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)