Yogi
AKA Chris. The day I met him, rooting through cupboards on the day I moved to uni, I genuinely thought he was a little retarded.

How is this man at uni? I thought. Of course, this was art college so they pretty much let any bozo in, myself included.

Chris looked like a lanky, dark haired chavvy version of Eminem. He wore baggy hip-hop style tracksuits, giving him the appeareance of a child in it's parent's clothes. Yogi was his self appointed nickname and I'm really not sure why. They did share similar dopey voices I suppose. He acted like a hard nut from the slums but was clearly well off and had regular calls on the house phone from mummy asking to speak to 'Christopher.'

Having an intellectual conversation with Chris was a bit like trying to get a Turkey to help you with Sudoku. He had a goofy 'hur hur' type laugh, talked constant dribble and once bought Casablanca on dvd because he thought it was a gangster movie. He possessed the eternal look of someone who literally just walked into a glass door and is reeling in shock and wondering around dazed and confused. It dawned on me after about 35 minutes of knowing him that he wasn't (that) thick, just perpetually stoned.

Now I would be a hypocrite to judge people smoking dope, but I'm sure some would agree that those who smoke it constantly end up being a bit boring to hang out with, unless you are in a similar state of comatose.

It transpired that Chris was the local petty dope dealer of the campus, which in turn led to hordes of his pretty fly for white guy chums gurgling in the kitchen like Beavis & Butthead clones, and general strangers traipsing through our house most of the time.

This wasn't as big a problem as you might think as Chris spent a lot of time picking up drugs in London. It did get a bit annoying, however, when his dim-wit friends would crow "Yogi!" up to our house at 2am (it was a tower block and the kitchen/living room was on the top floor) and I, as if starring in some warped rendition of Romeo and Juliet, would shout back, "He's not in! He's gone daan taan!"

Eventually things went sour. He got in a row with one of my housemates, moved into another flat and eventually dropped out of uni. I'm sure he once nicked £20 from me too. And so began my unintentional habit of living with drug dealers. Next stop, Ketamine addicts, but thats another post.
(Eldoofus, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 19:57, 3 replies)

Out of the dozens of similar posts
yours shines like a beacon.

'turkey'
'casablanca'
'glass door'

wonderfully written.

*clicks*
(HaHa!Snakes! was last seen on, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 20:08, closed)

Ah shucks
Thank you kindly :)

Casablanca...what a goon
(Eldoofus, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 20:31, closed)

Similar associates
In my first year at university, I shared a halls flat with a guy by the name of Jake. Everyone in the block was aware of Jake, though few knew who he was or what he looked like.
They knew him because his mates would come over to get stoned with him at any time between midnight and 3 am and shout his name (We were 4th floor too).
"JAKE! JAKE! JAKE!"
"..."
"...JAKE! JAKE!"

Eventually security had issued a few warnings, following complaints from most of the residents in the block, to Jake (wasn't hard to figure out who was to blame).
So his friends started shouting random names.
"GERALD! GERALD! GERALD!"
"..."
"...ERIC! ERIC!"

Some how he never got kicked out.
(joepublic 's opinion does not represent that of the public, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 21:58, closed)