto's bum-cactus porn
I've regaled various parts of the legend of Fatto on other QOTWs, and I shan't pearoast here, but the tale of shit night and here's an account of her peculiar idea of harassment. To summarise, this girl was terrifyingly psychotic and quite possibly the largest human being I've ever seen.

While we lived in this house of horrors, our male friends slowly stopped coming round. You see, Fatto was dangerously horny. I don't know how she did it, but there was a different man in her bed every night. The sex was loud and disturbing. Sometimes I hear it echoing through my mind. I suspect this frequent shaggage was at least in part due to her coming on to anything with a penis.

To Shit Chris, a sweet, angelic boy who stood at five foot four: "You're a murderer's dream".

To Neil: "You're not my type, but I want you anyway." Neil declared the experience "Like a comet hurtling towards me."

Yet these are fairly normal, as these gentlemen were able to run away screaming.

Big Chris wasn't so lucky. Big Chris is perhaps the nicest man I have ever met. One night, he crashed at our house. We all went to bed, settling him down in the living room. Next day, he was gone and we didn't hear from him in months.

Then the whole story came out. He told it with pain burning behind his eyes.

"Let's fuck," said our portly pal.

"Er, you're very nice, but I've got a girlfriend," said Big Chris, kindly.

"So, I've got a boyfriend..." (she did; he looked exactly like Tory Boy from Harry Enfield.

...a pregnant pause. And she continued. "Well, how about we just watch each other get off?"

"No thank you," replied Big Chris. Too kind, son, too kind.

"Let me show you what turns me on," she said.

At this juncture, anyone else would have probably thrown themselves out of the window, or at least started to cry. Not Big Chris. Such a polite lad, he did nothing as she grabbed a laptop (not hers, I might add) and began to pull up an array of horrific porn.

I have been told there were cactuses being inserted into ladies' bottoms. This was not extreme enough for our chubby chum. Next came the knives in bums. All was accompanied by commentary on how much she liked it.

Big Chris was unable to complete the story, so I do not know what happened next. All I know is that he never came to visit ever again.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 0:42, 4 replies)

Filthy bastards
Not me, but my friend. She lived in a flat with a guy called Joel during her first year at university. Joel was a bit strange. He was a vegetarian, which would've been fine if he didn't give you a dirty look if you dared to eat a meat pie in his presence. Also, while a lot of vegetarians take the time to learn some interesting vege recipes, Joel simply took normal recipes and removed the meat - best one must've been his lasagne, which was just tomato sauce and soggy pasta (didn't eat it, just got told about it).

But what took the cake was the wanking. Whenever he was having a wrist session, his door would be locked. This was in the dial-up days so my friend would often end up yanking out his cord so she could use the phone. He could be at it for hours and, even though he said he was just working on essays, it was obvious to all he was having a tug.

He'd even lock himself in if he had friends over, the dirty sod. I always wondered how he could excuse himself to go for a hand shandy.

Also, a flat I lived in used to have an ever-changing roster of Japanese people renting out one of the upstairs rooms. They'd always entertain a group of about 10+ friends up in their room. We'd only see them if they were making food, using the toilet or leaving in the morning. We never heard any sex noise, yet it was obvious that they were all crashing up there. Might not sound like much, but it used to weird me right out. That, and Toru the timid banker, who used to peek at the girls when they were having a shower.
(ElGranto, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 0:40, Reply)

I used to live with a lad who may well be the stupidest person I have ever met.
Not only was he vain (posessing a vast, grossly expensive array of cosmetics and grooming products that made my soap, shampoo and razor look like stone tools) and anti-social (blasting out the version of "Lady Marmalade" from Moulin Fucking Rouge at least twice a day, usually late at night after he'd got home from his shift as a phone-monkey) but he also had a total and utter lack of common sense.

For instance, if you lived in a house with four other people, where would you store your important personal documents, including bank statements? In a box-file, in a drawer, under the mattress? These were clearly not good enough for old smartarse, oh no. He stored them in the kitchen drawer, where just anyone could walk in and find them. And you know the phrase "don't shit in your own nest"? He clearly hadn't heard of that either, as he had a torrid relationship a new female housemate - despite the fact he was camper than the sleeping quarters of four Roman legions.

During my life, I've met many folk who weren't the sharpest tools in the box academically, but virtually none of them were that mind-bogglingly idiotic. But the most ironic thing? This lad was doing a degree in pharmacology (and, perhaps unsurprisingly, failed it in the end.)
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 0:30, Reply)

Oh.. shit...
Along time ago (last year) i lived in a student accomodation block. 8 flats with 5 students in each flat. Add to this that we all went to the art and design college and you get a good mix of some rather odd personalities. There are many stories that i may get round to telling but this one stands out the most at the moment.

So i lived with 2 girls and a guy, the other room being vacant, and one night we decided it would be a jolly good idea to have a few drinks and head on down to the club (played alternative rock/dancy stuff, rather good).

So with some friends from other flats we proceeded to get rather sozzled in our kitchen before departing to the club. C as we shall call her was on the mascara stripper (gin) the rest of us on beer and vodka. So now that we were nice and socially lubricated we decided to make our way to the bus stop. C seems a bit inebriated but no worse off than the rest of us. All was well until we got on the bus into town.

So here the tale takes a turn for the worst for C, as we were on our merry way, she is laughing quite alot at not alot and has a little sick on her coat. "oh bugger" thinks us, B offers to take her home as he has an all day ticket. They get off at the next stop and we carry on with the intent of him meeting us there in a little while.

Unfortunately B does not make it to said club and upon returning we discover that after finally getting a taxi to pick them up (as the bus wouldn't let the now half paralysed C on board, he got her home and on getting her into my flat she then vomits over most of the bathroom and after feeling that didn't quite do it, she then shits her pants. and the sink. the hallway. and the shower. everywhere but the toilet really.

Have to feel sorry for her as she is usually so quiet and well behaved. We also didn't realise she drank near a whole litre of gin.
She is now known as Gin.

(on a lighter note we all pitched in and cleaned up while she was passed out on the sofa and by that i mean we cleaned the hallway and left the bathroom for her..)
( mr schteven In a staring competition with a squid on, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 0:27, Reply)

my crazy indian flat mate
i had a scary indian girl move into my small 3 bed flat.. she slowly moved her bf in a few weeks later, she workld lates and nights and then would come home and cook curry at 5am (v v tiny flat) she would boil 20 eggs then fry them when hard boiled, the flat stunk, she stuck, her room stuck her bf stuck. I hated the smell of curry wofting under my door at 5am, she didnt pay bills etc,wash or clean anything. Every sunday wendesay and thrusday all her family/friends would come round about 15 of them and they would all squeeze into the bedrooom with food. Also they used to insult us (my flat mate and me) luckly my other flat mate was fluent in indian and she didnt know that hahahaha...Anyway she tried to do a runner at 3am until woke up and threw her and her bloke out on the street with their crap, and threw her half cooked indian dinner into the window of her car this huge vat of it...it turned out she was over here on a student visa but working instead cash in hand so we got immigration and got her thrown out of the country and we got back all the money she owed about £2000 in bills and damage.
She did get caught trying to sell our stuff at cash converters as well a few weeks later..
Her name was avantikka and she got called chickentikka... no this wasnt because she was indian just because she was a mad mad bitch
( The invisible ham Fig rolls are the best, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 23:39, 9 replies)

Turn it up to ELEVEN !!!
There comes a time when strapping two tea trays to your feet with duct tape and skiing down stairs wears thin.

There comes a day when all the powder fire extinguishers have been drained and the episodes of making your mates look like Casper the friendly ghost (only a drunk, pissed off choking variant) are but memories.

Yep. I'm talking third year at university.

It was a sunny Sunday morning in our large shared house. A great big detached place next to a graveyard. I was sprawling in the living room with the five other lads I shared with, watching Countryfile and drinking Skol - the usual Sunday morning routine. We were all too skint to do anything constructive, and doing some study was about as alien a concept to us as Leonardo da Vinci singing in a death metal band.

After an hour of bliss involving tractors, sheep, and border collies, the tv was turned off and somebody put some nice mellow easy listening on. Metallica, The Black Album.

It didn't take long for an idea to form in my booze-addled brain.

"Hey, we've all got this cd, right?" A few grunts and shrugs, which counted as a ringing endorsement from this lot. "Well, why don't we all play it simultaneously? Lets see how loud we can make it!"

A few more grunts and shrugs, "Its a plan" said my mate Betty (named after the Betty Ford clinic), as he downed his latest can of Scandinavian skull-fucker. We dispersed to our respective rooms except for Betty who remained with the beast of a stereo we had set up in the living room.

We'd already decided which track to play.

After a few minutes of fucking around we were ready.

"Five - Four - Three - Two - One!!! PLAY!!!"

And the house shook to its foundations!

It was like the building had a POUNDING heartbeat. The floorboards pulsed, the light fixtures danced, shit fell off shelves, windowframes creaked and groaned to the driving and almighty racket of -

SAY YOUR PRAYERS LITTLE ONE
DON'T FORGET, MY SON
TO INCLUDE EVERYONE -

A car alarm went off outside.

Ohh, this is good! I thought.

I loitered at the top of the stairs shouting down to Betty about how big and clever we were. The other lads were doing exactly the same. It was a real self-congratulatory love-in for about ten minutes. Then I ventured down to the living room for a change of scenery. The fucking walls were THROBBING and a strange dull whistling noise had developed in my ears, it was great.

Now, we had one of those stained glass front doors in the house, and as I cleared the last step I noticed a shape of a person outside.

Fuck!

It was only when I strained my hearing really hard I could make out the determined and constant banging on the door.

Oh, shit!

I strolled over and opened the door and there was a bloke standing there in a dress.

A black dress.

He was only a young fella, about my age, but I could tell he really wasn't into Metallica at all. He was very clean cut looking. If it wasn't for the dress he could've worked in a bank, or been one of those normal-looking psychopaths you see on the news and think: bloody hell, he looked so normal! His eyes were bulging and spit was spraying out of his mouth as he shouted above the racket.

"DO YOU KNOW WE'RE TRYING TO CONDUCT A FUNERAL OVER HERE!!! HAVE YOU NO RESPECT FOR THE DEAD???"

Fuck...

Our house was pretty isolated, backing onto a graveyard, trees and other green twattery everywhere. Only we'd forgotten that over the other side of the lovely field littered with tombstones was the parish church of Saint Stephen All Saints.

The curate calmed down when we switched the music off. But I swear to this day he uttered the word: "cunts!" under his breath as he turned and stormed back down the way he'd came.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 23:37, 6 replies)

Death becomes him
I lived in a great house with a drug dealer and my party animal friends in Croydon. We weren't exactly conformist, running a soundsystem and dealing acid at festivals was the order of the day, and we funded this by me working at Woolworths and shoplifting from the inside. Anyhoo...

One day the shifty greek landlord told us we'd be getting a new housemate. 'Fine', we thought. 'Wrong', we were.

Craig moved into the minature box room at the front of the house a few days later. In the year or so that he lived there we saw him a grand total of two times. I had the misfortune to live in the room next to him and the oddness began when I was 'entertaining' my then girlfriend. In mid bone I would hear shuffling noises by my door. Needless to say it's pretty hard to keep pace when someone odd is shuffling at the door. I would get up and try and catch him, but he always got into his room and locked the door by the time I got out.

He would only ever leave the house at 3am, and always carrying a black bin liner over his shoulder. We would hear the door lock when he returned at 8am. After a few months we started noticing a really strange smell coming like formaldyhyde coming from his room. It was at this time I got my girlfriends mum to do a bit of detective work. She worked at the DSS and had a friend who managed to get into his file.

Lucky us! Craig turned out to be a sex offender who had recently been released and homed within the community.

One day we came home to find our dog missing. Craig appeared and said he'd 'let him out to play' Craig ended up on the floor leaking rather a lot of blood from his face.

We never saw Craig or the dog again.
(drshipman iz in yr shower killing yr nan, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 23:33, 3 replies)

Ahhh housemate...
We'll call her Mary, even though that isn't her name. Now, there's nothing better than scaring people shitless and then laughing at them.

My room is on the ground floor at the bottom of the stairs. I heard someone coming down and opened my door, and went 'raaaRRRRGGHHhhhhh!' at Mary as she got to the bottom.

She screamed and fell over.

Her fiance, who was walking down the stairs behind her, gave me a well deserved high five.
(Stu Moo winner of five nobble piece prizes, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 23:32, Reply)

To be honest it was probably me
I was never a truly untidy housemate- indeed I actively enjoy cleaning kitchens to this day and I've never stored excretions or the like. I do however look back on my housesharing with an immense sense of gratitude as really I was a bit weird.

First were the attempts to cook in bulk. I still do cook food that will do two or three servings but at university this was pushed to extremes. I bought the sort of pot you could boil Indiana Jones in on a shop on North End Road in Fulham and experimented with cooking at a quasi industrial level. One particularly ambitious bolognaise came in at about 20kg and required half the freezer for stowage. A trip around Somerfield at 3.55pm on a Sunday resulted in a gallon of leek and potato soup- nice enough but probably more suited to Noel Edmonds gunge tank than anything else. On another occasion, I curried an entire 11 lb turkey.

Then there was the hifi. I've always loved it but a lack of funds, an inflated sense of talent and more spare time did tend to push me towards DIY. After I built a successful valve amp kit that used cutesy EL84 valves, I figured I could scale up the same design and use whopping great 845 valves (imagine a 400w light bulb crossed with a hammer horror prop and you are most of the way there) in the same design. The resulting behemoth, pretty much destroyed the mains breakers and melted a neat square in the carpet. Another project involving horn loaded speaker drivers resulted in what looked like a pair of wardrobes that could easily produce 100db of (somewhat shakey quality) audio from a 7w valve amp. This coupled with erratic sleep patterns, a fondness for Japanese cartoons (this was the era of the Dragonball Z marathon) and the fact my course really wasn't very hard resulting in little overall work must have proved draining to my housemates.

And yet, bless them they seemed to take it with resigned good humour (or maybe they just liked soup). I still speak to most of them today and they seem to hold no grudges- indeed I marry one of them in 2010. In another household I could have just as easily been boiled down to glue in my big pot and buried in the garden. The only element of counter weirdness they ever showed was K, a quiet, impossibly elegant girl who had the room next to mine on the top floor used to have an elaborate thursday afternoon routine that involved a BLT, a long bath and a massive noisy wank when she assumed everyone was out of the house- she never blew the mains though.

Length?, three culinarally repetitive years.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 23:30, 2 replies)

I dont really have housemates
I live with my mum and dad... They still make my tea for me, its fucking brilliant!

I still get made to tidy my room though :(
(i should have joined myspace, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 23:24, Reply)

Barry...
I went to uni in Glasgow. Great fun, apart from a few moments when i was living with Barry. Mental Barry.

Three mates came up to stay for the weekend, and we took Barry out on the town for a few swift halves. One thing led to another, and it's 4am back at ours, polishing off the last of the whiskey.
My mate Matt had pull a young sort and was in the bedroom with her, when Barry called us in. There stands Matt, bollock naked, bottle of gin in hand, and the room covered in blood. After the initial panic, we realised that he'd stepped on some broken glass and it had left a pretty deep cut. Sobering up by this point, we send young girl home, clean up his foot, then head to bed.

Come noon the next day, we head back down the pub to watch the footy, leaving Matt sleeping off his hangover, and Barry keeping an eye on him.
At about 6pm, and well on our way, we get a phone call from Matt, telling us he's on the train home and that Barry would explain everything...

Turns out, when Matt had woken up the next day (not remembering too much) and seen the blood in the room, Barry had taken the opportunity to spin a little tale, which went something along the lines of:

Matt: What the fuck happened last night?
Barry: You know that girl you brought back last night?
M: Yeah...
B: You raped her.
M: But...The blood...?
B: Virgin blood.

And with this revelation, Barry went off to work. It was about 3 hours before Barry called him to let him in on the 'joke,' during which time Matt reckons he couldn't decide whether to kill himself or go to the police.

Funnily enough, people didn't come to stay with me much after that.

So that was Barry - Always good for a night out, but completely fucking mental.
(kccat does NOT look like Joe 90, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 23:08, Reply)

Best hangover ever.
After a night out celebrating a friend’s birthday, I awoke to find myself no longer in the club I vaguely remember entering, but in a bed. And not my own. I slowly take in my surroundings and notice it’s a girls room, and a load of photos of my friends. “This bird knows all my mates!” I think, before realising I am in fact in my own house, just not in my room.

Girl who owns the room comes down, starts saying how sorry she is and that she’s did something terrible to me, the worst thing she’s ever done to any one. I was rather confused. Normally when you get so drunk you can’t remember anything, you’re the one who needs to apologise. I rack my brain, what could she have done? Raped me? Stolen money? Cock blocked me? Broken one of my precious things?

After a full 60 seconds of saying “Just tell me!” she tells me how, when id been to drunk to get up the stairs to my room, she’d put me in hers and gone to mine, and then promptly pissed the bed.

What could be worse then a housemate pissing your bed? I’ll tell you, one who does the world worst attempt to tidy up a pissed bed. She had put the mattress sheet in the wash. Not the quilt, not the quilt covers, not even the mattress protector that heroically failed to do its task. (I tend to scratch myself in my sleep and get blood stains on the bed, so it’s needed) Cherry on top? She fucks off to Germany and leaves me to deal with it. I agree not to tell every one, but her cover story of me being sick in my bed made no sense (I actually filled a mug with puke that night, not a drop any were else) so every one pretty much worked it out.

When I was carrying the mattress down stairs, I touched a wet patch. The VERY worst part was her departing promises “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Didn’t even bring me back a souvenir.

She was actually a pretty good house mate, but my god, some one else pissing your bed is the worst violation a man can fell.
(Mong goose, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 22:53, 3 replies)

Oh Jesus the fucking crickets
A sudden flashback to my very first house share. There were three of us and we needed a fourth, so along came a girl from my friend's work. And along also came Oscar, her pet monitor lizard.

Oscar didn't get about much. He lived in a vivarium in the living room and ate the occasional defrosted mouse. He was attractive enough in his way but - fuck me, he was a big lizard, what more can you say?

Still, his owner wanted to do well by him and read somewhere that it was good for him to have the occasional live food. And apparently what he would really like would be some crickets.

It turned out that he wasn't that interested in living insects. They could sit on his nose and he'd ignore them. Sadly that was less of an option for us - a dozen chirping crickets in your living room are hard to tune out. And then the damn woman disappeared without warning or paying the rent - leaving us holding the lizard. Metaphorically but not euphemistically speaking.

It was all sorted out eventually, and our landlord was very understanding. But I'll never forget those fucking crickets.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 22:29, 1 reply)

Crazy shouting
When I got my current job I had to move and live in digs for a few months until my family could move down to join me. I stayed in a very big, once very posh house in Surbiton which had been converted into a bunch of individual rooms.

In the room below me was the bizarrest couple. I never saw either of them, but I learned quite a bit about them during my stay. It would usually start at about 1am and go something like this:

Him: mumble mumble mumble mumble.
Her: Nao!!
(I should interrupt here to point out that her accent was absolutely bizarre - kind of Edna Mode with a slight Italian twinge. And to get it right it has to be yelled at the top of your voice until your throat rasps)
Him: But mumble mumble mumble.
Her: You fucking hate me. You would be heppier if I DIED!
Him: Mumble
Her: You don't luff me! If you luffed me you would bring me presents sometimes. But you neffer bring me presents because you're fucking useless. Why don't you get a fucking JOB?!
Him: Mumble
Her: *Weeping*

This went on with variations the whole time I was there. The crowning moment was when he was away for a few days and she phoned him thus:
Her: *Sobs* WHY DO YOU WANT TO BE WITH YOUR FEMILY?!
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 22:20, 1 reply)

My first place..
..when I moved out of home, at the ripe-old age of 16, was a really nice 3-bedroom brick house... built behind a fucking nightclub!
The reason behind my living there, besides being desparate to get out of home, was that my landlord was a woman with whom I had worked, who had just bought a pizza shop built underneath the club. The understanding was that I would pretty much have free reign of the house, though from time to time her two kids, aged 10 and 13, might be in there after school watching TV or whatever. This was fine, as I knew the family fairly well, didn't have anything worth stealing, and would generally be working at that time.
It all went down-hill when the business started to fail. My landlord started drinking a lot and smoking too much weed (and for a 16 year old to think that she was drinking and smoking too much, you KNOW it was a lot) and she and her partner started leaving the kids in the house to go gamble at the local pub.
Oh, then they lost their house and moved in with me. That was kind of the end of it.. I still liked the guys, and I knew they were doing it rough, so I didn't want to take away their main source of income - my $70 a week rent - but after a couple of weeks of that, a flat next door to the pub I worked at opened up and I fucking jumped at it. The worst part was taking all my furniture, and leaving this family royally fucked.
They went broke not long after and skipped town, oweing a lot of people money. I stayed at my new flat for a good three years, before moving to Canada, and became lord of the parties for 16-21 year olds.
(r0ach, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 22:16, Reply)

The Ballad Of Jim
Cue wavy lines....lets go back to 1990 and the day when the youthful osok entered the University system.............

All the n'erdowells, smokers, dossers and assorted scum had ben segregated on the bottom floor of the Belsen Stylee Hell that was St Mary's Hall in the quaint, inbred, and frankly mountainous town of Bangor. The second floor was for the posh kids, and the third floor was the home of Pfhlange. Pussy. Location for your locomotion, if you get the drift.

Jimbo, now, arrived a day later. We all thought he was some sort of Middle Eastern refugee, down to the dodgy 'tash.

Turned out to be a brummie Git.

There are photos of me strangling him to Deth, him getting his kit off and prancing naked around the hall when Engerland lost at t'Rugby, I may allegedly have driven him home 200 miles after introducing him to Tequila, all in all we had a fun time (especially when I hit him with a building, but that's another story).

After ten years, the conversation just clicks back into place. We call each other wankers, have a beer, and all is in place as it was so many years before.

And a week or two ago, I was priviledged enough to be his best man, as he was mine.

(I wasn't allowed to take the photos, the powerpoint presentaion , or the DNA evidence along, however.

Jim, I salute you. A genuinely nice bloke. My potential brother in arms. Without doubt the brother I never had. And A brummie Git.

Remember. folks, they're not always from hell, sometimes, they're from Solihull.

Respect Jimlad.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 22:10, 1 reply)

this weeks qotw
two for you this week one good one BAD il start with bad
i flat shared with 3 awesome stoners and one guy called gerald(for that was his name)bit of a true beleiver (proper nazi christian type) the four of us would get high and he'd spend time preaching too us about the evils of drugs all while we were pissing our selves and listening to grindcore and stoner doom he wasnt too bad for a while but after about 3 months he started stealing out of 1 of the guys stashes and flushing it down the loo now the guy he was stealing from was a bit weak s ohe asked the rest of us to put the shit up nazi boy... so we hired a van and brought some balaclavas one night we texted him to come outside me and the other two bundeled him into the van and drove off shouting randon questions at him all the way we dropped him off the other side of town after releving him of all but his underpants

he moved out soon after that but never cottend on to the fact it was us who snatched him.

secondly(this was sometime before the first one) i lived with my then girlfriend Sara* in a nice house we rented from a couple who lived away in spain all was wonderful one day Sara phoned me and asked me to come home as something odd was afoot ( i was out at my parents at the time) so i get the bus home and Sara* is sat in our living room with what seems to be a slight blonde crying girl of about my age( at the time) it turned out that her parents had kicked her out over something( i forget what) and Sara's* mate nikki* had seen her wandering about with a suitcase looking forlorne and sobbing so she picked her up and brought her to our gaff so anyhow it turns out that Sara* knows the girl and has decided to take her in the girl Joanna* is lovely but has a little problem making friends so anyway i agree she needs a place to stay so we let her.
fast forward 6 months and were now in a very good 3 way relationship (turns out Joanna's parents didnt want her back) she's very fond of me and Sara and we spend a good deal of time while me or Sara arnt at work together

shame Sara ended up getting sectioned after her parents died (cambodia boating crash) i still see Joanna to this day but i dont see her as a partner anymore she married to a japanese guy in a band im not bitter cus hes good to her

*names changed to protect the weird and innocent
(imgunnabesick rawr ^ \_/ ^, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 22:00, 4 replies)

Messy people
I'm not the tidiest person in the world, but I don't think expecting to be able to cook with and eat off clean stuff is asking too much.

I lived with two people who left washing up piled in the sink for days - not at the side out of the way, but in the sink so nobody could use it. It was so bad sometimes I would take my ex (see below - not ex at the time) out for food because I couldn't cook in my own home!

The year after I moved in with my ex (not ex at the time). Now I knew she was untidy but I loved her to bits and she promised to make an effort.
* She took over 4 of the 6 rooms in the house (the others ended up shared apart from my room) with stuff just piled around
* had her own fridge and freezer as well as sharing the one that came with the house
* did her washing once a month then hung it everywhere to dry (including in the shower, so the shower couldn't be used)
* wouldn't empty the bin because it smelt bad, because it was overflowing and wouldn't close because she wouldn't empty it (we were supposed to take it in turns)
* wouldn't wash up even when she had no plates left so would ask to borrow one of mine (although she didn't leave the dirty ones in the sink in the way)

She was awesome apart from being impossible to live with.
( thistle, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 21:56, Reply)

Final year at university, a mate and I ended up in a 'professional' houseshare
Except we were the only ones who were even vaguely professional.
Directly below me were two bosnian refugees who shared a room, hung aound the house in their pants all day making, but never doing, washing up.

Across the landing from them was a guy who claimed to be a sonographer, but when pressed, didn't know what that meant.

But the two prizewinners were the two lads in the ground floor rooms. First one was almost certainly a care in the community type, who always wore the same clothes, including a grey anorak, whatever the weather, and even indoors.
He must have been obsessive/compulsive because despite stinking of BO, would spend up to 90 minutes in the bathroom in the morning. He collected his urine and faeces in a jug in his room, which he would then decant into the toilet every couple of weeks. On two separate occasions he spilled the jug in his room and the landlord has to get professional cleaners in to sort out the mess.

The other lad was a nigerian seventh-day adventist who we never really saw until after his best mate got killed in a car accident, after which he spent his entire time in his room, drinking white cider and crying, loudly, for days on end.

He once inveigled his way into my room to regale with me with drunken tear-stained stories of his mate, which could have been bearable if he wasn't cradling a handgun at the time. It turns out he had a job in some way related to the Ministry of Defence and had a gun and blasting caps squirrelled away.

We didn't have a kitchen ceiling, and the rest was extortionate, I still don't know why we stayed there so long
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 21:54, Reply)

We almost died.
I shared a flat for a while with a very dirty chap called Scott. He turned the place into a tip. I did my best to keep things clean, but it was a loosing battle. We got on well, but his messiness was a hassle.
One evening, we had been to the pub and stumbled back into the living room. I was sitting in a chair feeling sleepy and scott was on the sofa smoking a cigy. He was using an empty pizza box as an ashtray, which he assured me was fine. I was too drunk and sleepy to argue.
I drifted off to sleep - not fully out of it, I remember clearly the music that was playing at the time, but eyes shut and unresponsive. Not sure why, but I partially woke up. I sat there in a stupor watching the pizza box smouldering away nicely next to scott for quite a few minutes. It finally ignited and I lurched fully awake and shot up out of the chair.....HOLY SHIT ITS ON FIRE! I was taken by surprise as my head disappeared into the thick fog of smoke that was filling half the living room from the ceiling downwards.
We had been a few short minutes away from smoke-inhalation and death.
The carpet was ruined too.
Scott bought an ashtray after that.
(dave likes cheese, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 21:22, Reply)

Student pranks can sometimes be rather inventive...
I'll warn you now, this is a repost. I do think it is worth retelling though...

Not my prank unfortunately, but my housemates brother was at university at Cardiff, and his housemate went home for the weekend.
Now, as many of you will know being/having been fellow studenty types, this is just screaming for something to be done to the room. You get your standard turn things upside down, or steal all the furniture, or put condoms around as many objects as possible (happened to me, my pillow smelled of spermicide for days, not happy). However, they decided to go one step further.

Step one: Remove all furniture, carpets, the lot, so you have 4 walls, a floor and a ceiling.

Step two: Go to a local surfacing/landscaping company, and purchase a few square metres of turf

Step three: Lay the turf in previously emptied room.

Step four: Being farmy types, and I think one of the pranksters was a vet student, acquire a goat.

Step five: Add the goat to the room, and voila! Farming on a mini scale!

Apparently when the guy got back he opened his door, and practically shat his guts from laughing so hard. Nice to see someone appreciating heroic effort for a few minutes of hilarity.
(Dovvit bee, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 20:59, Reply)