Would be a pearoast, but someone used all my veg.
There's a lot I hate about human behaviour. Sure, there's that nice majority of people out there who love thy neighbour, honour thy father and whatnot, but every now and then you get the real cunt coming along with a vendetta against you for no reason. The people next door who throw a house party until 5am but file a complaint if you hoover your house at 11 the next morning. The housemate who offers you a lift to the shop but charges you a fiver for fuel afterwards. The bastard who keeps using my milk. The list goes on.

I suppose my existence has concluded that the stem of this all is a characteristic flaw many share; nothing is ever our own fault or responsibility. If you fall at work, you sue your workplace rather than raise your hands to the air and confess you should spend less time walking around on the phone and more time noticing large yellow wet floor signs, but no, no-win no-fee culture tells you the blame can be offloaded.

This is the foundation of my life as a student; disaster from one and responsibility upon myself.

My story has been told in parts here before. During my second year of university I had the unbridled joy of residing with a group of people who after a few weeks turned out to be utter fuckwits. Rather than start a war between them, I decide to call our differences and work on the mutual ignoring process of one another. The night before my largest exam of the term, I'm awoken by the all too common sound of drunks crawling out of a taxi. After waking up the entire street with Chelsea football anthems, fuckwit and fuckwitetta decide to abandon the 30 second wait for me to get out of bed by throwing a fist through the front door and breaking the lock. Landlord is phoned the next morning to be told they've just come back from holiday to find vandals have broken in, and as they weren't around they should be exempt from penalties

The landlord felt something was a bit fishy, as no student can go to Cyrpus for 2 weeks - especially during exam season - so calls us to find out what's going on. Fuckwit and Fuckwitetta are swiftly referred to as 'devious shites' and the full story is repeated to them in true Crimewatch precision.

For our 'defection', the fuckwits decide to withold £800 of rent (a cheque from their parents) until they receive an apology and a new front door. This lasted all of 45 minutes, when two heavies kicked the already defeated door to the floor and strode into my room.

'Are you Mr. Fuckwit? Where's our money? Boss tells us all you and the other wankers are witholding rent.'
'No, I'm one of the other wankers. Fuckwits are upstairs and very hungover. God forbid you should shout at them. I'll put the kettle on.'

Have you ever had someone do a complete 180 turn of personality in a nanosecond? I have. Heavy 1 and Heavy 2 whispered a quick thanks and their preferences of milk and sugar before marching up the stairs in extra stompy style.

I couldn't concentrate throughout my exam. Visions of brutal justice flooded my mind endlessly. The idea of two hungover wastes of society on their hands and knees, tonguing broken glass off the floor to impress their bulky oppressors. I knew deep down the worst they'd get is a stern talking too, but it kept me awake enough to hand in the forms and board the bus home.

I'd obviously gotten off at the wrong stop and arrived at post-war Hiroshima. Every item of value of the fuckwits from photos to football shirts were stapled together as a makeshift door panel. A true collage of justice as the heavies handed me a copy of my housemate's eviction notice to sign and date. I could've hugged them, but they might've gotten emotional and fractured my skull.

Did it work? Of course not. Fuckwits coughed up the cash and stole every penny back off me in food and utlities before I showed myself the door.

Sorry for the disappointment.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Thu 26 Feb 2009, 14:33, Reply)