First, a pearoast.
In a moment, when I have composed it, I will write the story of my last cuntish housemates.

In my first year of uni I lived with four, well, eventually five of the biggest wankers I've ever met (well, nearly, my final year housemates were cuntish for a different reason)).

Matt If he had one more brain cell it would have been lonely. The archetypal jock who thinks he's hard and hilarious and everyone wants him. He did a good impression of the Incredible Hulk having let himself go for Halloween, complete with monobrow and insane quantities of body hair. Considering his attitude, I reckon he had an extra Y chromosome in there somewhere. To add to his stupidity, he hated everyone else's taste in music, even if it was identical to his own, and would willingly beat the ever-loving crap out of anyone who pissed him off; he punched things when pissed off and hated to be beaten on the Xbox... especially by a girl (after I beat him at Soul Calibur five times in a row he threw down his controller and told me to get the fuck out). He joined the American football team just to look hard and get girls. Despite communicating in Grunt, he ended up falling madly in love with the girl from two doors down and shagging her all night in the room above me for nine months. Gah.

Tim "TIMMAYYYYY!" is too nice a way of describing him as he was terminally, pants-on-head retarded. He was the opposite of Matt to look at (weedy and bald) but still thought he was God's gift. To this effect, he walked around at least shirtless at all times, even in the depth of winter (walking into the kitchen one morning and finding Tim in nothing but his boxers was most unsettling as he looked like an Ethiopian child). His four loves in life were his car, which he once went home for the day to drive, Grand Feft (he was from Chichester and that is how he said it), (he pre-ordered San Andreas for the day it came out, threw a strop when it hadn't arrived by 10am and skipped lectures to go out and buy it), porn (mostly college girls flicking the bean, we found it in his system files) and "people getting killed" (read: Tarantino films, war films and not much else). After the acquisition of Grand Feft, he could regularly be heard yelling "that's fuckin' bullshit!!" at his PS2 on a Sunday morning when the game killed him. I have a theory he had never had any sexytiem ever: when asked how many girls he had slept with, pondered and then ventured, "um, free?" (which, when you consider the entire household gave me grief for not having had any sexytiem at that time, is pretty hypocritical). His style of dancing was much like the old Bud Light ad for Mr Really Really Really Bad Dancer (look it up).
EDIT: He now lives in Ashford as well. There is no God.

Katie - There is no other word to describe her: bitch. She had a 30-a-day nicotine habit and the attitude problem to match (usually caused by having to go an hour without a fag, much to the annoyance of the rest of the house since she had to keep the back door open to flick the ash out). In addition to the awful stench of nicotine that followed her around, her physique was somewhere between Mr Creosote and Rik Waller and her jeans and tops never quite met over the girth. She was taking Film Studies and considered herself to be the authority on any film ever made (although she didn't take kindly to having it explained to her that Van Helsing was meant to look bad, as it was a homage to 1940s horror films and if you're such a smartarse shouldn't you know that?) To make her even more unbearable, she was spoilt rotten by her divorced parents (did she have a clue how to use her brand new 40GB iPod that was a guilt present from Daddy? Did she fuck, she left it in the kitchen and it would have served her right if it had gone walkies). The iPod was a waste anyway, as her taste in music centred around McFly. It was officially the end of the world as we knew it if she missed The OC or Hollyoaks and in between she would regale us with the boring adventures of her hundreds of male friends (who all wanted to shag her, of course.)

Faye Part-time model and all-round domestic goddess (insisted on cooking every night and if you cut her she'd probably bleed Jif) whose mascara overkill made her eyelashes look like spiders' legs. She was meant to be bestest best fwiends with Katie (from about five minutes after they met) but they bitched about one another pretty much continuously. Having said that, Faye was about the nicest of the bunch if you could get her away from the others and in fairness she did apologise to me for their cuntishness before she moved out. She listened to endless crap R&B, mostly when pining after her boyfriend in Devon, whose name was Brad and who was a bodybuilder.

Spud Matt's delightful girlfriend, and also willing to introduce herself to people as Spud. Two reasons why she was clinically insane. She moved into the house after falling out with her own housemates and slept (although not much) in Matt's bed every night. Quite early on, she became a cheerleader with Faye, and when she got her pompoms paraded endlessly round the house dancing and endlessly doing the cheer from Bring it On for what felt like weeks and making me want to cunt her in the fuck even more than I normally did. She did suit the cheerleading, however, since she then became exactly like cheerleaders are in American teen films: "Hey, look at me, I'm so hot... I'm getting all the sex I'm entitled to, and your share as well, peasant". However, her living with Matt wasn't much better than her standing outside his window (and mine, since I was below him) at 7 every morning bleating "Maaaaaatt! Maaaaaatt!" until he woke up. This was OK on days when I had to get up for lectures, but on a Saturday, she nearly got spanged in the face by my alarm clock. She pissed me off the most, however, when she stayed in the house over Easter and never washed up once as she seemed to want to cultivate a mould farm, and I came back to find every single piece of crockery and every pan I owned coated in green furry mould, in a pile on the kitchen table where the cleaners had refused to go near it. She then had the cheek to give me grief for leaving one plate out "which Faye had to wash up, which isn't fair on her. You should do it yourself in future, is that cool?". No. It is not.

And they loved one another sooooo much. To the point that when I moved in the next day they weren't taking anyone else into their select little club and spent the next year making me feel as unwelcome as possible (mostly for the aforemetioned reason of me still having my V-plates at the time when clearly my mission in life before uni should have been "fuck everything in sight".)

And if any of you read b3ta, I'm not sorry. You were cunts, and I enjoyed stealing your milk, backwashing your £5-a-bottle real ale, playing music to piss the shaggers off and writing "WANKERS" in magnetic letters on the fridge.
( Maladicta, Thu 26 Feb 2009, 19:36, 1 reply)

the v plates
i recon they actualy made people like me more, as opposed to anouther guy who pretended to be a stud so no one would know.
(Mong goose, Sun 1 Mar 2009, 0:11, closed)