Bob's epiphany.
It has been alleged that in a shared house in Birmingham there lived four people. Two were a couple (M&F) and there were two others. One was a god bothering meek type and there was Bob (name changed to protect the guilty).
Bob was a snidey little f$ck rat who quite fancied himself as a hard man as he had been allowed to go to a football match ON HIS OWN by his mummy. As the male half of the couple was a 6'7" south african Bob decided to try his hardman act on the godbotherer who, as a result, became a recluse in his room.
Bob then tried to use mindfuck tactics on the female half of the couple. Moving and hiding stuff, breaking things deliberately, ordering stuff in her name, screwing with computers etc. As I said, a really weaselly waste of blood and organs, but nothing could be proved. The shared house was empty in December and the female housemate had to go back to her parents place as this little dick was making her life miserable.
Bob then put on the heating at max and put all the hot water taps to run FOR A MONTH while everyone was away, him included. He wasn't responsible for the gas bill and tried to blame said stunt on female housemate.His excuse every fucking time was, What's the matter, can't you take a joke"?
Female housemate's dad got involved. Female housemate's dad found out that Bob's favourite film was hostel.


Bob lost control of his bodily functions when he awoke one morning cable tied to a chair (allegedly)naked with clips attached to his genitals running to a mains socket (not actually wired in but he didn't know that). The screaming and pleading was (allegedly) a sight to behold. This turned to vomit-inducing terror when a series of power tools were paraded in front of his terrified eyes by three very large masked men in bloodstained overalls(allegedly).
Left alone in the house with one light on illuminating the countdown timer attached to the cables attached to his genitalia was (allegedly) the thing which pitched him over the edge. (allegedly)After he fainted, all was put back to normal and all evidence was totally removed. He left uni and is now clinically paranoid, terrified of the dark, won't sleep unless all the lights are on and the house is locked down and checked over and over. He'll be a chain round his useless over indulgent weak twattish parents necks for the rest of their lives, with any luck he'll top himself.


Don't fuck with my daughter Bob.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 10:40, Reply)

um
not quite from hell... but one of my housemates have left this for me to deal with over the 5 weeks of the easter holidays



That *was* white rice a few weeks ago. It's now bright orange with bits of grey. There was a spoon in there, but it has been absorbed by the scary orange cloud mould. Click "I like this" and I'll open the lid...

Edit: You people are sadists. Pot is now safely in shed.


Look at the poor spoon!

(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 23:44, Reply)

Um, I think it might have been me.
I sleepwalk. A bit. Normally it's not much of a problem, I'll find myself waking up wandering around the house in the middle of the night needing a wee or something to eat, so I’ll go to the bog or the fridge, get back to bed and that’s that.

Very occasionally there may be a minor indiscretion, such as the time I walked into my girlfriend’s sister’s bedroom as she was on the job with some fella and tried to get into bed with them, but generally people understand when I explain the score and accept it in good humour and without thinking there’s anything sinister about it.

Except for this one girl.

Poor lass. She moved into a shared house I was living in, and for some reason, whatever part of my brain was in charge of sleepwalking just seemed to have it in for her. I had absolutely no idea why. She was nice. But she certainly didn’t think I was.

I didn’t tell her that I sleepwalk when she moved in; I just didn’t think to do so as it’s so rarely an issue. So when after a few days I came to notice that she was being strangely frosty towards me, I couldn’t work out why - until word got back to me that I’d wandered into her bedroom in the middle of the night and stood glaring at her for a few minutes, freaking her out somewhat. When I found out I did my best to explain and make light of it, however it was clear that whereas I was able to find some humour in the situation, she clearly was not.

A few nights after that I woke up suddenly to find myself confronted by her. She was a little bit cross, enquiring as to what the fuck I thought I was doing, and suggesting I get the fuck out of her room - which indeed I was stood in. With a spoon in my hand. I apologised as best I could and made my way back to my own bed in a state of embarrassment and mild confusion.

I didn’t know anything about the next time until the morning after, when she had a right old go at me for barging into her room, tipping the contents of her chest of drawers all over the floor then walking out again. She called me all the names under the sun and at one point threatened to do me physical harm if it happened again. I tried to reassure her it wouldn’t, but I’m not sure she was convinced - she kept using words like “bullshit", “fucking freak” and “pervert”.

A week or so later I was rudely awoken by a shoe being thrown into my face at high velocity accompanied by a volley of very high pitched screaming. If I’m honest I can probably understand why, seeing as I was stark naked and standing next to her open wardrobe that was making a distinct dripping noise and smelt suspiciously of fresh piss. And, to be fair, I certainly did seem to be languidly wanking my flaccid cock at her.

She moved out.
.
(Ali Bongo 9000 Ali Bongo 9000, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 23:01, Reply)

Brian
His name was Brian. We lived together for a brief period, and as everything does, it starts out alright. Newly moved in, both of us were elated for the first couple of weeks, until it settled down and became the norm.

But then the truth started to come out. This would've fit in the last QOTW: He never brushed his teeth, and his breath smelt horrible. I tried to get him to eat foods that might ease up the smell but nothing worked. And then after a few more weeks I'd go into his room and find what looked like shit - yes, SHIT - smeared on the carpet. He would leave crumbs and mess all over the floor, and raid the fridge when I was out and eat the food I'd bought for myself. And I'll never forget the day I walked in to find himself trying to give himself a blowjob - talk about scarred for life!

One night he brought some bitch home who must've got fucked off at Brian, cos she just wrecked the place. Stuff all over the floor, shouting her mouth off at him. Eventually I stepped in and tried to throw her out, only to be attacked by her.

It all ended in tears when he attacked me one morning and sent me toppling over and I nearly broke my leg. So I took him to the vet to be put down.

Cunting dog.
(ratthingbazzterd, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 19:08, Reply)

Padlocked door, dungeons (!) and family members.....
When I was at Uni one of my closest friends shared a house with a girl who was slightly odd….
Jenny had the biggest bedroom in the house due to the fact her parents (her father was a Vicar) had bought the house just for the time she was at Uni – an investment….
Jenny had no friends, was repeatedly unpleasant to everyone (female) she met but had a constant stream of men running through her bedroom, as it were…

When they all moved in Jenny’s first ‘improvement’ to her room was to put a bolt and padlock on the door, for the first month or so she had a carpenter coming and going into her room who was supposedly making her a built in wardrobe.

Around the third or fourth week of term Jenny started skipping lectures – she was doing Geography and wanted to become a Primary School teacher – my friend Shellie decided to check up on Jenny to see if she was okay….
Shellie knocked on Jenny’s door – no reply.
A note was pushed under the door asking if she was okay and could she let someone know where she was….
After two or three days of no sign of Jenny, Shellie and the others were really concerned and telephoned Jenny’s parents – they were angry to have been contacted, and said Jenny had phoned them only that day….

That night Jenny came home with her latest boyfriend – again no one saw her but they heard her and her boyfriend….
At around 3am Jenny and the lad finally decided to go to sleep, having kept everyone awake with their noisy fun which would have shamed any pornstar (so I’m told…).

Jenny still didn’t return to lectures, but she was still very noisily present in the house – but only at night after around midnight and added to the moans and groans were ‘other’ noises….

So Shellie decided one night to stay up and confront Jenny about all the noise…..

Jenny fell in the door late with a man….Shellie had words with her and Jenny told her to get a life….

This went on until the end of term when Jenny finally got kicked off the course – she decided to take a few things and return to her parents.

After she left Shellie and the other housemates went to look in her room – she’d left it padlocked so they broke it and got in….

Jenny had been running a little business on the side – the men she brought back were paying customers and they weren’t just paying for sex but also a bit of discipline too….
Jenny had really got into the idea of being a teacher – apparently she used to dress up in stockings and lacy undies, put on a cap and gown, glasses, and cane the men….
There were also bolts and chains attached to the walls, in fact the room resembled a Victorian classroom crossed with a dungeon…..

Unfortunately when Jenny left she hadn’t told some of her ‘regulars’ that she was off so they started coming round to see where she was – and that was the real killer – Shellie opened the door to her uncle…
he didn’t realise that Shellie lived with Jenny…..
Family reunions are a little strained now…
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 18:28, Reply)

Twas I...
Took me a while to figure it out but I realised I was the housemate from hell.

London 1991. Near Battersea. Got a house with a de-mob happy ex-soldier, recently back from Gulf shennanigans ("i saw some shit man...", think Michael from Alan Partridge, "aye man, an' killin'") and itching to get a room to basically fuck lots of women.

Rent, 600 a month for a nice gaff. Had a spare room (it was a while back) which we sublet to a lovely looking girl called Beth. We charged her £400 a month, so we only had to pay £100 a month each. Marvellous.

She was a mistake. From day one, pain in the arse. Not a bad person, just very very annoying to us and had the house filled with drying hosiery everywhere, not the nice stuff, just the nasty brown stuff that bank robbers use.

She got a boyfriend, a rather well do to chap called Jonathon. Jonathon had connections to the 'palace'. Beth was very excited and talked incessantly about an upcoming dinner at the Palace she would be going to in 4 months time. The more she talked, the more we went to the pub.

Where we hatched a plan so heinous, it couldnt possibly, possibly ever work.

Beth needed to lose weight. Her words. She needed to drop a stone to get in to the dress she bought 2 sizes too small for the Palace 'gig'. We heard nothing else. She went on the slim fast diet. She was good, one shake for brekky, one for lunch. Sensible steamed food for dinner.

After one month, Beth has put on a pound. Never mind, the book said this was normal, it only meant more would fall off quicker the next month. Just to be sure, dinner was replaced with a slimfast shake.

2 months. 6 pounds heavier than the start. Panic kicks in. Drops the lunch shake. 2 shakes a day - but maybe binge eating chocolate with some possible throwing up later.

3 months. 9 pounds heavier. Only 1 stone 9 pounds to drop in a month. Beth was Panic Personified.

Beth worked in sales. Sales people like to fuck off early on fridays and go to the pub and drink with other salespeople.

Not this Friday. Beth came home early. Us dossers didnt really have much to come home early from. We froze in the kitchen, as we heard her come in. We looked at each other, panicked as the kitchen door opened. We stared at her as she stared at the contents of the table we were sat at.

It took her a few seconds to figure out what the two very large mounds of powder were. One was obviously her slimfast. The other, judging by the empty cans lying around, bodybuilding protein shake-mix, 'extra-strength'.

We had been replacing her slimfast from pretty much day 1 with the protein mix, designed to help people build muscle mass quickly. She turned and ran. She left 2 days later without saying a word.

I was the housemate from hell. In fairness, so was Goz the squaddie but I dont know where he is now.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 11:15, Reply)

Kindap.
My friends housemate had a certain taste for class As.

Now my mate and the rest of the housemates went out leaving X on his own as he didnt feel up to going out shopping or whatever.

Mates come back to find the house trashed, everything everywhere. They find X in his room sat, curled up infront of his cubboard which is all taped up and what have you.

they ask him what happened and if hes allright, X replies that he was feeling real down so he took a load of class As and trashed the place then he went for a walk and that the gremlins wouldnt leave him alone.

my mates were like.. "look X there were no gremlins...." and of course he had prepared for this and replied "i knew you wouldnt believe me so i caught one and locked it in the cupboard"

they opened the cupboard and out popped a little down-syndrome child..... of course this walk X went on had taken him past a Local special needs school and he kidnapped this child thinking it was a gremlin!

it got into the paper and everything!
(Jetpac, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 19:23, Reply)

pity me
I shared a flat with frankspencer and apeloverage. What with the salacious mutterings and perversions of the former, and the infuriating pedantry of the latter, I almost went insane. Imagine:

Me: Frank, who was the girl you brought home last night.
Frank: Yeah, sorry. She was a screamer, wasn't she? I've been cleaning her ejaculate off my bedside lamp all morning.
Ape: It's not your lamp - it belongs to the landlord. That'll come out of your damage deposit.
Frank: Thanks for that, Ape. I note your girlfriend hasn't been round recently.
Ape: Yeah, I told her that her sandwich wasn't kosher and it turned into an argument.
Me: She's Jewish?
Ape: No. That was part of the argument.
Frank: She certainly had no objection to pork when I last met her.
Ape: You're thinking of a dream you had.
Frank: The one where I shot a geyser of cum up her coal scuttle? Or the one where she suckled my twitching wand of passion?
Ape: You're a wanker.
Frank: She was better at it than I was.
Me: Boys! Boys! [etc.]
(Fothermucker, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 21:27, Reply)

Oh Big Sam
Used to live with two guys, Little Sam and Big Sam. Little Sam was quiet, tidy and non-confrontational. Big Sam was loud, 'crazy' and liked the drugs.

Anyway, one particular week I'd had a bad cold and the bin in my room was full of snotty tissues. After work one day I come home to find Big Sam looking suitably ashamed.

"I want to let you know I did something I'm not proud of," he said.

Alarm bells.

"I really needed a shit, and there was no toilet paper in the toilet. I checked the whole house and all I could find were the used tissues in your room."

Okay.

"I need to know. Was it snot or jizz? Because I wiped my arse with them."
(MrSnuggly, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 2:48, Reply)

Drug abuse
Second year at Uni, shared a house in Bristol. Bloke on my floor was this Welsh mate, skinny and pale but a right laugh and also a professional pisshead. Penniless, too, mind, as were we all.

This guy (I know he's in IT, so I won't name him) did like his "substances". So occasionally we'd come back to find him in some state of derangement from attempting to smoke anything from tea bags (too smoky, no high) to banana skins (massive headache) or sniffing WD-40, etc etc. But this was mainly borne from desperation and being skint.

One day, I'd managed to score a decent lump of dope and refused to share it with him (I had the g/f coming over and had mucky plans). Because I'm not a smoker, I decided to make hash brownies, instead. So I took this lump (almost a full ounce) and broke it up; made some delicious chocolate brownies and put them in the oven. Then I walked down to the local store to get munchies, booze and so on.

When I got back to the house, I noticed a familiar-looking car in the street. Uh-oh, thought I - that looks like the parents' car. Wafting from the kitchen window was a delicious smell of baking. In I went, to find a giggling Welshman on the stairs who then fucked off at high speed.

When I got into the kitchen I found out why. The little cnut had fed ALL the FUCKING brownies to my FUCKING parents. Every FUCKING crumb. They were slumped either side of the kitchen table, giggling helplessly at one another. My dad then said - "ooh - what's that? Food? Yum!" And fell over. To more giggles.

Obviously I couldn't let them drive back, so I had to cancel the planned night of shagging and hash brownies and let them sleep in my room, while I slept in the FUCKING bath. To be woken at 3am by the FUCKING Welshman giggling as he poked his scrawny little cock in my ear. Cnut.

The next day my somewhat subdued parents breakfasted and left, with nothing said about the previous day. At all, ever. It's one of those things that we never talk about.
(lustfish, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 20:12, Reply)

Beat this...
Maybe we were asking for trouble.

A young couple in our first rented flat, as we could only afford rooms or bedsits before. We'd been a couple for a couple of years nearly when we invited her to share with us but we weren't ready for the disruption this would cause. Here are some of her worst habits:

She was a class A attention seeker and would throw a fit if we ignored her or went off to our bedroom.
A few times she actually shat herself and just continued to sit in it until we passed comment.
She was the pickiest eater imaginable, in fact most of her meals were in liquid form.
She would NEVER help with the housework or shopping and was really messy.
She had trouble sleeping and made sure that we both suffered too.
As time went on she got ruder and ruder towards us, pickier and pickier and more and more untidy...

...is this looking familiar yet?

Towards the end of her 18 year tenancy during which time she paid NO rent, she started demanding money with menaces, insisted I give her lifts everywhere, ranted and raged at us for any little thing in her life which didn't appear perfect and managed to blame us for everything.

Strange how much we missed her when she finally went to uni...
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Tue 10 Apr 2007, 12:56, Reply)

bulimic flatmate
she stole our food, and then puked it up.
that's doubly offensive.
( biscuitbiscuit is in ur garden, watering ur plantz, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 20:06, Reply)

Allotment shame
Me and my (Ex) Flatmate once played an eighteen month version of 'who can survive with no money the longest'
After both quitting our jobs on the same day and stocking up on Ketchup and Monster Munch, the game was on.
About a year flew by in a haze of cheap strong cider, cheap strong drugs & cheap strong women, posessions were sold, the rent remained unpaid and we slowly degenerated into beasts, squabbling over raw pasta shells and handouts.
Beards were grown, Dole money was scoffed at and we rarely ventured outside. A new language developed, as did several new species of fungi on the walls.
We would have the TV and stereo blaring continuously and laugh at the neighbour banging on our paper thin walls.

I knew the game was over, eighteen months later when we found ourselves scrabbling around on our hands and knees in the local allotments stealing onions and potatoes at midnight. We went home and cooked a lovely big pot of onion and potatoe hot water stew.
It was fucking disgusting.
Days later two notices of 'Accelerated Reposession' plopped though the letterbox.
We opened them after a few weeks and left with tears in our eyes.

Worst flatmate ? - It was a draw
(wrigglesworth, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 11:02, Reply)

Bad housemates? Let me see...
I have over the years had THE most disgraceful and disgusting collection of fiends live wth me.

First off there was Jake the wanker. And what a wanker he was. Quite literally. If he didn't visit barclays bank three times a day it must have been some sort of religious holiday. Now I'm perfectly fine with a man flogging the bishop but he was so bloody obvious about it, and he'd do it over the slightest thing, one time over some fat bird discussing her orgys on Jeremy Kyle. The worst part was finding his ...erm... fluids all over the flat. Firstly it was all over the back of the toilet, his aim was quite poor, and once you've noticed it once you cant help but find it everywhere. Everytime you discover a funny smell, or stand in something wet it's always in the back of your mind. The final straw came when I was doing the laundry and discovered the crusiest, dirtiest, most disgusting bedsheet I have ever seen, with what I'm sure was fungus growing on it. "Oh dear Jake." I say to myself. Then it clicks. That is my bedsheet. From my bed. I have never wanked in my bed. Bye bye Jake.

Next was Alex. I'd say 20% of us have had this kind of flatmate- the thief. First they mention how they have no money hence their lack of food. You feel a bit sorry for them so you let them sponge. Then you notice your money begins to go missing. Then a friend tells you how they saw them stea your money. Then you lock them and their stuff out of the flat and tell them to fuck off unless they want the shit kicked out of them (by my big friend) and their mother humiliated (by me).

After a brief stint with Liam who loved to flash me (HUGE!) I was back on bodily functions with Mike who's habit I discovered after one night of heavy drinking. I woke up, went to the toilet to find a turd sitting right by the loo. The dirty bastard had missed the freaking toilet with the biggest dump I'd ever seen, but seeing as he was a good friend and had been very drunk I let it slide. Then I went into the kitchen to find a poo on the table. "Well this is odd" I tell myself. But, when Mike ges up he is very apologetic and cleans up very thoroughly. "Ah, he's not so bad," I say to myself as I get a pringle. Wait. These pringles feel oddly soft. And squishy. And- "Oh my God!! You shat in the pringles tube you utter fuck!!" I withdrew my hand which was now covered in poo and ran to the toilet where I threw up twice and then showered for an hour. I should have kicked him out then but,kindly I let it slide. Sadly the pooing didnt stop there. 1 in every 3 times we'd go out I'd wake up to find shit all over the house, and in the oddest places. These included (but were not limited to) the couch, the top of the television, under he welcome mat, at the foot of my bed, and, most bizarrely of all, in the oven. Eventually I kicked him out, but scarily am still very good friends with him.

If you click "I Like This" I'll get some proper friends.

Oh and I forgot to mention. I now live alone.
( Paedosmile service with a grin., Tue 10 Apr 2007, 19:29, Reply)

Just to prove FE students are stupid......
My mate back in 1985 lived in a shitty flat share with 4 other FE students. Within 3 weeks of moving in to the place he kept getting stomach cramps and kept having to take days off college. And he wasn't the only one - all of his co-habitees also were getting ill.

They blamed everything - the crap fridge for not being cold enough, the water system for having lead in it, the smell from the next door restaurant which was particularly pungent but no attempt at fixing things sorted the problem. My mate thought about moving out.

One day coming home from a media studies tutorial (a.k.a. watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off) he walked into the kitchen to find the youngest of his flatmates washing up. Standing in a pinny at the sink just as his mom did at home cleaning with a brush - only he'd got a little mixed up: the large toilet brush from the bogs he always used when it was his turn for the chore wasn't really suited to getting into the small cups, although (as he pointed out to the astonished flatmate) it WAS doing a great job on the cutlery and plates!

(Anyone outhere got any copies of Permanent Food magazine nos 1 - 7 for sale? - I'd be happier with that than "I like this" clicks although the latter'll do as a fallback action ta!)
(beaverwastemanagement a real company. I want to work for them!, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 20:31, Reply)

porked
I first moved out of home and in with some boys from my australian rules team. A high level of practical jokery such as cutting the arse out of peoples fave tracksuit pants went on continually. I was left alone until the long weekend in july when the housemates all went home to visit their olds. I invited my parents over for a pork roast. That morning I couldnt find the roast and presumed someone had knocked it off and had to get another which was a dud. Several days later I was lying in front of my telly watching my favourite, the wide world of sports and continually gagged at an offensive smell which seemed to be emanating from my telly. After several hours and in sheer desperation I grabbed a screwdriver and began removing the back, It was one of those old wooden cabinet tellys my nana had given me. Yes those bastards had put my pork roast in the back of my telly.
(rodgerroop, Wed 11 Apr 2007, 14:07, Reply)

Sex, drugs, extramarital affairs, lost wealth, rancid meat, and used jamrags
Fuck me! I really could go to town on the batshit loons I've had to live with over the years. Here's the highlights.

One couple moved into a room in the house I shared, they seemed nice but it was obvious they were looking for somewhere to live in a hurry. We thought they were fairly nice people compared to the other nutjobs who'd applied so we decided to give them the room.

A week or two passed and he'd been through three jobs as a security guard, while his wife was hard at work as a human rights lawyer.
By now it was obvious that he was keeping stuff from her, like the time he ran out back to smoke "hash", or so we thought at the time.
Turns out he was smoking heroin, crack, and pretty much everything else he could get his hands on.
He'd get the elbow from another job he'd lost after scoffing down a few disco biscuits and leaving his post without even telling anyone, then come home to switch on the gas hob, blow out the flame for some reason, and fuck off again to see his dealer for the afternoon.
We'd come home and smell the reek of gas filling the house and be able to get no sense out of him whatsoever.
One day the local paper had pictures of some crack den busts in the city, and forgot to pixel out the face of one female detainee. So, fresh from having just denied outright to us that he was ripped to the tits on Class A substances, two minutes later he pointed the female dealer out in the paper and said: "You know, she's such a bitch. She gets all huffy if you don't have enough cash for the crack. It's so fucking rude!"
He really didn't have a clue why this statement would seem so odd to us.
He'd rest lit cigarettes on the livingroom carpet before going for a kip. The amount of times he nearly burned the house down was astonishing.

As usual, his wife would come home, and see his eyes rolling in his head like a fruit machine and leave for a few days. Turns out he'd taken £800 of her hard-earned cash out of her account to pay for the stuff too. He'd speak like a baby on the phone to her, call her "Bunny", she'd forgive him, and believe him when the unemployed waster told her he'd never touch it again.
This happened around every two weeks for the six months they were there. Each time she took him back, claiming he was done with the drugs.
She used to be a drug counsellor, so she claimed she'd be able to tell if he was an addict. Truth be told, she was the only one who couldn't tell. Or refused to believe it for the 15th time.
Shame. She was pretty nice, but she's dug her own grave. He's found his goldmine - a rich woman who is blinded by his charms, poor though they may be. Thanks to some seriously bad parenting he's never had to face up to anything in his life. They've always just swept it under the carpet.
They only left because the landlord threatened to bring in the police after asking him outright: "Have you used drugs on my property?"
His reply was astounding: "No, I haven't used drugs on your property. I just smoked crack in the garden, and had some herion round the back where no one would see."

When they left, some young girl moved in, about 17, who seemed ok, but was a bit shy. She brought a cat with her, despite not mentioning it when asked earlier. She used emotional blackmail in a phonecall ten minutes before she was due to move in to get her way.
"Hey, sorry, I forgot to mention. I have a young cat. Can I bring her with me? If it's not ok, I can 'get rid of it'."
What are we supposed to do?
Not only was she paying no rent, letting her cat soil the place, and refusing to clean up after it or herself, but she didn't even give money for bills. She worked at an army base on the catering staff, and was shagging one of the married soldiers whose wife had a baby on the way. She didn't realise that he was using her cause the wife couldn't perform: "No, it's not like that or nuffink! He loves me! We're going to get custody of the baby when it's born, innit!"
Silly hoor was dumped the minute the wife shat out the sprog.
She also got our address banned from using several taxi firms because she'd jump out and run off after refusing to pay.
To avoid paying any cash for bills or rent whatsoever, she just up and left one day while we were at work, taking some of our stuff with her without any warning.
Thank fuck. I couldn't bare to hear her get loudly violated again. Hence, I never asked for my airbed back.

Finally, there's SmEllah (nickname given due to her personal hygiene.) After she'd finished using Dracula's Teabags, she'd just lob them out her window. She rarely flushed.
Her room stank to high heavens. She'd leave rancid meat of questionable origin out to thaw for days, till the blood was running down the worktop and all over the floor, and worst of all, would put food on the hob and just leave the house for hours, forgetting it was there. It was a daily occurrence. If she couldn't be arsed to finish the corn on the cob she had in her hand she'd just put lay it down on the hallway carpet and refuse to pick it up.
She also managed to run up a £420 phonebill in my name one month because she couldn't be arsed to use the discount phonecard she had when calling Kenya. She still owed me £120 for the previous month.
One weeknight I was awaoken harshly when she came rolling in at 2am, the stereo from some guy's car pounding as it parked directly outside my window.
She got in, shouting all the way, then went into her room and turned the stero up loud as she could. I was about to get up, knock on her door, and tel her to keep it down, when I heard the first moan.
She wasn't alone.
Suddenly, the music wasn't loud enough for my liking.
The thought of that skanky bitch getting nailed turned my stomach.
Hope it was worth it though. Judging by the moans, he gave her the best 4 minutes he had in him.

Oh, and I suppose I could also mention the ex who moved in without asking. I've mentioned her before somewhere. She had a hair-trigger temper and started arguments at the drop of a hat. Never paid her share of the rent or bills, and even got me to help with her car insurance.
Once when we came home from work she went apesshit at the state of the house (it was all her mess).
The conversation then went exactly thus:

Me: "Don't worry about it. I'll sort this out. It's Friday night, sit down, put your feet up, I'll go get you a glass of wine, while I sort out this mess."

Her: "You insensative BASTARD! How dare you!"

I better go. I'll be here all day if I mention any more.

If you too have struggled to rid yourself of social parasites and misfits in your home, click, "I like this"
(Barry Subchimp, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 13:51, Reply)

In my second year at uni, it was a house full of 5 guys
and the dynamic quickly split the house in half. Thinking six years down the line, Im still in two minds about whether I hate the three guys who made that year hell, or love them. They were something like the Marx Brothers, with a kilo of charlie shoved up their combined noses.
One, tall, thin, violent, a Sports Scientist. The next, wiser, old, stockier, and the brains of the bunch.
But Johnny. Oh, Johnny. I miss that crazy son of a bitch. When sober, Johnny was the nicest guy in the world, if not the cleverest, but when plied with cheap alcohol and drugs, Johnny was a monster. Johnny set himself on fire. Johnny can fit 54 Maltesers in his mouth. Johnny got arrested for shitting on the pub pool table and then falling asleep naked in that pile of faeces.

Between the three of them, they were banned from 50 pubs in Portsmouth. They once bought an incontinent ferret for a fiver and let it loose in the house before letting it roam free in Portsmouth's happy streets. They smashed every plate, cup and bowl in the house clay pigeon shooting, but throwing rocks because they didnt have guns. They lifted the entire three piece suite and the TV a mile to the beach just to watch the football by the sea (and were then arrested for Fly Tipping) Every single one of our neighbours hated us, the police visited once a month because of their combined antics, the landlord couldn't kick them out and they did a total of 10 grands worth of damage to a poxy student house. I despised them, but, thinking back, I admired them.
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 21:02, Reply)

Thirty Eight
That’s the number of people I’ve lived with since I left home almost 13 years ago. Of the ones I remember vividly; one was engaged to my best friend and is now marrying another of my mates; one’s a film director; one emigrated to New Zealand, one to Goa; one’s a drug rep, one’s a drug addict; one became a professional athlete, one became a lesbian; one works for NASA, one hasn’t had a job in 8 years; one runs a record label, one’s a professional musician. And one of them’s dead.

But they all tumble into a sea of insignificance compared to *that* one. I thought long and hard about which parables from the Gospel according Rakky I could share with you, would it be the one where I walked in on him wanking in the living room, maybe the one where he set my skirt on fire while I was still wearing it, but finally decided on these two. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you… Jay.

He announced to me one morning that he was going on a detox for a couple of days, like his yoga teacher had advised him when he was living on that ashram at the foot of the Himalayas. Apparently it’s good for the mind and body to enter a healing crisis, allowing the physical and mental interior to be fully cleansed and rejuvenated. “Really?” I replied, over my coco pops. “Bollocks” I thought, as I’m a cynical bitch who has no time for anything remotely wafty or alternative.
This detox comprises of eating nothing and drinking water and green tea for two days. At the end, you’re supposed to feel a sense of euphoria which is to do with the toxins having left your body and nothing at all to do with the fact that you’re on the verge of passing out as you haven’t eaten for two days. Now cynic I may be, but I’ve gone without food for a couple of days after a bout of food poisoning and you don’t need to be a hatchet-faced poo sorter like Gillian McKeith to know that when you reintroduce food into your body you do so slowly. Boiled rice, soups and the like. What you don’t do is what Jay did – to reintroduce two bottles of Rioja and a healthy slug of Cinzano.

Another housemate at the time came in to find him curled up in the foetal position giggling like a loon, waving a fag and half empty bottle around. “Shall I get you some food?” asks housemate 2, slightly concerned that the two bottles of red were about to make a sudden reappearance. “Yeah, let’s go to the chippy!” giggle Jay. Housemate 2 props Jay up at the counter of the chippy and asks what he wants. “Half a roast chicken and chips, “ the now seemingly ex-vegetarian slurred back. The order is placed but there’s a fair few people in the chippy so they have to wait. As they wait, Jay starts to go greyer and greyer and slump further and further down the wall. And then lets rip the most arse splitting, rectum tearing guff heard to mankind. “Tony, “ he bellows over to a mortified looking Housemate 2, “I’ve just shat meself.” Housemate 2 takes him home and stands horrified at the front door as Jay divests himself of his shit filled underwear, drops them in the hall and staggers upstairs to pass out on his bed for the next 24 hours. Housemate 2, meanwhile, clears up the aftermath. Tony, I salute you.

Now, while bad, that incident didn’t really impinge on me personally, think of it more as a scene setter. There were five of us in this house, the aforementioned Housemate 2, Housemate 3, a lovely girl who I’m still friends with and Housemate 4. And me and Jay. Now I’m happy to admit that I’m a touch difficult at times. Ok, I’m as neurotic as a box of cats on a coke comedown, but I’m nice with it. So imagine, if you will, the horror…

I had a special tea mug that I used every morning. Special because it was mine and because it was the size of a bucket which exactly the size of mug a morning brew should come in. And Housemate 4 and Jay broke it during a game of football. Which wasn’t surprising as they were using it as the ball. So I commandeered other bucket sized mug in the house which I naively assumed was Housemate 4’s. One morning, I went down to kitchen to put the kettle on and as I got to the door heard a shout of “NOT YET”… I waited a couple of minutes then walked into find Jay tucking himself back into his jogging bottoms with an “All finished.” My eyes scanned past where he’d been standing and alighted on the sink. Which was full of washing up. Which he’d been pissing into.

“Have you… were you? Did you just piss in the sink? On the dishes?” I spluttered.
“Well, they’re dirty, and I figured they were going to be washed and the bathroom was occupied… Anyway, I do it most mornings, I try to keep it confined to my mug, the big blue one.”

The big blue one. The one I’d been rinsing each morning and putting my fresh piping hot cuppa into. I went upstairs, banged on the bathroom door until Housemate 3 let me in, I then cleaned my teeth till my gums bled. Housemate 4, hearing my keening, stuck his head round the door and asked what the matter was. When I told him he agreed that that was indeed hideous but maybe if I had my own mug, this wouldn’t have happened.

Housemate 3 exacted a much better revenge on Jay than a crappy girly wuss like me ever could. If anyone wants I can post that story too. But I’ve gone on long enough and the nurse will be round with my medication soon, so I’d better stop.

Lengthy it may be, but boy, is it cathartic...
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Tue 10 Apr 2007, 9:19, Reply)

I know it's not QOTW, but I thought I'd share a nice story
Having spent my first couple of years at uni living with some of the girliest girls around (can't remember quite why... oh yes, finding affordable housing in the area was a cut-throat and desperate business), for my third year I decided I'd had enough, and moved in with a brickie and a plumber.

It took me a little while to get used to the fact that they would invite all their mates from the building site round to drink a crate of Special Brew and watch porn films - at 10 in the morning, but it wasn't actually a problem or anything. They were actually really tidy too, and always washed up.

The day I moved in, I went to the pub, and found they had looked through all my stuff. Nothing was taken and nothing was moved. So how did I know? Because they told me how astounded they were by how many books I had (about a dozen), and had I really read them all? The brickie proudly told me "I read a book once. It was about that Ghengis Khan, and his horse Mongol".

I once had a massive go at them for going out and leaving all the windows on the ground floor open. Their response? "This isn't London, you know. It's a small town, and we know all the local burglars. They're our mates and they wouldn't nick from us." And they didn't.

With my studenty female friends, I sometimes used to walk past the building site where most of them worked. They would shout out stuff like:
"Awright darlin ... get your tits out luv ...." etc. Then:
"Hang on a minute, that's Dan's flatmate. Oops, sorry, Dan's flatmate - didn't mean you, was talking to the other birds. How's it going?"
Then, when I'd gone past, back to shouting about tits.

And they often offered me a can of their Special Brew. I almost got to like it.
(Turangalila, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 14:00, Reply)

Fatto
In my second year of uni, one of my housemates moved out in the first week of term to get married to a girl he'd met off the internet. And thus commenced a search for a new housemate. Everyone who enquired about the room seemed a little bit crazy, so when we were introduced to a friend of a friend, she seemed like a breath of fresh air. OK, so she was about the size of a healthy killer whale and her penchance for wearing black and white merely emphasised the resemblance. The poor lamb's last house had been firebombed and she was without accommodation.

So we took her in.

A week later, some of her friends, squaddies, came round. They were a little strange, but we thought nothing of it. Fast forward a week. E, one of my sane housemates is cleaning the house. She lifts up the rug and discovers a massive turd. Human. She alerts the house to the discovery, and Fatto (slightly uncreative, but it really did suit her; sometimes I forget her real name. Incidentally, it's Rachel Travers, and if you ever meet the girl, remember my story) suggests the possibility that it was the visitors from last week. Frankly, it was plausible. We were very lax with our housekeeping and the house often smelt a bit rancid. The turd is cleaned up.

The next night, Fatto announces she can still smell shit. And it starts turning up everywhere. Along the tops of the kitchen cabinets, in the (broken) microwave, on the curtains. This time, it seemed to be mostly canine. Still could be the squaddies, we think. Then it appears on top of a bookcase that had only been in the house for two days... Fatto had found it. She claimed that it must have fallen from the ceiling when we mentioned that it had appeared a while after the squaddies' visit. Suspicions were now starting to raise. But for some reason we could not bring ourselves to believe the unbelievable. So we didn't mention it. If anything, we were beginning to get a bit frightened.

The next few months passed without much incident, except Fatto stealing a large bud of skunk from me. That pissed me off somewhat; it eventually resurfaced blu-tacked to the bottom of her boat-like slipper.

S's laptop broke after Fatto had been in the room with it for a while. It looked as though it had been trodden on by a thirty-stone monster, and when it was mended, whoever had last used it had been looking at porn. Vile porn, involving cacti and arseholes. A friend of ours later said she had tried to seduce him by showing it. Didn't work.

I mentioned I'd rather touch shit than bins. The next day, my purse leapt out of my bag, into the bin, somehow losing all of its contents.

Then the death threats started. I'd like to say they were terrifying, but in actual fact they were hilarious. Myself, S., and E all received threatening texts. We knew they were from her. She had a certain style of texting, that borderline idiot command of grammar and punctuation. She was trying to spin it like there was somebody watching the house, out to get us all. We didn't buy it.

"S- someone's sending me death threats," whined Fatto.

"Oh, don't worry," said I, "we're all getting them. I don't really think they're actually menacing. Look like they come from a complete idiot. Anyway, we've called the police." I then began an elaborate lie. "They can trace a text message to within 15 feet of where it was sent. Whoever sent it will be caught easily, and face up to 10 years in prison."

Two minutes later, I receive a text message from my stalker saying, "sory" (sic).

She later gave out the telephone number she'd sent us death threats from to her mates as her "new number". Mad and stupid.

We called the landlady, in an attempt to have her monstrous arse thrown out of our house. Unfortunately, our landlady refused to help, as Fatto had been gleefully infesting our house for about six months without paying a penny of rent.

Fortunately, she moved out a few weeks later. Just sneaked out of the house without a word of goodbye. Thank God.

Remember how her last house had been firebombed? After she left, a letter arrived for her. We, naturally, opened it. It was a court summons, for her hearing... for arson.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 23:35, Reply)

Not my housemate but
related to me by a university accquaintance, and definitely worth retelling:

This girl I knew a couple of years ago was retaking her freshers' year for the third time. In her first year, she shared uni accomodation with a residential advisor, an Italian girl. One night, the RA burst into everyone's bedrooms in the middle of the night and dragged them all out into the communal living area, bellowing about how this was the last straw.

"Someone 'as done a shit, in da shower!"

On inspection, it was indeed true. Someone had curled off a meaty chud in the basin. Cleaning supplies were fetched and the necessary cleaning up was done, the irate Tuscan screaming all the while.

"'oo 'as done zis? I demand to know 'oo 'as done ze shit, in da shower!"

But none came forward. Eventually she had to relent and sent them all back to their rooms, vowing that she would catch the culprit somehow. All remained quiet for a week. The atmosphere over lunch was frosty, to say the least. Showers were had in next door residences. Bleach was bought. Distrust was rife. Eventually, a house meeting was called and they waited with baited breath to see what the Roman sleuth had uncovered. They sat around the dining room table, the tension palpable. Suddenly, and without warning, the RA broke down in tears.

"It was I! It was I 'oo did ze shit in da shower!"

She moved out the next week.

There are 3 questions that need to be asked - firstly, why leave a nutty log in the shower in the first place? Secondly, if the action was unavoidable, and if it was the middle of the night, why not simply clear up said offending mudsnake and avoid the unneccesary confrontation? And finally, why admit to the crime, after so diligently putting up such a convincing front? I have lost my trust for Italians ever since hearing this story. Freaks.
(jabboy, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 2:00, Reply)

May have been me.
Now I'm not a BAD housemate as such, but since starting uni (three and a half years ago, not a failure just on a sandwich course) I've managed to upset flatmates with the following.

- Giving both myself and my then girlfriend food poisoning and proceeding to both throw up in the flats hall. In my defence it was the first time I'd ever cooked chicken, how was I to know?

- Having blazing rows with said former girlfriend early in the morning/late at night. She was madder than a sack of badgers.

- Once in the second year woke up, wandered down to the lounge to find out that on the way home the previous night I'd stolen a generator from some roadworks on the main road.
I wasn't totally to blame however, my occulpice was asleep on the sofa, no idea who they were mind. Took it back the following night.

- Once refused to was a pan as I wasn't the one who used it and it was a right mess. After 2 months my flatmates put it in the garden as it was getting a bit disgusting.
Left it so long that in the end I hid it in the garden shed and left it there when we moved out.
Looking back I'm fairly sure it was me who used it actually.

- Stole a Kill Bill Vol 1 poster from a bus stop (the yellow one with Uma Thurman in catsuit with sword).
Waited for one of the girls to go to the bathroom and taped it over the door frame.
Have never heard anyone scream so loud.

- Learnt to shimmy up the corridor walls just outside the kitchen door and then drop down from the ceiling behind people as they walked out. Scared the crap out of people.

- Never considered there might be two people walking out the kitchen. Not sure if I hurt them or me more.

- Never considered they might be carrying food. Never quite got the stains off the wall. Ended up getting some samplers to just paint over them.

- Superglued Skittles to the ceiling after buying one of the big sweet deals at the cinema and feeling too sick to finished them.
Took lots of paint off trying to get them down and lost some of our deposit.

- Implemented an advanced waste management system.


- Hungover fell down the stairs. Met a flatmate half way and took him with me.

So thats me, not the worst housemate ever and at least its never boring.

Apologies for length, but the bin was bigger.
(UranusHertz is interested in astronomy and electronics, Tue 10 Apr 2007, 11:58, Reply)

i live alone...
but i hate my self..
does that count?

i burn the toast, i never do the washing, i am shite conversation, i always get in the way when i bring a girl back.
it is just embarrassing..
( Dr Scunner She’s a he, technically, but she’s scalding hot, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 11:08, Reply)

Can't remember his name.
But he was just weird!

He seemed ok at first - an out of work artist, working as a chef at a Thai restaurant ; favourite film: The Big Lebowski.

What could go wrong?

Well, because he worked in a Thai eatery, that seemed to be all he ate, and every time he came home from work he'd go for a shit - which stank like, like... really, really pungent shit that'd been set on fire! - This stank the whole house out for at least an hour - every fucking day!

Secondly, on more than one occasion he asked if he could skin-up (he never bought any weed), i'd say yes, then he'd smoke it all himself... which didn't bother me until i realised he'd managed to stuff 90% of what i had left into just one spliff - leaving me with a few scrawny twigs!

But lastly, and certainly not leastly (pffft...?) While doing some male bonding on the first saturday night after he moved in (i.e. drinking, smoking, watching The Big Lebowski), he said "can i ask you something?", "yea sure" i replied;
he paused - then continued, "Can i suck your cock?" (i kid you fucking not!)
I sat there in shock staring at the TV, thinking "wtf wtf wtf.." until he said "sorry, i didn't mean to offend you".
"no, no, no" i said, "I'm not offended, just a little taken-aback, *nervous laugh*... and, you know, i just dont swing that way... sorry".

His reply - "Neither do I"

DOUBLE-U TEE EFIN' FUCKETY-FUCK!?!?!?!
(A Hospital Carpark, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 19:47, Reply)

Creepy little fucker from highschool.
For a few months, a friend from Highschool came to live with me and mother dearest as he got kicked out of his house. My friend was bumming around on his laptop one night when he wasn't in; he opened upa file called "stories". Turns out, this guy used to like writing erotic fiction about underage, 13 year olds called "Katie", who, apparently, "had the best tits in all of year 9". It must have been no less than 17 pages of 'fiction'.

He vomited all over the bathroom walls once and left it for three days because he "couldn't be bothered" wiping it up. I had been away for the weekend and when I noticed, I found he went out on the friday night. It was now Monday morning and I nearly kicked the fuck out the little ungrateful cunt.

Another time, I noticed we had a lot of viruses and dialers on the PC; checking around, I open up the index.dat file (for those who don't know what it is, Windows records every single website you visit that's hard to locate & erase) to find thousands of entries of sick websites on his account. A few the are burnt on the back of my mine are: fuckedgrannies.com, analinsertions.com and some dodgey website titled "How do you kill yourself if you're underage and can't get a gun".

We informed his dad about it, who's response was "well, he's a teenager, i'nt he?". We kicked him out soon after.
Apparently, he's working as a male escort around Manchester. Ugh, I'm actually laughing whilst writing this. It's just so fucked up. haha.
You should click this because I used to live with a depressed paedophile.
( TonyUNDERSCORE from the Internet, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 19:07, Reply)

Finally I get a chance to tell this story.
In my first year of uni I lived with four, well, eventually five of the biggest wankers I've ever met. I may as well categorise them.

Matt - if he had one more brain cell it would have been lonely. Dressed up very suitably as the Incredible Hulk for Halloween. Monobrow. Extra Y chromosome in there somewhere. 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. Punched things when pissed off and hated to be beaten on the Xbox. Especially by a girl. Joined the American football team just to look hard. Oh, and he was from Lincolnshire. Most heard phrase: "Ug."

Tim - "TIMMAYYYYY!" is too nice a way of describing him. The opposite of Matt to look at (weedy and bald) but still thought he was God's gift. Walked around at least shirtless at all times, even in the depth of winter. His four loves in life were his car, which he once went home for the day to drive, Grand Feft, porn and "people getting killed". Could regularly be heard yelling "that's fuckin' bullshit!!" at his PS2 on a Sunday morning when he died (again). Owned only war films. Famously, when asked how many girls he had slept with, pondered and then ventured, "um, three?" (suspected to be lying). Most heard phrase: "Lessss go to ver VENYAAAAOWWW!" (student union).

Katie - Bitch of the first water. Nicotine habit and the attitude problem to match. Pretentious film student who was spoilt rotten by her divorced parents (did she have a clue how to use her brand new 40GB iPod? Did she fuck). Her first act as my housemate was to argue with me about the relative cinematic merits of Van Helsing. Made Mr Creosote look like a supermodel and her taste in music centred around McFly. Used to get pissy if she missed The OC or Hollyoaks. Most heard phrase: "Where the FUCK are my FUCKING cigarettes?"

Faye - Domestic goddess whose mascara overkill made her eyes look like spiders' legs. Was meant to be best friends with Katie but they bitched about one another pretty much continuously. About the nicest of the bunch. Listened to endless crap R&B. Everything she cooked had to contain courgettes. Wannabe model with a boyfriend named Brad. CHEERLEADER. Most heard phrase: "I know!!"

Spud - Matt's delightful girlfriend, and also willing to introduce herself to people as Spud. Two reasons why she was clinically insane. Overinflated ego. Also a cheerleader, who when she got her pompoms went round dancing and endlessly doing the cheer from Bring it On for weeks (Google it, I refuse to type it out). Annoyingly perky at any time. Dressed like a neon bag lady and was permanently either high or tripping on something, depending on how manic she actually was. We did not see eye to eye, especially after she moved into the room above me to live with Mattykins. Though this wasn't much better than her standing outside his window at 7 every morning bleating "Maaaaaatt! Maaaaaatt!" until he woke up. She nearly got an alarm clock in the face most mornings as she was better than one. Stayed in the house over Easter and never washed up once as she seemed to want to cultivate a mould farm. Half Italian or something but you'd never have guessed. Most heard phrase "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" or "Maaaaaaatt! Honeyyyyyy!"

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. I got back at them in subtle ways (backwashing pretentious ale, nicking milk, playing music on 11, etc)

And if any of you read b3ta, I'm not sorry. You were cunts.
( Maladicta, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 19:07, Reply)

all very Pacific Heights
Years ago I rented a fairly nice upper floor flat in Belfast with 2 good friends of mine. After a while I began to notice that things would go missing - a packet of biscuits here, a carton of orange juice there, the fiver I left for the phone bill...

I finally decided to confront my mates tactfully. After the whole tiptoeing, softly-softly "now, we're all a bit broke" approach they just stared at me puzzled and said that they'd had stuff go missing too - a packet of sausages, yet more biscuits, half a bottle of whiskey. All a bit baffling.

My twenty-second birthday arrived and we threw a party and knowing it would be noisy we invited the downstairs neighbour, mainly so he couldn't complain about us. He came along, went a little bit psycho and blamed everyone for stealing his camera (why he had a camera with him was a mystery - he didn't know any of us), and then flounced off to his downstairs abode leaving some freaked out guests behind. I finally found his camera where he had stashed it behind a door. I went down to deliver it to him only to find him sitting in semi-darkness surrounded by photos of us coming and going from the house and snaps of our own deserted living room and bedrooms... Backtracking hastily and convinced I, a slightly-built young student lass, was about to be slaughtered nastily by someone even more certifiable than myself, I fled upstairs and relayed my tale of terror.

Our cunning plan was then to leave a bottle of laxative and acid-laced vodka on the dining room table, wait for it to disappear, and then change the locks. After that, no more bother. We did mention the experience to our landlord who laughed and said cheerily "yes girls, that wee lad's a bit strange". No shit.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 19:28, Reply)

Steve
was a terrifying 6'4" nutter who drank cheap cider all day every day, had a large collection of Nazi memorabilia, and would wake the household daily before 7am with a mixture of Henry Rollins and a £2.99 tape of marching bagpipe choons he'd bought from Woolworth's.
I once pinched 4 slices of bread out of his portion of kitchen cupboard. The next day, every bit of food I had in the house had had a picture of a human eye cut out from a magazine sellotaped to it, accompanied with various renderings of the word 'GUILTY' scrawled in red biro on little scraps of brown envelope paper.
Could never quite tell if his laugh had any mirth in it, or was just intended to be menacing.
( Sea Tramp the thinking woman's 8 Ace, Wed 11 Apr 2007, 15:35, Reply)