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This is a question Housemates From Hell III

I once had a flatmate who was so lazy he had a fungus growing in a cup in his bedroom - it was white and whispy so he nicknamed it "Albert". Tell us your tale of living with the disturbed, the odd, the fragile and the downright filthy.

(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 17:40)
Pages: Popular, 3, 2, 1

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I once shared a flat with a guy who was fucking a stripper.

* The way she yelled when she came. She sounded like a butch lesbian PE instructor demanding for more effort.

* It was nice that she went about in just her knickers in the morning, but demanding you made her breakfast or gave her some of your hash just because she had tits was a bit much.

* His bed was right next to his wardrobe, which, in typical lairy student fashion, had all his empty vodka bottles on top if it. One night I heard a massive CRASH! SMASH! OOYAH FUCKER! as their shagging had toppled the bottles on top of them.

* Her calling the flat when he was out (this was way back before mobiles) and asking if he'd left any hash for her. When I said no, she asked if I could give her mine then.

* You know how on King Of The Hill, every time Boomhauer plays Dido, you know it's happening? Well, the same, but with fucking Gomez.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 14:01, 8 replies)
Mad Joe
Never allow someone to move in if they have the prefix 'Mad' before their first name. Mad Joe was on all sorts of meds for his mental conditions. He was brought up in a very religious family. Maybe that was why. Anyway, he was a filthy gentleman and lived in absolute squalor which always encroached into our shared living spaces. The last straw was to do with his 2 kittens constantly shitting everywhere and him never cleaning it up.

I was sat on the sofa in the kitchen when one of the kittens did a shit right in front of me. I called Joe over to begrudgingly clear it up in my presence and witnessed him grabbing the washing up sponge from behind the kitchen sink, picking up the turds with the sponge and then putting the sponge back behind the taps, complete with slimy turds all over the sponge.

Needless to say we swiftly found a replacement housemate...

(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 13:58, Reply)
Not housemates as such, but the Australian couple who lived in the flat above us in some converted shit hole on the Archway Road
Who had loud arguments and fights what seemed like all the time. We would lie in bed on Sunday mornings listening to them loudly calling each other cunts and stuff.

One morning after this fired up we could here things being smashed, basically the obvious sound of cups, mugs, and plates being thrown around the kitchen. I remember hearing the guy shouting "Stop smashing my things," at one point as the sounds of their fighting moved around above us. The weirdest thing is they were Mr and Mrs Normal by appearances, when we met on the stairs, in the street, etc. No indication they went for each other's throats with venom.

Anyway, that time they were smashing their flat up and obviously kicking the shit out of each other was a bit beyond what we were used to, and my girlfriend was rattled enough to want to call the cops. Their daughter who lived there as well must have been about eight or nine I guess, and more with her in mind I was more up for walking up the staircase and banging on their door and 'seeing if everything was alright.' We did neither, and moved out shortly afterwards. All a bit much for the cloudy judgments of a hangover.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 13:58, 3 replies)
When I was a lodger
My landlord and his girlfriend went out with their different sets of mates one night. He went out to the pub with his buddies and she went dancing with her friends.

He came back at midnight, drunk, and went to sleep on the sofa knowing she'd come back and chuck him out of bed for being drunk, which he was right about, but it's still a bit hypocritical because she came back a couple of hours later, steaming drunk, went into the lounge, and apparently threw the kettle at him (I was in bed in another room, but I', guessing this is what happened based on his cry of "Don't throw the fucking kettle at me you bitch!"

I tried to ignore the noise, but in the end I had to go into the lounge because she was screaming for the police. They were both on their knees on the floor, him trying to grab her arms whilst she had taken a high-heel shoe off and was now hitting him with the heel and drawing blood.

I calmed them down, he slept in the lounge, she slept in the bed, and then the next day they asked me to move out because I'd "escalated the situation" by intervening.

I live alone now. I'm so fucking glad sometimes.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 13:42, Reply)
I once chose to live with a bunch of ferral psychopaths who used to steal my food and shit in the bath.
No, wait, it didn't happen. Why the fuck would I do that, unless I was some kind of self-hating masochist?
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 12:56, 30 replies)
Tea Towels
As a student, living with 5 others of various levels of hygiene / alcoholism, it was not uncommon (almost every day) to find a tea towel on the sofa. I only realized towards the end of the year that one of my (female) flatmates was rather incontinent when she drank. Cue amusement turning to sheer horror the day i saw her piss herself in the pub, simply move to the next bar stool and put a towel on the piss soaked one!!!!
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 12:53, Reply)
The phlegm cup reminds me of my former housemate Clive (name changed to protect the guilty)
I could always tell when Clive had been in the living room because there, on the sofa, would be a Clive's arse-sized space surrounded by torn bits of paper, tissue or whatever other of rubbish he saw fit to generate. Despite us owning an old pub ashtray that was the size of a dinner plate, Clive preferred to use my candleabra, though of course he never emptied the fag ends out of it. Clive took my favourite pint glass that I'd had for years to keep by his bedside, and every morning he would cough up a wad of lungbutter to spit into it until he had, in his own words, his "own personal lava lamp". Clive used to sit too far back on the flat's only toilet, which meant quite often he'd leave a little pile of poo on the back of the seat - which he was apparently incapable of cleaning up. Clive used to collect his own piss in bottles (glass beer bottles without a cap on them) and leave them in the hallway.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 12:12, 16 replies)
I shared a flat with Joel Veitch once
He wasted loads of electricity because he couldn't sleep without the fan heater on and once dismembered a rabbit in the kitchen and left a bloody message on the walls, "clean the kitchen you scummy bastards."

However I rather liked him and encouraged him to behave very badly indeed which means we were probably the housemates from hell to the other guy there. Sorry Kevin.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 11:55, 3 replies)
An actual real life event that really happened
When i was 18 years old and living in a little backward inbred town called Runcorn, imagine the Truman Show but with Jeremy Kyle as the main character. Myself and a few close knit friends would go out every weekend to one of the various dives.

At the end of the night about 2:00am if we had not managed to pull an extra from the Dark Crystal we would all pile back to my mates house, this house was an empty shell essentially. One sofa, white goods in the kitchen, shit stereo system couple of beds upstairs. It was his mum and dads house that they had not lived in for years as they now owned and ran a pub in the same town.

After doing this for weeks and weeks someone had the great drunken idea to just ask this lads mum and dad if three of us could move in, we were all working and earning and it seemed like a great idea. never in a million years did i think that they would say yes...they did.

In a day or two we were moved in, crap sofas acquired from here there and everywhere, beds built and moved in TV acquired, better stero system, table and chairs...home.

Why did i think that anything would change from the nights we used to pile back there maybe 10 - 15 of us at a time.

Some of the highlights (lowlights)

1. Coming home from work to find 7 people passed out in the living room with various items on fire in the kitchen.

2. Getting tonsilitis (severe as well) during the European Cup and my house mate deciding to throw a house party while I was dying upstairs - it went on for almost 24 hours.

3. Two brothers coming around, one on the run from the Police, turned up in mid March was still there in July and would not leave the house. Not until his older brother turned up (who i believe is a jockey now) and stabbed him in the face with a free standing lamp, removing his eyeball from his face.

But possibly the best was when I wasn't a great housemate.

Out of the three of us living there, one was a right lazy fucker. The guy whos mum and dad owned the house. He used to take his clothes every weekend in bin bags to the pub to get them washed and ironed and then he would bring them back in the same bin bags.

One night after copious amounts of mind bendingly good dope the lazy fucker was supposed to be on bin duty. Quite a lot of rubbish had been accumulating in the kitchen for a couple of weeks...(i know i know) after asking him serveral times to sort it out he didnt he just fucked off to his stinking hole of a room to masturbate to pictures of Slash. When we realised he wasnt going to come and sort it out, we went and sorted it out, took all the bin bags out to the bin in the garden. Put the wheely bin and numerous black sacks outside the gate to be taken away.

Cut to waking up to banging on my bedroom door the next morning "WHERE ARE MY FUCKING CLOTHES!!?? I NEED MY CLOTHES YOU CUNTS WHERE ARE THEY BLAH BLAH BLAH"

I asked politley where he had left them...I guess you know where.

And guess what it was actually bin day...and in them days the bin men were early.

We had thrown out pretty much everything he owned, three big bags of clothes (posh stuff too).

Needless to say that brought to a close that tenancy agreement.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 11:53, 3 replies)
The guy that eventually became my best man was for a time also my flatmate.
We had been friends since childhood and stupidly thought getting a flat together would be a good idea. Unfortunately what happens is they expect you to put up with all their shit, like punching holes in the walls and playing the drums at 3am on a Thursday night. Once he stuck a metal pole through the partition wall between our bedrooms so he could thread a cable through and nick my internet (pre wireless days mind) Good idea in principle except rather than do it at floor level he smacked it four foot up so I just had a cable sticking out into the middle of my room. One night he drunkenly claimed that he had no feeling in his elbow and to prove it took a 4 inch nail and nailed his elbow skin to the kitchen table. My kitchen table. I took the hammer so he couldn't get the nail out and left him there.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 10:02, 4 replies)
Cosplay House
During my final year of university I moved into a new house after a strained situation at the last place I was staying (never date a housemate). It was a grand old Victorian terrace with large rooms and just one other occupant at the time. He was John, a shall we say big-boned scouser who was rather quiet and shy. The first few weeks of it just being the two of us rattling around the large house were fine as our paths rarely crossed apart from the occasional bout of smalltalk in the kitchen. A few weeks into the term and the landlord had managed to dredge up three latecomers to fill the remaining rooms. They turned out to be three girls that had met during freshers week at the society fair (or whatever you call it) and ended up looking for somewhere together.

They seemed alright and we ended up decamping to the local pub on a few occasions. John was asked but would always have some excuse, although I think he was rather intimidated and ill at ease in the company of four rather loud and raucous females. One day they asked me if I fancied going to one of their society meetings, which turned out to be some sort of Dungeons & Dragons roleplay thing. "Oh, like the cartoon the unicorn?" I said. They never asked me again. The more into their society they got the more things around the house got weirder. I was used to hairs in the bathroom sink but now it was bright orange hairs in a sink stained Star Trek alien green. And the suggestive looks I got from the neightbours whilst hanging out my jeans on a washing line strewn with slave girl bikinis and "fuzzy britches" were not fun to endure.

The final straw came the night of the ComiCon (I forget the actual name). To the girls this was the Oscar night of their cosplay world and the weeks leading up to it were a cavalcade of hair-dyeing, sewing, scrubbing and possibly smelting. The night was to involve the usual merchandising. meet and greets and autographing that goes on at these things followed by a special night at the local nightclub, where you'd be sure to find Arthur Dent dry humping Lara Croft on the dancefloor to 'Star Trekkin'. I was working in a different nightclub at the time so I wearily returned home to a couple of revelations. 1) BY some miracle, John had been coaxed out of his room to join the other three at the event. 2) He really can't handle his drink. 3) He apparently had a crush on one of the girls (dressed as Chun Li for the occasion. 4) He REALLY can't handle his drink. So I arrived home to the sight at the top of the stairs sat outside Chun Li's room of a chubby scouse Klingon clad only in white skimpies and some heavy duty boots, tears streaming down his make-up darkened face lamenting "I've got me pants on now please let me in! I loves ya Chun Li! I did it all for you!"

The story as replayed the next day was that John had got blind drunk at the nightclub and the three of them had steer a barely conscious Klingon through the streets to home, deposit him in bed, and hit the hay themselves. After half an hour Chun Li heard her door creak open and Scouse Worf stumbled in naked (boots only), pumping away at his 'bat'leth' and making it very clear he was in the mood for some spinning bird kicks. He was never seen again and his parents turned up for his stuff a few days later.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 9:31, 6 replies)
"The phlegm cup."
Oh god the horror.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 9:18, 3 replies)
Almost on topic - neighbours, housemates, potato tomato
Years ago I had a client who came to see me because of a neighbour problem. He and his wife lived in a 3 bed semi, where the third room was a tiny box. Their neighbour had moved out and let his house to a rather large family. 17 of them, to be precise (I had to take his word for this, he wasn't paying me to go and count). He said that the noise was unbelievable, not helped by 4 of the teenage boys sleeping in a tent in the garden, and loud singing that started at 4am.

When they complained politely about the last part, and asked if it could be done a bit later in the morning, the father simply said, "children must pray," and closed the door. There were many complaints in a similar vein and I'm sure the family would have had plenty to say about their neighbours too, but one thing stood out as being possibly the hardest I have had to try not to laugh, even though I did sympathise, it just sounded so funny...

The wife was not a small lady. Especially in the hind quarters region. You know, one of those ladies whose bottom half seems to be moving in a different direction to the top. Apparently one day she was weeding in the garden, and some of the children started chucking things at her bottom. Turned out to be fence posts, which they had pulled up. When the husband went over to complain, they told him that they were "hunting hippopotamus".
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 8:50, 2 replies)
A few years ago I lived in a shared house, most of my flatmates were ok, there were a few pricks, but by and large everyone got on
then, the landlord built a new place smack next door, and moved most of the shitter tenants in there instead.
That was ok for the most part, but the guy hadn't taken the keys of our place off them, so every so often they'd come over to our place and shit it all up for a while. This obviously meant that a few of the more fun guys ended up moving out and the generally fun nature of the place went into decline.

A few people complained to the landlord, but the guys next door realised they were pushing buttons and also realised that the landlord was pretty innefectual at resolving any conflicts, so the whole situation got steadily worse until even the easy going guys in the orginal place were continually sniping at each other.

Occupancy of both places steadily dwindled until this place died on its arse.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 7:57, 10 replies)
It was me.
Can't really be bothered with a beginning, middle and an end so it'll just be bullet-points today I'm afraid.

- the time I was fucking one of my house-mates (yeah, yeah - don't shit where you eat) and her bf turned up in the middle of the night. I hid in her en-suite shower whilst she had to try and explain to him why her room smelt of sex and why she was so lubed up and ready to go already.

- when me and my bestie decided to make hash out of some leaf and acetate. The [highly flammable] acetate wasn't evaporating quickly enough so we decided to give it a helping hand by putting the tray over a gas stovetop burner. The column of flame that left scorch marks on the 15' ceilings and guaranteed the loss of our bond was pretty impressive.

- the time we decided to grow our own tobacco and pot in the rented houses glasshouse seed trays. Got raided, the cops didn't so much as blink at our 200 odd pot seedlings. But they very kindly gave us about 5 min. to dispose of the baccy plants as - fine for pot = $200, penalty for tobacco = $5000 per plant and jail time (or so we were told). Thanks Big Tobacco.

- the day I got so sick of washing my 1 cup, 1 set of cutlery and 1 plate that I decided to throw the dirty dishes that had been sitting in the sink for nearly a month out of the kitchen window. Piece by piece. At 5am. Everyone stumbled out of bed, grumbled at me and then laughed. Until they grumbled again the following day when they asked to borrow my crockery and I told them to fuck off.

There's plenty more but I think you get the gist.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 6:54, 12 replies)
Last one out turn of the lights pls
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 1:30, 7 replies)
I shared flats with a fair number of eccentrics. I remember one bloke used to practice throwing a tomahawk across the room to try and bury it in the front door. But none who I didn't like
In one London flat were two italian girls, and one of them was a screamer during sex. She'd regularly bring her boyfriend back and fuck and we'd have to sit munching our dinner while her screams filled the flat. Both of them had a habit of walking to breakfast naked, which would please the up to six kiwis we had dossing downstairs at any one time. The only bad experience was when I broke my rule of never sharing a flat with an englishman. I don't know what this Manc did for a crust, but he'd come home late every night totally wired, like he'd just been doing lines of speed, which he quite possibly had. I've never seen a bloke so on edge all the time. He couldn't sit still in his chair and if you tried to converse with him he'd react like it was a hostile police interrogation. The fucker ended up skipping out on us owing rent.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2015, 0:16, Reply)
I lived with John Humphrys
he was a nightmare: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZes1Anrbsc
(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 23:45, 1 reply)
my house has a 44,000 litre saltwater pool, mate

(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 23:43, 4 replies)
I had been living in a wonderful house,
But the 3 girls I was living with all got boyfriends or jobs in other cities, so the lease waa not renewed. I'd just taken a job at a cocktail bar and out of sheer luck one of the bar men there had a room free. It was cheap, and central and he seemed like a top bloke so I jumped at the chance to move in. He was a brilliant housemate, helped me move in, waived my first months rent while I got some furniture (going from furnished to unfurnished) and I settled in. It was a bit raucous there, we were young and flush on tips and worked irregular hours so it became a bit of a party house.
This was fine by me, however, the other bloke that lived there was a little odd. He was friendly enough, but mostly kept to himself, didn't moan about me and the other guy partying late, but was very adamant no one ever went in his room. Again, seems fine. However, about a month after I moved in (and as I found out only 6 weeks after Mr. "Stay out of my room" moved in) the house started to stink. We could not figure out what it was. We weren't the tidiest people, and the kitchen was far from spotless so we started with a big clean, thinking it might be some food down the back of a cupboard or a dead mouse somewhere.
Nothing, and the smell just got worse. We all 3 tried everything, we cleaned carpets, we washed curtains and even complained to the council in case it was the drains out front. We confronted neighbours and nothing did the trick.
Then, one weekend the man whose room was out of bounds went away, leaving strict instructions we were not to go in his room. Well, that weekend we had a party after work as normal, and one of the other guys asked to stay, instead of putting him on the couch we thought we'd just let him sleep in the empty room that sir "private space" had told us to stay out of. We push the door open and are suddenly all paralysed by the horrific stink. All of a sudden the source of the smell is discovered. In the corner of the room is a big pile of towels that look to be utterly soaked and slightly yellow brown. The door was quickly slammed, spare sheets were tucked under the door to keep the smell out and the party quickly petered out.

Housemate returns some point on Monday and is clearly upset as he rings the bar straight away to ask why there's a sheet tucked under his door, screaming blue murder about us trespassing and breaking trust and being terrible people. After a brief shouting match, where I tried to make the point that his make shift toilet was horrific to say the least, phones were slammed down with promises of retribution. I get home around 8 and it looks like housemate of the yellow lagoon is packing up to move out.
Turns out that his reason for doing it was that our parties were intimidating, and that he was too scared to go across the hall to the bathroom. When asked why he didn't say anything during the two weeks we all industrially cleaned the house together, he said he thought we'd be angry, and frankly he'd got used to the smell. When asked why he never cleaned it up, he said the smell was his way of getting his own back on us for having too much fun.
I saw him a couple of times after that, but he soon stopped hanging out in the places we did when the story got around.

Tl:Dr A fucking killer whale moves in and says racist stuff about your mother.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 22:09, 6 replies)
my housemate is username failed moderation and Fred the weatherman

(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 21:04, 1 reply)
Before the days of marriage and kids I owned my own flat.
One summer a couple of mates asked rather than come home from university and stay with their parents, if they could move in with me instead. I needed the extra cash and had the room so I agreed.
They ganged up on me.
I was the only one with a full time job. As I owned the place and owned all the pans, plates, cutlery etc I assumed it was my prerogative to do the washing up when I was fucking ready. They didn't agree. One night after and extended overtime session I came home, threw my stuff down and jumped on my bed. Instead of a nice soft landing I was greeted with incredible pain. They had put all the washing up in my bed.
A few weeks later I left them alone in the flat to attend one of the the summer festivals. When I arrived back I discovered that they had come home from the pub and drunkenly decided to cook some chicken. They put it under the grill and decided to go to bed. Once the fire alarms were going off, and eventually disturbed a neighbor, the neighbor decided to investigate. Seeing a strange shadowy figure peering in through the window at 2am the busy body across the street decided to call the police. The police arrived and promptly kicked my front door in to "rescue" my friends. They carried them out of the house in their boxers. They went in and simply turned off the grill. After a quick check by the fire brigade and an airing of the flat they went back in and went to bed. The next morning one went in to the living room to find the other eating the charred remains of the chicken and asked...

"did the fire brigade come round last night?"

I'm best man to one of them next month and I feel it my duty to mention this tale in the speech.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 20:07, 6 replies)

(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 20:07, Reply)
tardis sodomy hysterics fire
(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 20:00, 5 replies)
banner link doesn't go to new qotw..
New mod is rubbish.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 19:29, 2 replies)
Housemates? How ghastly.
What are those of us who haven't lived like Untermensch supposed to talk about this week?
(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 18:55, 8 replies)
Where exactly is Hell III?
After the delay in starting a new QOTW, you'd like to think they'd have gone with something more inclusive.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 18:46, 1 reply)
It's back!Can we do sheds again please?

(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 18:40, Reply)
I once shared a flat with a bloke who would change his socks once a fortnight....the stink filled the flat by day 13
(, Thu 12 Mar 2015, 17:46, 2 replies)

This question is now closed.

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