You need to ask?
Upon returning to my second-year university house after a short break, I found a housemate most disappointed that I had locked my room whilst away. 'Why did you lock your room?' he asked; 'We were going to plant porn mags in your bed and stuff.'

I think he answered his own question, there.
(ThomsonsPier consumes, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 11:06, 2 replies)

I used to share a place with a man who I can only describe as the child of Satan
He was absolutely fucking mental.

If I as much as breathed too loudly he’d offer me new and interesting ways to a slow but certain death. And the scary thing was I knew he’d follow through with the threat. He was a complete fucking lunatic. I spent my days trying to figure out how the hell to get out of the situation I’d gotten myself into. But due to circumstance out of my control I knew I was stuck living with him for a while yet. I heard from one of my friends that one time he actually stabbed someone in the neck because they were “looking at him funny,” while he was eating. I was more and more scared with every passing day. I was shaking, I was a fucking nervous wreck.

It didn’t help that our place was fucking tiny either. Hardly enough room to swing a cat. He just seemed to be constantly in my face, flexing his muscles and showing me his tattoos. It was only afterwards I learned that many of them were extolling his support of far right groups. He was fifteen stone of race hate and he wouldn’t let me as much as fart without threatening to rip my arms off.

Fuck me, it was a real mistake ever ending up in this place with him.

Thankfully, I only had to put up with this raging psychopath for a couple of months. After this the authorities turned up unexpectedly and carted him away. It wasn’t such a suprise, really. He was always getting into trouble, he told me once he’d killed a man and I very nearly shat myself. He went kicking and screaming though,, he even punched one of them out, dropped the poor fucker like a stone. I just cowered in a corner trying to blend into the wall. Thankfully they left me alone and fucked off. It took five big strong men to cart this cunt off. He even bit one of them on the arm as he went, drawing blood and a piercing shriek of pain.

I moved out shortly after with the help of a few good friends.

Don’t ever end up in San Quentin State Penitentiary.

The room mates are a fucking nightmare.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 11:05, 5 replies)

At the end of uni I had concentrated so hard on my degree I had neglected to find a job or place to live.
The former I could hold off for a few months. The latter needed solving in a few days.

That's too quick to flathunt, so I needed an interim measure. Someone from the same city as me, who rents out a spare room, and knows me well enough to let me move in very quickly and assume I'm not up to anything.

Any this is why I moved into my ex's parents' house while she was away at uni.


I am not the hero of this story.
(teebie jeebie, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 11:01, 1 reply)

Diahorrea on the stairs
My Irish ex-girlfriend came from a very troubled and large family. I use the word family loosely because the mother had previously left home for another woman and two of the sons had gone to be with their gay lovers, leaving a dysfunctional family with an alcoholic dad and one of the two remaining sons with special needs.It's years later and I am shacked up with Liz, one of the offspring from this family and she gets a call from her special needs brother. He's served his time for manslaughter and is a free man now and needs a place to stay for a few weeks. He's a big chap Sean, and he carries with him a heavy smell. As with all 'special needs' people, I try to gauge just how 'special' he is over a few beers with him and learn that while he was in prison he saw a kiddy fiddler murdered and then he tells me the screws used to drug him and bugger him sometimes in the afternoons. He sleeps every night on the lounge floor and every morning I have to step over his huge snoring bulk just to leave the small house for work. It was one such morning and my girlfriend's son comes bounding down the stairs ready to have his breakfast when he suddenly stops and exclaims "euuurrrggh" and pointing to a stair, brings my attention to a palm sized splodge of what is quite obviously diahorrea. The commotion brought his mother downstairs where she did a check and confirmed that it was diahorrea. At this time Sean himself awoke to see his sister scrubbing his shit off the stairs, he scratched his head and mumbled something but I don't know what. My other housemate there was another of the brothers who had a compulsive disorder and wanted to wash his hands every ten minutes, but living with his shitty brother I can sympathise.
(thetourle thetourle, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:49, 1 reply)

Might be a repost but
My housemate Sabine was very nice, but a bit scatty.
She went to a party and had a few drinks and they shared a curry. At the end she said "thanks for a lovely evening but I should be going", tucked her bag under her arm and headed off.
A couple of minutes later she came back, looking a bit pink. "I'm dreadfully sorry" she said. "I thought I'd tucked my handbag under my arm, but it was a naan bread".
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:48, 8 replies)

I shared a flat with a mate...
... who was nice but not so very worldly-wise. So, quite often the flat was full of assorted ne'er-do-wells that my Z (names changed to protect the not-so-innocent) had met in the pub and invited back to crash.

I came back from visiting my parents, went to bed on the sofabed in the living room, and was woken at 2am by three drunken revellers returning and demanding "their" room back.

"Fuck off", I suggested politely. A bit of argument and it became quite clear that I was going *nowhere*. Now, my mate had just bought an old minibus and started to turn it into a camper. "Tell you what", says my mate, "there's the camper. Why don't you go and sleep in the camper?"

This sounded like a reasonable proposition to all, so after a convivial cup of tea (we'd drunk all the beer) and a general settling-down of tempers, they buggered off to the van, my mate buggered off to bed, and I went back to sleep.

Until about 6am, when my mate came bumbling through in search of coffee. Never usually up at this time, he was worried about his van. So I get dressed, have a coffee, grab the spare keys, and we walk round to the car park where the van is. With three clearly very *very* passed-out people asleep in the back. We could smell the weed smoke from the far end of the car park.

A plan was hatched. Would they wake up if we battered the side of the van? Probably. Not fun enough. Okay, would they wake up if we unlocked it? No... Would they wake up if we opened the front doors? No... Would they wake up if we started it up? No... Would they wake up if we drove it to a supermarket about two miles away to get breakfast? No...

Hmm.

So we got back to the van with a couple of fryup packs, some rolls, some milk and a big jar of coffee. Would they wake up if we unlock it? No... Would they wake up if I pop the bonnet? No... "Tell you what, Z, let's get the bus back" Would they wake up if I remove the rotor arm from the distributor, close the bonnet, lock up and leave them to it? Not until about 3pm, apparently.

As for length, we could have gone a lot further on half a tank.
(gordonjcp, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:43, Reply)

Don't use the flannel
Before I went mental and married my ex-husband he lived in a flat with a jolly nice chap called Barry. Barry had a girlfriend, who was, to put it mildly. AWFUL. Let's call her Sally. This girl wore so much make up that if you got close enough to her, you could SMELL it. Furthermore, she was an absolute slapper, so much so that if you got close enough to her, you could SMELL it.

Anyway, I won't bore you all with the story concerning a Wetherspoons pub booth, fixed smiles, and an inappropriate blow job. This tale concerns Sally and the flannel.

So, one Saturday morning. My ex and I are hanging round the flat, indulging in the odd bit of muffled sex and dope. (*misty eyes*) When there's a sudden knock on the bedroom door. Ex ambles over, wearing just a pair of boxers and standing in the doorway are Barry and Sally. I started pulling on the Ex's shirt under the duvet and peeked out.

Sally: "Oooh, haven't you got a LOVELY body?"
Ex: "Erm...did you want something?"
Sally: "*snort* yeah! I'd love SOMETHING off you"
Me: "oh, for FUCK'S SAKE"
Sally: "Look Barry, that's what a real man looks like...Why can't you look like that?"
Me: "Piss off Sally"
Ex: "Did you want something Barry?"
Barry: "Yeah, I just wanted to let you know not to use the green flannel in the bathroom, Sally's got thrush"

*agog*
Why? Why tell us that? WHY? As if one of us is going to use someone else’s flannel.

Sally: "I just wanted to let you know, that when you and my_cat are having sex, I can hear it and it turns me on"

WHAT? Why say it? WHY?

I was so relieved when Ex moved out and we didn't have to see that weird shameless girl on a daily basis. Poor Barry, poor stupid Barry ended up marrying her (why..WHY?) and she fucked with his head (and all his mates from what I heard) for a few years before running off with another woman, shaving her head and finding Jesus. Mental.
( my_cat_has_no_shoes meh meh meh MEH MEH, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:40, 3 replies)

Too much free time....
I went round my flatmate's room to see if he fancied going out for a drink.

He said he couldn't, he was in the middle of a mission.

A mission?

He was playing a WW2 flight sim and bombing Dresden. In real time.

Real. Time.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:39, 2 replies)

I lived with a stalker...
He was a lovely lad. A science boffin who mostly kept himself to himself, occasionally partied like it was 1999 (it was, funnily enough...) and was charming if a bit shy with the ladies.

At one point, me and another housemate had heard him moving about but not actually seen him for a few days so we decided to check in on him.

We knocked on the door and he came and opened it. We proceeded to have a perfectly normal, genial conversation. Chat about the football. Crack a few jokes. Agree to meet for a pint later, etc.

What made it unusual was that behind him, we could see (literally) hundreds of photos pinned up on the walls of one of the girls in our year, taken with a long-lens camera at various locations around town (including in her bedroom, taken from what must have been a window in one of the computer rooms), and the poetry written in felt tips on big sheets of A3 strewn all over the floor.

When we met him for a pint later on, we suggested to him that this might be a bit unhealthy. He was totally un-embarassed about it but agreed it was a bit weird, and said he'd stop stalking her.

He's getting married this year, and I'm the best man! We've never spoken of it again...
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:34, 7 replies)

Surprise visitors
when I first moved into my old place there was already a girl in there , I cant remember her name but it possibly was Mandy or Natalie. Anyway I had moved in on the saturday and Wedensday evening about 630 there was a knock at the door.

Opening the door I was a little surprised to see two men in suits holding police ID cards.
"Is Mandy / Natalie in?"
"Um yeah"

They just pushed past me and into the sitting room. By this point M/N ? had emerged from her room off the sitting room.

The biger one spoke one sentence to her "John knows where you live , you have to go now"

She looked at them , looked at me and just said ok.

M/N was out of the house within an hour . A few days later one of her friends came round to pack up her stuff.

Apparently John was her ex boyfriend and she was under some sort of police protection from him. Wether she had testified against him or he was some sort of crazed stalker I dont know. Either way we never saw or heard from her again.

What a fantastic way to get to know one of your flatmates, Knowing that at any time an axe weilding mainiac could burst in looking for one of them.
(welgar, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:21, 1 reply)

Flatmate from hell
I previously posted this as an answer to the Karma qotw, but this seems like an appropriate time for it to come back round as it were.

OK, so I'll get straight into it...

In 2002 I went to uni in Edinburgh. Initially I was quite anxious as it was quite a way from where I'm from (NW England) and I was the only one I knew going there, but it is a beautiful city and student life is great. Turns out anyway, that Edinburgh uni doesn't really present much of a cross section of Scotish society, being largely made up as it is of rich English people from Surrey eager to try out the snowy wastelands on Daddy's tab.

Cue the end of 1st year. My group of friends and I are choosing who lives with who as we move from halls to flats. My course is pretty intensive so 9 times out of 10 I would have to turn down any invitation for a night out/spliff/party. Hence, my name was not too high up on people's wishlist when it came to populating their soon-to-be uberparty-pad. So I got lumbered with 3 other guys. Now, two of these guys are fine, one (Joe - a rather wealthy Surrey boy) was unknown to me and, as you'll see, turned out to be a bit of a shit.

We got lucky with our flat. Super-close to the new Parliament and with 3 floors for 4 people, the rent was undervalued hugely because it was brand new and we were the first tenants. Everything was gleaming - it was worth £500k apparently. Not bad for £270pm each in Edinburgh. So we got everything signed and went to our prospective homes for summer to work etc. Except for J, who decided to hang around for summer and enjoy the festival. The last I see of him is when I leave for home having just put all my coursework, architecture models, computer stuff etc in my room and locking the bedroom door behind me.

About a month later, I'm heading up to Edinburgh with 2 friends. We decided to celebrate my birthday by having a week in the festival. Why not? I've already paid for the rent. On the train up I get a phone call from one of the other flatmates telling me he's moving out.

'What?!' says I, a tad surprised and concerned.
'It's the flat, man. It's fucked up. Joe's fucked it all up'. Says he.

It doesn't sound good. So I tell him I'll check it out for myself and not to tell Joe that I'm coming.

We arrive in Waverly, walk the short distance to the flat and get ready for what awaits us. The plan was set: go quietly straight up to my room on the top floor, leave our stuff then have a look around. Up we go. As I reach the top of the stairs I notice something different about my bedroom door. There seems to be only half of it left on the hinges, the rest splintered across the floor. Shit.

We go in to my room. There's three tussled but empty sleeping bags. I step on a used condom. I survey the room. My flatmate's description was accurate: it's fucked. The blinds have been torn and snapped off the wall. The en-suite (nice flat as I say) - brand new until now - was a tip. Piss everywhere. Smears of what I can only assume to be shit along the shower walls. The shower head is smashed and hanging like a New York payphone. I open my wardrobe. Coursework: crumpled into a ball. Architecture models: completely decimated. Computer: side has come off and one of my jumpers has be shoved inside it. On inspection the insides have been smashed. Time to see Joe.

We go down to the kitchen via the living room. The living room is off the kitchen with double doors, so it's pretty much one huge space. Walking in, we see about 10 sleeping bags and a mattress (we had no furniture at this stage). In the corner is a comatosed Joe half on the matress, half on the floor. His head being on the floor. We step over him and enter the kitchen.

What followed was the most breathtaking site I've ever seen (including goatse). Scattered amongst spilled beans and cans of beer were: 1 large pile of coke - the scale of which can only be described as 'Scarface', the remenants of about 50 lines, a bag of ketamine, 5 large bags of pills, 2 ounce-bags of weed, many discarded pieces of foil with burn marks (I presume crack/heroin). The fridge is ajar. It's full - to the point it won't close - of mushrooms. And there, in the middle of all this, is one used syringe.

I walk over to Joe to wake him up. His eyes are deep pink. His expression on seeing me standing over him was a lot like the 2 girls 1 cup monkey thing that was once on the front page. Imagine your expression if your dad walked in on you wanking over a picture of your mum. That's the kind of shock/shame/fear in his eyes right now. He stares at me. I stare at him. Finally he pipes up with, 'What the fuck are you doing in my flat?'.

Come again?

'Get out, man. This is my flat now. You can fuck off. Go find yourself another place to stay.'

This went on for a while. Me pointing out the obvious, him still tripping off his tits telling me to get out of his newly-conquered territory. I'll cut this bit down as this is getting long... Basically, I looked for another flat. Eventually, I realise I've got a good one as it is and shouldn't have to be spending my birthday flat hunting because he decided to fuck up our current flat. I decided I'd better get the landlords involved.

We met the next day outside the flat (we were staying at my mate's in the meantime). On the way we walked down Princes St. We saw something rather bizarre: some guy leaning forward off a traffic light post in the middle of the road (think Titanic, king of the world scene) staring at oncoming traffic as if wanting a fight. He then lets go and runs straight at the oncoming cars. Cue much beeping, running over bonnets, and narrowly avoiding a bus. All while half naked and screaming 'Wahoooooo!'. Wierd. But it is festival time.
Anyway, I explain everything to them. They were shocked but, to their credit understanding. They appreciated the honesty and the chance to save their expensive new property. We say thanks and stand back as they enter the flat...

Now, you know that scene from Ratatouille where the woman's ceiling falls down and about 10,000 rats come flooding out of the house. Yeah, like that but with Spanish and French people. Some half naked, some fully. All fucked up and running as if Robocop himself had just walked in. I've never seen so many bouncing dredlocks in all my life. After about 5 mins it's pretty quiet except for a shouting/whimpering exchange. Then, just as things look like they're coming to a close someone sprints past us heading for the flat, bumping us on the way:

'Wooohooooooooo!' The half naked guy pelts straight in ready to join the party. About 3 seconds later he comes running out again, minus the woohoo.

So yeah...he got kicked out, he lost many friends and fucked up his degree. The one stand out moment, though was when my friends and I were sitting in my bedroom window a few minutes later. I was enjoying the fact that I no longer had to face flat hunting at the worst time of the year or be homeless, while my mates were happy to be watching the spectacle. As Joe slinked away, pashmina-clad girlfriend in toe, he looked back and we all gave him a wave. The cunt.
( thiswasmyclone, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:15, 4 replies)

He was older than my parents
After college my friends who I had been living with for 2 1/2 years decided to go to America, leaving me behind to save money for my own trip.

So I found a place with a spare room, it looked okay, apparently the house had 2 workers and a student in it. The landlord didn't tell me any more about them.

So I come downstairs after my first night there and what do I see but a short fat 55 year old standing in his underwear. He was ironing, so I thought maybe he is just ironing his pants. Then I came home from work and he was sitting in the living room in the dark watching TV with only his underwear and an old vest on.

He also:
-Snored loudly. Very loudly, it sounded like he was killing a bear in there some nights. I often jumped up and down and banged doors to wake him up so I could sleep, but it only lasted a few minutes.

-Watched porn whilst in his pants/vest combo in the living room. I know this because I turned on the TV one morning and it defaulted to the playboy channel.

-He was a complete slob. He had so much of his stuff just thrown everywhere it was ridiculous. He had a big pile of his clothes thrown beside the washing machine that he just picked from every now and again. Just before I left, the landlord had stuffed them all in a bin liner bag and thrown them in front of his door. It took a day before he had started building up his pile again.

-There was a girl who moved in at the same time as me. He only ever stared at her tits and kept talking about sex to her. She ended up staying at a friends house most nights because she was too afraid to stay there.

-He was pretty well off too. He owned, or else was the manager of a winery. He also used to get paid to give loads of talks about wine. And he travelled around the world to watch every single Ireland match. Yet he still lived in a little 75 euro a week place with people half his age. I just don't get it.

I've been bitten by fleas, woken up by rats, had mildew creeping after me among other things in other houses. This guy was the worst.

Apologies re: length
(cH3$h7846J#7, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 10:13, Reply)

Underwear Man
An old flatmate of mine (in a house of 8) was a weird, weird fellow. Sinister in fact.

He was in his early forties, rotund, and socially inept to an awkward degree. My room was next to his and I could often hear him typing away on the computer until ludicrous hours - he worked at home so kept some very odd hours. Presumably his late-night "work" consisted of fwapping away to god knows what sort of filth. Nice.

One night the rest of us normal humans were outside in the garden, getting merrily lashed. One of the other flatmates popped inside for a pish. He opened the door to the pisher and found Underwear Man standing on the toilet, peering out of the window at the rest of us outside. Obviously, this freaked us all out - the idea of him lurking in the toilet, staring at us, possibly milking himself in the process. Urgh. This was freaky incident number one.

A few weeks on and one of the German girls told me about another rather disturbing incident that had occured one morning. She'd come out of the bathroom post-showering, towel wrapped around her. He was just standing at the end of the corridor, staring at her. He didn't say a word - just stared. Horror. This was incident number two.

He moved out after a few months, much to everyone's relief - especially the girls. However one night, in a stupid act of pity, we invited him round for drinks and let him stay on the sofa. In a sleeping bag.

He actually acted quite normally that evening, and by the morning he was gone - empty sleeping bag left on the sofa. One of the other German girls was up first. I heard a scream. I ran over to her to see what was wrong. She was actually shaking. Turns out she'd left her washing in the machine overnight. Bras and panties. That morning they'd all gone. In an attempt to find them she'd been pulling the flat apart... until she picked up the sleeping bag.... and all her intimates fell out of it..... can you even imagine what he'd been doing with them.... in a sleeping bag....

Poor lass re-washed everything about 5 times. That is, the one's that hadn't gone missing....

Not a word of this is a lie. This freak actually exists. Last I heard he was living in Streatham.

GIRLS OF STREATHAM BEWARE
(Mean Mad Mutski, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 9:58, 3 replies)

Possible Urban Legend
This is a story from a "my mate's mate" source and should be treated as such.

Story:

My Mate's Mate (known as MMM now) went to Uni. He ended up sharing a room with someone (call him Roomy) and everything on the outside seemed fine apart from 1 odd thing...

MMM explained to my mate that Roomy was a good roomate as he seemed really nice and they shared the same views on cleaning and tidying. His only complaint was that he always woke up in the mornings with a headache adn a sore bum but could never work out why.

This went on for a couple of months until 1 afteful evening when MMM woke up in the middle of the night to find Roomy standing over him just about to put a rag over his nose and mouth. Absolute panic follows and after a rather loud screaming torrent of accusations adn questions the truth emerged.

Roomy had been waiting for MMM to fall asleep then he had been chloroforming him and using him to satisify his homesexual urges.

Needless to say MMM and Roomy now live a content and happy life together.

(well actually no, I think Roomy went to prison and MMM to counciling)
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 9:49, 11 replies)

A Repost: Kaol and the tale of the Mouse Omlette
When I was a student, I was living with a fellow student called "Mike", in the heart of Nazi Surrey.
Now, Mike was a scummy bastard, there's no other way to describe it.

He took two showers that I'm aware of the whole year I was living with him.
He never seemed to wash his clothes.
He managed to get our house invaded by ants, which came through the door, up the stairs, past my room and into his.
His bedroom smelt foul. Fouler than a Musk Ox's ring-piece.

All of those things, however, I could deal with.

What I couldn't deal with was him stealing my food.
I was scraping money the whole time I was at uni, to the point that some weeks I'd be eating cous-cous and tinned tomatoes and not much else.
His parents were paying for everything for him, including a hundred pounds a week "going out" money...
So why the fuck did he have to keep stealing my food?

His worst habit was stealing left-overs. If I made a chilli, I'd make fucking loads of it, freeze it and then leave a portion to defrost in the fridge for the next day.
About half of the time my meal would "mysteriously vanish".
It was just the two of us in the house, and he'd deny it.

So one day I decided to get my own back.

I made two wonderful cheese, mushroom and bacon omelettes, ate one, and put the other into the fridge.

The next day it was gone.

What he'll never know is the glowing sense of satisfaction that he'd eaten an omelette made of dead baby mice.

You see, I had a snake. This snake ate baby mice, so I had a box in the freezer full of them.
Mouselings don't have any fur, so they're pink and look a lot like foetuses.

I took a large handful, removed and discarded the heads, chopped up the bodies into cubes and shallow-fried them.

So that's the story of how my dirty, thieving housemate ate dead mice.
( Cawl, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 9:20, 7 replies)

Another time I lived with
a Turkish exchange student, who unfortunately was a compulsive masturbator.

He lived with his felafel in his hand.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 9:15, 6 replies)

My housemate Sue
First ever post be gentle.

My housemate Sue always steals my shampoo and conditioner. I have started leaving little post it notes on them with swear words to ward her off. The other day her parents came round and were not happy to find the bathroom littered with post it notes with phrases like f*uk off, leave this alone you whore, and saggy minge, written all over them.
(Save Us All !!!, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 9:12, 3 replies)

I used to live with a group of overpriveliged,
selfish, hard-drinking emotionally stunted little shits.

Anyway there was one guy who was different, so we bullied him until he left!

Happy days.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 9:09, 3 replies)

My snooty housemates…

You know the type…look-down-their-nose-at-you, whinge-whinge-fucking-complainy-whinge. I tried to get along with them, really I did, but when they weren’t ‘tutting’ condescendingly at my efforts to cohabitate, they were moaning all ‘holier than thou’ to the landlord about my ‘lifestyle’.

I swear, some nights I could hardly hear myself drilling…
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Fri 27 Feb 2009, 9:04, 2 replies)

Bob was a bastard
what with practicing drumming at 2am,eating only egg-fried rice and never washing up,and hogging the television.
He also locked his bedroom door when he went for a shower,which is a clear sign of flat distrust.We plotted.
Filling his lock with superglue was the first step.It had just set by the time he returned and his face was a picture.But the bitching and carping was too much and by the time the dust had settled,we had already crafted a new plan.
Lucky that he was a heavy sleeper.In the dead of night five ninjas,faces painted black,giggling self-consciously,removed him in his mattress to the back seat of our car.In the pre-dawn silence we drove him to campus,and discharged him onto the floor of the graduation hall,pyjamas et al.
Next morning he was returned to us by the police,shaking and wrapped in a security blanket.Soon after his white-lipped parents picked him up,and he was never heard from again.
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Fri 27 Feb 2009, 8:36, Reply)

Opps
It was the first year of uni, and one of my housemates had the going home for the weekend and leaving his room unlocked. One sunday afternoon in a fit of boardom the rest of us decided to upside down his room, literally everything was turned upside down, even to the point of balancing an upside down desk on top of his upside down computer and turning the inserts of his cd's upside down so that the cd's all looked like the open the wrong way. I'll never forget the look on his parents face as they walked into his room.

Same year different housemate, different story - the hall was a towerblock, we were on the 7th floor and faced the library and main parade. One summers night we noticed that another housemate had left his windows open, so by reaching round from the room nextdoors window, and using a 3 iron, we hooked his curtains and unclipped them, Next day the guy wakes up to see people in the library staring at him as he got changed.
(jmg123, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 7:51, Reply)

housemates
It is quite extraordinary that this is question popped up. Currently i am undergoing the nightmare that is housematehood! 3 bedrooms, 5 people, once cat and the occasional toddler. 1 couple (which may i add, eat each other more than fat bastard eats mince pies), 1 French insomniac, 1 internet addict, who creaps out of his dark pit once every couple of hours. and then theres me, the gay single lovesick Irish backpacker! I cant sleep at night because the couple are at it 24-7 , i don't think they sleep. Then of course there are the nights, such as last night, were frenchy is snoring her fucking brains out. She shouts at me if i even move on my bed 'hey you stop fucking moving' the mumbles something in French. No-one does anything and all we do is sit talking complete shit! ah the boredom sometimes. anyway i could go on all day, i just wanted to highlight the beauty of living alone.

i will give regular updates on all strange goings on!
(conzo21, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 7:42, 2 replies)

I used to live with...actually a pretty nice group of guys,
but Jesus, they made Bill Gates look like the Marquis de Sade. Except for one who was a grotty stoner. Anyway the football team really picked on us, but..um, we showed them somehow. I think the camp black guy was really good at javelin? And we saw some girls naked.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 7:21, 5 replies)

Bread knives and Harry Potter
My friend: Has a history of dating absolutely insane women. (Each lived with him for some time, so this is relevant.) They all seemed nice enough at first, but within a few months they turned out to be suicidal (one nearly had her hand off with a serrated knife), lying unfaithful harlots, or just plain unhinged. His most recent one at least looked to be just your average outgoing, moderately wholesome kind of girl, except they'd get in long protracted arguments every couple of days because he had said something too casually or hadn't folded his tee shirts the right way. I heard about their breakup a day after it actually happened, and by then she'd already moved out and was halfway across the country - within two more days we saw on her myspace that she was happily engaged with someone she'd just met. Oh yes, very stable, her.

As for me - I had a roommate who owned about an entire used bookstore's worth of harlequin novels, stayed in her room all day except to go to martial arts lessons, and was obsessed with Harry Potter. I attempted reading a few trashy books in fits of boredom, but there's only so much you can take of heaving bosoms and rippling muscles before you start reaching for the dramamine. She wasn't too odd though - it was her friends (who thankfully didn't live with us). I was invited on more than one occasion to a threesome with said friend and her then-fiance, in the same way one might receive an invitation for, say, a dinner party. This might've been all right, I suppose everyone gets randomly propositioned for sex at some point in their life - but then I heard by proxy that she was really very eager to get in my pants, and if I ever felt like it, really, that I was welcome anytime, and was I sure I didn't want to? Because it'd be fun, and really it wasn't a bother, and...

I'm not sure if there's a word meaning 'flattered, bemused and slightly terrified', but there ought to be.
(Rem Sir, why are you thrashing about on the floor?, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 6:17, 3 replies)

I refuse to have housemates.
After being married (twice) or being in a serious live-in relationship (in between marriages) for over 12 years, I'm finally on my own.

Am I struggling to pay the bills? A little. Would I have someone move in with me to split the bills for the sake of my sanity and solitude? No fucking way.

Four nights a week, it's just me and Stealth - the Chuck Norris of the feline world. He's aweosome!
The other three nights I'm with my boyfriend, but I still get to go home alone in the morning.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 5:01, Reply)

woo!
My college ex is really just a horrible horrible bastard.
he used to live with a group of boys in a broke down college house right off campus with three good friends and an uptight prig named "Paul". On the weekend of homecoming-- when Paul went like a whining girl man back home- my ex and his decide to throw the world's greatest party. removing paul's possessions to the lawn, they considerately laid down tarps before pouring the entire local sam's club stock of chocolate pudding into his room.
eight cases.
thats 336 pounds of pudding.
by monday morning the inside of the house looked like the set of an apocalyptic german porn gone wrong and the smell of pudding after two days of sex and heat and beer vomit was frankly, incredible.
the four party purveyors had girlfriends who lived elsewhere, so left rent checks in the mailbox and moved out.

the lease was in Paul's name-- I don't believe he got his deposit back.
(blackkatt82 likes cheese!, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 3:43, 1 reply)

World 'o' wrongness
a friend stayed in my ex-housemates room after she moved out. theres probably blankets in the wardrobe, said i. there wasnt. just 3 carrier bags filled with used sanitary towels. why? no, really, why?
(biscuit bill, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 3:06, Reply)

Below me
Flatfrog just reminded me of my downstairs neighbours.

One day i noticed that the neighbours downstairs had moved out and the place was being done up. I made a comment to that effect to my flatmate. He informed me they have been evicted due to the constant noise and arguments, mixed with a child crying and domestic abuse. He also informed me he had heard them all the time. My other flatmate pitched in and agreed. They asked "didn't you hear the shouting, screaming, crying, small child crying, door slamming and general ruckus" I hadn't.

Oh and the first flatmate, in this story, was a heavy sleeper thus has three alarm clocks, which he forgot to turn off one weekend. I had turned my computer off "to let it rest" one day, turned it back on five minutes later as i could hear the bloody alarms going off.
(StyX is staring at you, yes YOU!!!, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 2:15, Reply)