Bareback skank flavoured sheets
Housemates. Bit of a non sequitur in most cases isn’t it? They start off being your ‘mates’ but very quickly you see the other side of them.

I used to live with three chaps. Dean, Steve, and Conor. I didn’t really know them very well when I moved in, as it was a bit of a rushed, start of term moving- in- job. They seemed nice enough. Your typical football supporting, beer drinking lads I suppose. I wasn’t, but I thought I could get along with them. However from when I first moved in, I started to look for a new place due to the odd annoyance.

Like finding Steve in my bed with a girl doing a fuck when I came back from my girlfriends once because his sheets were too disgusting to sleep in and she complained. Then having the temerity to ask me to ‘shut the fucking door’ when I demanded them both to leave while I threw the sheets out. Bareback skank flavoured sheets? – no thanks!.

Like ‘humorously’ rolling up used toilet tissue back onto the roll.

Like Dean coming in one night and vomiting snakebite and black copiously into my full clean laundry basket. Left a bit of a stain as it turned out.

Conor wasn’t so bad though. Or so I thought. Conor was a self described ‘bog’ Irishman who was very softly spoken and gentle to a fault. He had moved over to Canterbury where we were for a number of years. However whenever he had a sniff of the barmaid’s apron he eschewed his gentle Irish exterior and became a good old proper English hooligan complete with a Chigwell accent and a propensity to take his shirt off and expose his bony abdomen.

It was on one of these hulk-like alcoholic rages that forced me to leave that particular household. On that particular occasion, after a few brewskis, Conor had threatened to rape me and was rather graphic about what went where. He tried to pull me into his room to presumably do the deed. I freed myself from his clutches, grabbed some stuff and went to stay at my girlfriends.

I came back in the morning to find every single window in the flat broken and puddles of blood everywhere. Girding myself for the worst, I crept into Conor’s room and saw him asleep with the bottom of the bed red with blood and there was loads of glass embedded into his sticking out feet. Conor looked like a fucking vampire. I called an ambulance and got him off to hospital and started to clear away the blood and glass.

Dean yawned and slippered his way into the kitchen and I asked what the fuck happened. Dean said that Conor had wanted to recreate the scene from Die Hard where all the glass gets broken and Bruce Willis’ character has to run through it.

“And you let him do this? What about the glass? Why did you let him bleed? Why didn’t you call an ambulance last night?”

Deano shrugged

“Dunno, just looked fun watching him.”

Steve emerged from his room and started laughing at all the blood.

“Fucking hell, look at that claret. That was shits and giggles man.” And gave Dean a high five.

Yeah, I got out of there.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 15:20, Reply)