Samson and Nero
Last year I missed out on halls of residents so ended up in a house with 3 other lads, none of us knew eachother, but we all got on pretty well. Myself and one of the other lads (Graham) were enjoying the house, but started to notice the increasingly strange behaviour of our other housemates, Samson and Nero. We were suspicious of Samson to start with, mainly because he claimed to be from Cameroon but his accent didn't seem to fit, but that's not why he was weird. He only owned one pair of y-fronts, which he chose to clean in the bath every morning...

Now, while that was weird, he was no match for Nero. Nero used to try and talk to us when we'd clearly decided the conversation was over and had a habit of waiting in the dark in either the corridor or the living room for one of us to come down so he could talk to us (he went as far as to try and get into the bathroom to talk to me while I was in the shower. But this wasn't what was scary about Nero, because me and Graham had a key to his room we chose to break in one day and look on his computer. While searching for videos he'd watched on realplayer, there it was, in all it's glory, a video entitled, "Sex with young girls 7." This was swiftly followed by us replacing all of his videos with gay porn and keeping the filenames the same to teach him a lesson for being a filthy perve... but he probably enjoyed that.

Apologies for length are fake.
(I R Advertiser How can you live like this you're out of control?, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 13:42, Reply)

Dishwasher
Previous house mate trashed the gaff & threw up in the dishwasher..nice..also put spagetti and washing up liquid between every single plate and saucer in the press. In fairness that was quite funny. I hope wherever he is he catches Gonorrhea and dies.
(crapmonkey, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 13:41, Reply)

Where to begin?
My flatmates:
1) Don't speak to me at all - I regularly walk through the sitting room to go out on the balcony for a cigarette and it's like I'm not there at all. Sometimes this makes me fear that I've died in my sleep and only the kid from sixth sense would be able to see me.
2)Think it's really unreasonable of me to expect them to not make loads of noise at 2am when I have to get up at 7.30. Most of the time all it would take is to close the sitting room door but they can't even be bothered to do that.
3)There are three girls and one guy in the house - does the guy ever put the toilet seat down after he's been to the loo? No! This means that when I go to the loo (I always seem to go after he has) I have to touch the seat which he had already touched to put up anyway - and this is one of the filthiest toilet seats in the country. Which brings me onto point 4
4)I am the only person who has done any cleaning. Given that they don't speak to me I decided there would be no point asking them to clean so I stopped cleaning in the hope that eventually they would clean something. The toilet went brown, then it went orange! I can only assume that bacterial colonies had grown all over the toilet bowl. They had a party with the toilet like that!!!!
5)I didn't want a party but they ignored me and said that they would clean up afterwards etc. On the day of the party I was ill so spent the evening in my room watching House on my headphones. Venturing out to the loo was like walking through a particularly skanky nightclub - by 11 everyone was completely pissed and someone was passed out in the only toilet. By 3am I had a migrane and was completely exhausted but the party was still going so I ventured out to try and reason with someone. Talked to one of my flatmates and got as far as "I have a migrane" before she started yelling at me. The next day their cleaning up involved throwing out most of the empty beer cans. The piss was not cleaned up off the toilet floor, the vomit was not cleaned out of the bathtub, the wine was not cleaned off the wall etc. I ended up having to clean these up even though I was really ill. One of flatmates boyfriend told me I needed mental help because I got pissed off that I had to do it. I suggested that the others should do some cleaning on occasion - someone went out and bought a blue block that you put in the toilet cystern, this is about all that has been done by anyone.
6)Someone spilled coke on the kitchen floor and didn't clean it up. It s really sticky and annoying but I refuse to clean it.

Luckily I am moving out in 23 days, hopefully I can make it this long without killing any of them.

Edit: Almost forgot - they had another party while I was away for the weekend, never bothered to tell me so that I could lock my room. Didn't spot the evidence (much leftover booze) until the day after I got back - after the previous party I don't want to think about what could have been on my sheets.

Edit2: And they steal my food, including my nice expensive jam :( I'll have to try the Viking's idea!

Apologies for length - there won't be any at all if he keeps leaving the toilet seat up!
(mmm....beer, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 13:11, Reply)

I used to live with the manager

of a local Kentucky Freud Chicken.

He was a bit anal, but he often brought home chicken that was just like Mother used to make.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 12:43, Reply)

My flatmate, she's a little bit spaced out....
She's scared of mice and spiders, but oh-so-much greater is her fear that one day the two species will cross-breed to form an all-powerful race of mice-spiders who will immobilize human beings in giant webs in order to steal cheese.

"I've held you in my arms a thousand times / Closed my eyes and known we would always be together / I smiled at you through all your many lies / And knowing and thinking that eternity would be never / As distance dulls the memory and bitter history grows hazy / I realise my one true love is in fact a girl called..."
(Zutroy started without you, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 12:43, Reply)

Anybody else
feel really sorry for the Yanks? Guys, you have the most vastly overpriced higher education system going, and after shelling out all that cash they make you SHARE A ROOM WITH A TOTAL STRANGER?

Christ, I'd take to the streets...
(jennymnemonic, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 12:42, Reply)

Pasta, peas, eggs and BDSM
As an undergrad I shared a massive Victorian house in Turnpike Lane. The house itself was a bit, er, Young Ones. I mean, it hadn't ever been the Ritz, but generations of cleaning-phobic students had left a certain level of indelible grimness. Foxes frolicked amongst a bramble jungle in the garden, frogs occupied the downstairs toilet, slugs found their way into the kitchen, spiders infiltrated from the cellar, and the mouse population was so well established that we often found ourselves throwing bits of Ginster's pasty on to the carpet to watch the little critters come and get it.

The occupants of said house were far from normal but harmless enough: I think the worst offender was vegetarian Tim, who ate nothing but pasta, peas and eggs, all boiled together in a large pan. He habitually chewed with his mouth open and wiped his snot all over his armchair. It was hard to eat anything in the same room as Tim and no one sat in that chair but him, but this said, we all rubbed along ok.

But I guess you can never be sure about their friends, can you? Once, in the middle of the night the doorbell rang and a complete stranger with drunk blonde in tow introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Norris!" he exclaimed like a celebrity, like that should mean something to us. Apparently he was a friend of one of our housemates, and told us that "Tom said he could use his room". A bit suspiciously, we let this guy in, and him and this bint climbed the stairs to Tom's room, volubly complaining about how horrible the house was.

About 4am, we were awoken by loud and disturbing sex. I mean, impossible to ignore. During one of the many climaxes of the night, the woman shouted: 'Hurt me! Hurt me! Come on my face!"

Bitter after a night of no sleep, the next morning I crept downstairs and meticulously wrote: "Hi, I'm Norris! I fuck loudly and ruin everyone's sleep!" in fridge magnets.

The worst part was, I don't think Tom really knew why Norris wanted his room, but evidence remained: upon returning to his room, he discovered that his computer keyboard was sticky and no longer worked.
(Dr Wee is rummaging through the spare kidneys on, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 12:37, Reply)

Fray Bentos
Coming back from the pub one night having missed the closing time at the chippy we discovered a haul of previously stashed out of date Fray Bentos pies under the sink.
Not fancying it much I went to my bed fully expecting to woken within the next 10 minutes by the smoke alarm, trigger by previously mention flaming fray bentos pie now on fire.
I woke up un charred but there as a curious beefy smell down stairs. On further investigation I found an open pie tin on my house mates bed side table.
There was an enormous paw mark in the pie where he'd grabbed a handfull of cold pie and tried to stuff it in his face.
By the look of his pillow he'd failed as he'd obviously fell asleep before the pie hit mouth leaving an odd head shaped mark on his pillow outlined in beef gravy and pastry.
He didn't even change the sheets.
(cort16, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 12:30, Reply)

Hello Daaave.
Up until about a year and a half ago I shared an apartment with an IT manager chap called Dave. Sounds like a well balanced fella, good job, had a nice lass who I got on well with and when she was around Dave was indeed a fairly alright bloke. When she wasn't around, however, which was most of the time, he turned into a fucking twat. Examples of this are:

1. Finding that he had drawn a line in permanent black marker on the kettle (my kettle) to mark where the kettle should be filled to to save on electricity. "Only fill to here for 1 cup". Ummm why Dave ? Why ? It's already on there in white next to the transparent fill level thing. Look you can see it.

2. The grill packed up whilst Dave was trying to cook sausages. I know this as I heard a blood chilling scream followed by a minute of what sounded like someone hitting something metal with something heavy. Imagine my surprise to find Dave, red faced, wielding a marble rolling pin beating the crap out of the cooker. It was fairly messed up. He looked up and said "sorry I got a bit of rage there". Dave just use the frying pan.

3. I did the washing up one night and left it on the drainer to dry. I couldn't be arsed to dry it with a tea towel. I'll put it away when I get back from work tomorrow. Well I didn't and went out and had beer after work. I came in fairly pissed about 2am to find all my washing up on the kitchen floor. Not piled up but spread out so you couldnt even get in the kitchen without treading on stuff. This annoyed me so I started to put it away with added cupboard slamming and rattling of drawers. Well it seems that in my eagerness to make right I'd woken poor Dave up. For shame ! Needless to say we had a right old go at each other which basically ended up with me explaining how much of a twat he was. Citing previous examples, as seen above, to illustrate my argument. I then went to bed. About five minutes later I hear another torrent of surpressed rage spew forth followed half a second later by the sound of smashing crockery. He'd launched two plates down the hall to smash against the door frame of the sitting room. Well unfortunately this pissed me off no end and another ruck ensued which only ended after I had to give him a well deserved slap.
( Louse POKE 35899,0, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 12:08, 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)

does my brother count?
i lived with him throughout my childhood, he was a right twat all the fucking time
(Just Harry What should I put here?, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 11:07, Reply)

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)

Cognitive Science
As I'd merrily gone to my Chemistry A level after a few bongs in the park I got into Sussex Uni through clearing. This meant that all the best on-site accomodation had gone and all that was left were rooms with 2 beds in. I'd be sharing...

Mercifully I can't remember my room-mates name, which is odd, as he's the kind of guy who sticks in the mind. With a head like a kiwi (no, the fruit), teeth like dinner plates, ears like the FA cup and boggle eyes like a Nissan Micra he was a cruel victim of a mighty thrashing with the ugly stick. Below the neck though he had the body of an Adonnis (and i'm a straight guy), an exercise nut and fit as a fiddle. He was studying cognitive science and was too deeply into psychology for an 18 year old. He had a metre and a half of Freud books on his mantlepiece and would poke me awake with his snooker cue (he loved this cue, he must have screwed it together each time), note book in hand, asking what i'd been dreaming about so he could log it for his degree, in a piece of coursework where he was "attempting to control the dreams of another". He was so strong and scary I had to tell him. This essay was admitted and got a 2-1.

He was also the campus dealer. The 9am bongs gave him great lucidity for exercise, mental activity and coursework. Me? Because he gave me all the weed I could smoke free of charge I got 18% in my exams and got chucked out at the end of the first year. He also had THE most hidious lardy ginger (no offence, boss) girlfriend from Essex I've ever met. She would come down and they'd hump like screaming anteaters with me lying 2 metres away. He'd have gashes down his back in the morning you could grow cress in. And I once heard the twangy sound of a condom get slipped on followed by the immortal words "...mmmm..., lemon flavour".

When I moved out to a smaller room with a single bed, no one moved into his room so he still paid £20 a week and had a double bed! Arsehole!

Still, he had an a-mazing stereo and a binbag full of dub. I am now a rather good sound technician, and it was a flash in the brain during (his) bifta listening to (his) Lee Perry that the worm turned from Biology to audio.

But the poking didn't half hurt.

I now live with my parents. My Dad eats all my food, my brother plays his music very loud and my mum shits in the kettle. Lovely people.
(bendyness shows you on the brick where he licked her, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 10:20, Reply)

Housemate from Hull
I've had:

1) One nice one who moved out
2) One lesbian with a hairy girlfriend who moved out
3) One ugly, fat, messy one I hated with a passion, who had knock knees, no sense of humour, and she brought a lad back who then proceeded to burgle me and nick all of my CD's. She moved out.
4) Another lass from work, very pretty, we discussed our nastiness rating (people slept with/ thingummibobs done, that sort of thing). She redecorated her room in green and then moved straight out.
5) My best pal moved in. Then moved out.
6) The housemate from Hull. Literally. Moved out owing me lots.
7) I moved out.

One recurring theme in this litany of woe. Me. I hadn't realised I was a housemate from hell until y'all posted this question. Maybe it's the constant masturbation.
(Chickenwire social lubricator extraordinaire, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 8:10, Reply)

Just a small town girl...
I went to college my freshman year at Northwest Missouri State University, where they are not short of redneck small town dumbasses.
My roommate freshman year was Chelsea, an 80 lb., Hollister wearing, Toby Kieth lovin', blond girl from bumfuck, NE. She and her friends would spend nights just sitting on her bed, reading Cosmo outloud, and laughing at the 'disgusting' sexual positions and discussing how none of them have ever had an orgasm and how touching yourself during sex is 'yucky' (ironically, she was a promiscuous girl).
Well, one day, Chelsea decided to clean our room, including my side, and opened one of my drawers to find my happy little vibrator. She then, according to my friend who witnessed this all from outside my room, called a few of her friends over to 'eww' at it, and discuss if I ever used it while she was in the room. Then, Chelsea had a question. Where were the handles? The girls spent the next 10 minutes trying to understand how the vibrator didn't fall out or get 'lost' inside me somewhere.
I turned it on at night to make it vibrate loudly when I knew she was awake everynight after that.
True story.
(mcliberal8 is a pig in lipstick, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 7:43, Reply)

Doolittle Hall South Wing
I had a number of interesting neighbors in th e dorms during my year at uni. Among them:

Jeff: My own roommate, one of the biggest potheads I've ever met. Several times a day, he and his friends would drive around town in a Volvo, filling it with smoke. He was decent enough to live with, as he was rarely around.

Lou: My next-door neighbor, a stereotypical Italian-American from Chicago. Claimed to have relatives in the Mafia. Wore sunglasses 24/7. He'd memorized every line in Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, and could recite them on command. He used to sit out in the hall with his telephone at all hours, talking to his girlfriend*, often fighting (which consisted of her yelling, him yelling, her hanging up, and calling him back several minutes later). If he had to visit the loo or whatever while on the phone with her, he'd bang on my door and make me come talk to her until he finished. He stole a girl I fancied, who had just gotten out of an abusive relationship. I told her not to get involved with him, as he was abusive, but she didn't listen... and he broke her heart. Cunt.

The first girls' room: 2 hot young girls, who slept with just about every guy on campus, except for any of the guys in South Wing, who they would barely even acknowledge.

The second girls' room: Consisted of Lisa, and her roommate (whose name I fail to remember atm). Lisa's roommate was a seething bitch, with a nasty temper. Lisa was the quiet type, borderline anti-social. I dated her briefly. I was her first boyfriend... and her last. Turns out she was a lesbian. Not the greatest ego boost for me.

Jeremy: The craziest, most fun guy around. He would do almost anything, drink almost anything, and was always the life of the party.

Oliver: Stereotypical white guy from Alabama. As we were not allowed to have alcohol in our dorm rooms, we generally kept it quiet when we got some. Oliver, however, decided to go for a run one night after several shots of Southern Comfort. He bolted out the back door of the hall, in his skivvies, and hauled ass around the entire building 1 1/2 times, with half a dozen or so of us chasing him. Eventually we corralled him back into his room. 5 minutes after that, he decided he was thirsty and wanted to pay a visit to the water fountain in the hall. Thinking he was going to run again, we followed him... just in time to see him giving himself a black eye on the water fountain's spout, and passing out on the floor.

The Eastern Europeans: lived in the room directly next to mine, and spent all day, all night blaring speed metal to where I could hear it through the concrete wall. Finally one day, I got tired of it. I plugged both my guitar amps into my stereo, put all the speakers against the common wall, cranked them up and put in my Snoop Doggy Dogg CD. They were much quieter after that.

Apologies for length, etc.

*I ended up marrying her several years later, having 2 wonderful children with her, and then divorcing her when I discovered she was cheating on me. She moved to England ;)
(WillF http://www.flickr.com/photos/silverfischdotnet/, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 4:25, Reply)

Doolittle Hall South Wing
I had a number of interesting neighbors in th e dorms during my year at uni. Among them:

Jeff: My own roommate, one of the biggest potheads I've ever met. Several times a day, he and his friends would drive around town in a Volvo, filling it with smoke. He was decent enough to live with, as he was rarely around.

Lou: My next-door neighbor, a stereotypical Italian-American from Chicago. Claimed to have relatives in the Mafia. Wore sunglasses 24/7. He'd memorized every line in Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, and could recite them on command. He used to sit out in the hall with his telephone at all hours, talking to his girlfriend*, often fighting (which consisted of her yelling, him yelling, her hanging up, and calling him back several minutes later). If he had to visit the loo or whatever while on the phone with her, he'd bang on my door and make me come talk to her until he finished. He stole a girl I fancied, who had just gotten out of an abusive relationship. I told her not to get involved with him, as he was abusive, but she didn't listen... and he broke her heart. Cunt.

The first girls' room: 2 hot young girls, who slept with just about every guy on campus, except for any of the guys in South Wing, who they would barely even acknowledge.

The second girls' room: Consisted of Lisa, and her roommate (whose name I fail to remember atm). Lisa's roommate was a seething bitch, with a nasty temper. Lisa was the quiet type, borderline anti-social. I dated her briefly. I was her first boyfriend... and her last. Turns out she was a lesbian. Not the greatest ego boost for me.

Jeremy: The craziest, most fun guy around. He would do almost anything, drink almost anything, and was always the life of the party.

Oliver: Stereotypical white guy from Alabama. As we were not allowed to have alcohol in our dorm rooms, we generally kept it quiet when we got some. Oliver, however, decided to go for a run one night after several shots of Southern Comfort. He bolted out the back door of the hall, in his skivvies, and hauled ass around the entire building 1 1/2 times, with half a dozen or so of us chasing him. Eventually we corralled him back into his room. 5 minutes after that, he decided he was thirsty and wanted to pay a visit to the water fountain in the hall. Thinking he was going to run again, we followed him... just in time to see him giving himself a black eye on the water fountain's spout, and passing out on the floor.

The Eastern Europeans: lived in the room directly next to mine, and spent all day, all night blaring speed metal to where I could hear it through the concrete wall. Finally one day, I got tired of it. I plugged both my guitar amps into my stereo, put all the speakers against the common wall, cranked them up and put in my Snoop Doggy Dogg CD. They were much quieter after that.

Apologies for length, etc.
(WillF http://www.flickr.com/photos/silverfischdotnet/, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 4:24, Reply)

not me but
my mum delights in telling me the stories of her student days, when she'd come home to find a massive shit in the bathtub or when her flatmate would boil her knickers in a communal kitchen pot.

Those crazy 80's
(kitnel it's probaby infectious, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 3:20, Reply)

Watch this space
Been in a nice house for a few months. Nice girl moves out and I move from a room in the roof where I hit my head lots, to one where I have about 10 ft by 20 ft by 20ft. Good times.
Anyway, she goes and we get a new lady. Not the choice of the two men in the house, but there we are.
She's been here a week.
Tonight I come home... Toilet unflushed and a bath mat missing.
Hmm.... I will, of course, keep you updated.

ps - Deja vu. Wasn't this a QoTW about 3 years ago?
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 1:59, Reply)

currently
I am living in halls of residence, fantastic lot of people save for one boy, let's call him Freak.

Now Freak is a complete antisocial bugger who doesnt even aknowledge any of his flatmates in the street let alone joins in the flat activities, on our first day in res i tried to talk to him and the only thing he said to me was "no pepsi for me thanks, last time I drank some I tried to kill my friend" and unfortunately I have the room right next to him.

The strange dr evil laughter at 3am every day I can handle, the fact that his room is so disgusting the smell has seeped into the hallway (the only person to fail room inspections) and how it's ok for him to play loud music at 4am but I cant at 4pm.

All that I can stand, but I hate how every time my boyfriend and I have even a slightly passionate night under the covers he knocks on the wall screaming "Sinners! Sinners! You're going to hell" kinda puts a dampener on the evening.


length? girth? gimmie a man with a vibrating nut sack.
(kitnel it's probaby infectious, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 1:28, Reply)

The worst are women, I'm sorry but you really are...all of you
I lived with three girls in Belfast for 6 months and the house was always in complete filth. They would look at me strange when I complained that the dishes had been washed in cold water and the fingerprints and lip marks could still be seen on the glasses and bits of last nights dinner still welded to the plates.

"But what difference does hot water make!?" they used to say.

There were clothes everywhere, they prepared sandwiches on the bench after someone else had just put raw chicken on it, they never flushed the loo and the most disgusting was the used tampons left lying around the bathroom floor. The list goes on and on.

My current housemates are cool apart from two of them. They are a couple and have taken up the mental idea that they own the house and that the rest of us will follow whatever rules they come up with. They took all our plates etc except for 1 plate, knife, fork and cup for one person each in order to "keep the kitchen tidy". The girl keeps accusing people not washing their dishes even though they are hers.

Anyway the list could go on and there are far funnier stories for you to read here so I will spare you the details.
( Bamboo Steamer, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 1:26, Reply)

Eh dear,,, part 3
For all that I've said tonight, I must state that making it on your own and living with housemates you don't already know has a lot to be said for it. Before I went to Uni I had a bedsit, and a lot of weird neighbours, a very violent neighbourhood, but it made me stronger. At Uni I had many strange housemates, but I stil had a brilliant time, got an excellent degree and wouldn't change it for the world.

And in my house now, the same place where I had the experiences with the chav and the skitz, well, lesson learned, if anyone like that moves in here again I reserve the right to shoot the landlord. The housemates I have now couldn't be better, there's two English (including me), one Zimbabwean and a Polish guy but we're all professionals, we all get on, we all have similar interests and we all go out together. I've got an internet connection in my room which I wouldn't have if not for my housemates, and due to the nature of our different professions we can all give each other advice and always have something to talk about. For example I can give financial advice (such is my job) to the rest of the guys if they need. And the area in Leeds where I live is ok- it's close to the city, there's all the amenities you need, and even despite (perhaps because of) the area's reputation, on a good sunny day in the local park you'll see people from not just the UK but Africa, the Caribbean, South America, Eastern Europe, Asia, and Russia. So it's not all bad. Especially when some of the girls you meet could get away with calling Maria Sharapova ugly. Hell yeah...

But please, never live with a chav

And never live with a schizophrenic

Best of luck, happy Easter!!!
(fourplusone, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 0:52, Reply)

What is it with Daves?!?
My first year of uni so was assign a flat with 4 other guys. 2 were nice, one was tolerable, one was DAVE.

Dave didn´t like sharing a fridge so he got his mum and dad to bring him one up from home.

Dave didn´t like his matress on his bed so got his mum and dad to bring him one up from home.

Dave plastered every available inch of space on our (rather large) kitchen´s walls with naked/semi-naked women cut out from FHM etc with his "hilarious" captions, he only put up "arty" posters in his room so he wouldn´t look shallow when he bought girls back.

Dave didn´t like washing up so bought paper plates&cups which slowly piled up around his chair where he sat playing "Tony Hawk Skateboarding" all day. In his underwear. In the kitchen.

Dave only ever ate microwave meals.

Dave didn´t like washing his clothes so he sprayed them with fabreeze and ironed them again.

Dave purchased a waterproof poster of Jordan for our shower and told us when he was going to "test" it.

Dave frequently told us when he needed "a knob wash".

Dave was a racist cnut who thought "nigger" and "paki" were the funniest words in the English language.

Dave regularly listened to his shit club music til 3am/4am at such a volume that I couldn´t just hear the basebeat, I could hear ALL THE LYRICS (such as they were). When I asked him to turn it down as I had 9am lectures he told me I was being unreasonable and tried to attack me with a knife.

Dave got drunk and smashed all my plates and cups.

Dave sat and watched animal porn with his friend from across the hall (ironically also called Dave and who was for all intents and purposes an exact imitation of the Dave I lived with) in the kitchen while I had my (2 female) friends round.

Dave got violent when he got drunk, which he did nearly every night. His favourite was screaming and kicking my bedroom door to wake me up.

I ended up nearly failing my first term at uni because I was reduced to a nervous wreck by sleep depravation and the other behaviour outlined above. I moved out after a hell-ish 6 months and went to live with nice people :)

Rant Over.

Apologies for length *insert own pun here*
(ComplexStuff Was confused by life on, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 0:49, Reply)

Eh dear... part two
.. well then.
Fora while we had the spare room empty and all was OK, my other hosemates, Lib and Zbig, were really sound guys and I got on with them well, in fact I think the experience we'd had with the chav had made us better pals than we would otherwise have been. But our landlord, such are the joys of buy-to-let, needed to fill the spare room. And so, we had Phil move in.

Now Phil seemed perfectly ok first time we met him. I'd have objected to someone who seemed like a total nutter or chav, especially after the previous incident (and I'd been to University and had enough nutters to contend with there, and before going to Uni I'd had my own bedsit for a couple of years in one of the most dangerous parts of Huddersfield- I literally watched out of the window one afternoon as a riot went on down the street and a pub got broken into and burnt out). Phil worked in a factory near our house, he didn't want to commute all the way from where he was, especially as he was on night shifts usually, and wanted to get out from under his dad's feet. Seemed like a decent enough guy, we warmed to him, we even took him out clubbing in Leeds. Everything seemed ok.

For about 3 weeks.

One evening I got back from work and Phil was in the front room. He just looked different, as soon as I saw him I knew something was wrong. He started talking about people at work that had been teasing him, calling him homosexual, trying to play jokes on him, talking about him behind his back. Now at first I thought maybe this guy just works with a load of prats, so I listened to him and told him he should get on with it as much as he could, and if things got too much I was sure there'd be someone at his work he could go to. Then I went to my room. Whilst I was getting changed out of my suit, Phil bellowed up the stairs:

"are you havin' a laugh at us"

"i'm sorry, what do you mean?"

"well all the time you were taslking to us just now, you had a smirk on your face, like it was some big joke. They were here today, makin' a load of noise outside my room [we'd had the back patio concreted that day] and the workmen came through my window while I was tryin' to sleep, had a ladder going across my bed. They were laughing their heads off, my dad was here too [wasn't- we never saw him after the one night he and Phil came to look at the house] and he was jokin' about me an' all.... is this some big conspiracy???"

Turns out Phil was a paranoid schizophrenic. His daddio had foisted him on us because he couldn't handle him. Over the next few days we were accused of all sorts- apparently I was levitating outside Phil's window whipering evil through the window, my Zimbabwean housemate was 'a fucker' because he was (1) black, and (2) apparently walked around in a manner that was meant to show how big his dick was, our other (Polish) housemate was 'pure evil' as was his mother who was staying with us for a while having travelled over from Poland to see her own son for a few weeks... our landlord was, apparently, a "scumbag"....

.. this went on for a few weeks. By now we (myself and my other two sentient housemates) were sick of it, the Polish guy Zbig was terrified of Phil as he was placid by nature, living in a strange country and didn't want the risk of the schizo turning on his mother when he was at work, but myself and my other housemate Lib weren't prepared to tolerate it. Phil would come into the living room whilst we were watching football ot whatever and accuse one of us of banging on his door when he was asleep (when we'd all been in the front room for at least an hour), or he'd try and break into our rooms when the rest of us were at work, or he'd play music in his room at stupid o' clock at max volume. You couldn't have a decent conversation with him, as he'd start accusing all the other housemates (he would never acuse you to your face) of being part of some big conspiracy with his work colleagues and his dad and the landlord and the neighbours and everyone else. We were all out to get him.

The landlord came round to have a word, but when that happened Phil was really apologetic, said he wanted to stay. But after a while it was too much, nobody else in the house would speak to Phil, we couldn't care less, we just didn't like him bursting in on us when we were watching Scrubs and telling us he was going to get us because we'd been tapping on his walls and talking about how we were going to get him [when we'd actually al been at work, like normal people]. I was terrified that he would attack Zbig (our Polish housemate), or worse, attack Zbig's mum who was staying with us, didn't speak very good English, and was in the house most of the day.

The schizo dickhead, who we're sure was foisted on us by his dad who couldn't cope and had decided to just send him to someone else rather than find help kill a responsible parent would, decided he couldn't bear living with a bunch of weirdos who were plotting to kill him, and eventually left of his own accord.... THANK GOD. I was by then sleeping with a metal rod next to the bed.

So the next rule has to be stated: NEVER LIVE WITH A PARANOID SCHIZOPHRENIC......
(fourplusone, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 0:33, Reply)

a couple of stories
once i was friends with this bloke from europe ... he spoke a number of languages and his english was really good, but more than anything he wanted to come (even briefly) to study in england. my school (a good one) said yes, and it was arranged. everything looked set to be peachy - we'd been away on a number of youth group trips before, thought we knew each other pretty well, wrote to one another to keep on top of the languages, etc etc. how wrong could i have been.

im not sure if it was me, him, or both of us that turned the relationship sour, but i do know that he didnt go out of his way to help himself. he was rude to my parents, my teachers, thought he was the boss of everything, didnt like sharing the home pc with us all, got offended when we went into his documents folder to see why so much space was being used up all of a sudden and discovered hundreds of soft-porn photos (y'see it's one thing to do this as a family member and keep it in some kind of deep-hidden file, it's another to do it as the guest and leave it lying about) - anyway he saw that as invasion of privacy (my mum saw it as abuse of internet use), and he'd spend FOREVER in the shower. it got to the point where my mum felt like a prisoner if she was alone in the house with him, and we actively rejoiced when he went home after three months.

i currently live at uni, in self-catered flats provided by the accommodation services. i think if my flatmates and i could change just one member of the flat we all know who it would be. im not going to name him, but he's a messy fella. we all leave dishes lying around (we're students) but only he leaves pizza boxes and cans all over the place, doesnt even flatpack them to put in the bin (or heaven forbid the recycling), plays his music at top volume (and on that note thank god one of the other flatmates moved out, if one of them had their music up the other wouldnt reach a compromise where they each play their tunes at a mid-level, oh no they'd both just whack it up and i'd have to sit there with rap/rnb/reggae and electronic trance shit coming through my wall), smokes in his room which then filters through all the flat (and can't see the problem), and is generally an inconsiderate obnoxious git. just 6 more weeks of living with him and it's over! XD

someone in my flat writes too much. it might be me.
(zenmeban thinks the weather could be better, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 0:32, Reply)

Upstairs Dave
We had a flatmate called Upstairs Dave (we had two Daves, one lived in the upstairs room, one in a downstairs room, so we named them accordingly) and he was disgusting. He'd come back from lectures, remove half his clothes and curl up in the living room corner eating some form of food we could never identify, and then talk over whatever you were watching. His room stank of compost, you could sometimes smell it when the door was closed. If you want to know exactly how bad it was, visit Cheltenham railway stations toilets, it smells like that. He even made the Tramps outside smell nice by comparison

What was worse was the fact that he tended to get a bit gay when drunk (although he was fairly camp when sober). Anal sex would invariably enter the conversation, no matter the subject, and he even tried to molest one of our house mates. Luckily we were able to move out, three of us into a shared house with my girlfriend, and Downstairs Dave moved in with his girlfriend. What happened to Upstairs Dave I don't know, but I bet whichever hospital he's in has suffered an outbreak of MRSA

Actually, the worst thing he ever did was make us sit through the "hilarious" rehab-based comedy 28 Days starring Sandra Bullock, which is probably the worst film I have ever seen. You beg an to wish that it was merged with 28 Days Later, and zombies turned up at the rehab clinic, killing all involved. I've since repressed all memory of this film.
(Sciuridae with Paridae How long has it been since I last posted?, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 0:01, Reply)

The Geeeeeeerm(an)s! The Geeeeeeeeeerm(an)s!
Last term I lived in halls in Switzerland, next door to a mental German girl called Estella. Estella was a med student and she was anal. We shared a lobby and a shower, nothing more or else I would have killed her.

One evening, I decided to wash my hair as I had to be up early the next morning (precious sleep). Being a long-haired girly, I bundled it all up into a towel on top of my head and made my way back to my room. Five minutes later

*whap**whap**whap* on the door.
Me: Yeah?
Estella: What just happened in the bathroom?
Me: I had a shower.
Estella: Come here.
(Estella points to one little spot of water on the floor)
Estella: If you do that again we'll get mould everywhere.
Me: What, from one spot of water? Look, I didn't have my contacts in and without them I can't see a thing.
Estella: Just don't do it again. EVER.

A few months later I am taking a shower in the morning, and again being a girly decide to shave my legs while I'm at it. Being blind as a bat without my contacts I graze some part of my leg and don't notice. It bleeds.

It bleeds on the bathmat. Which belongs to Estella.

Oh noes!

I come out of my room a few minutes later to go to uni and find the bathmat lying in a heap outside my door. I don't need to have watched CSI to know it was chucked there. Estella's door is open and she is ranting in German on Skype.

Estella does not know that I speak German.

Estella proceeds to rant for the next ten minutes about how messy and inconsiderate I am and how she could die or something from the mess I am leaving.

Estella's other great annoying feature was her psychic gift of knowing when I needed to get up early, as it was these nights that she would invite her boyfriend over, and the sex music would go on (crap R&B, even though there isn't another kind). I became best friends with my iPod headphones at this time as I knew she didn't speak English, so banging on the walls yelling "STOP! SHAGGING! ESTELLA!" would have been pretty redundant.

It's one of my greatest regrets I never left her a "fuck you bitch" note. Or a "good luck, you'll need it" for the girl who now lives there.
( Maladicta, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 23:52, Reply)

Eh dear.... this is gonna be one long post
Last year I moved into the place where I still live now. Really ideal room, spacious, good double bed, close to where I work, and much better than living with my alcoholic mother and her prick-of-a-husband (as I'd been forced to do after returning back to the UK skint from a spell travelling around the globe).

So I moved in, and the first morning we were supposed to have a meeting with the landlord to go over the conditions and all that. Sat down for brekkie with one of my new housemates, named Steven but preferred to be known as 'Ste'. I was immediately less-than-impressed when I asked him what he did for a living- his reply was "ah, I don't work, me", which he said as if he was proud of it. I didn't care to ask how he could afford to pay the rent if he didn't have a job.

Anyway, I decided to get on with things. But 'Ste' became like a minor headache that grows into a terrible migraine over the next few weeks. He was 100% chav, had this skinny girlfriend that you could have blown over with a fart but had a voice as deep as Barry White, and every night they'd go through the routine of having extremely loud, drunken and violent (as in him kicking the hell out of her) arguments every night, and then having extremely loud, drunken and violent sex. Now I'm normally a very reserved and quiet individual, but after a few days I was ready to kill this chav and his chav beeatch. My other housemates (who were both decent enough guys) were terrified of Ste, though with work being in such a state of disrepair I was doing all the overtime God sent and so was usually too knackered at night to go down and give the chavs from hell a beasting, and also felt that as I was new to the house and in an unfamiliar area couldn't really afford to have beating the hell out of one of my house 'mates' on record. So for whatever reason, I put up with it, if only for a couple of weeks........

...and then it got so much that myself and my other housemates, with whom I got on well, got in touch with the landlord and told him that if he wasn't going to kick out this chav we would kill him. So landlord (decent enough guy, just hadn't filtered his tenants well enough perhaps) came round one evening when 'Ste' was out, to wait for him to come back and tell him to go. I'd just got back from work, and as Jay (landlord) was there I told him I'd go to my room and fetch him the two weeks' rent I owed him....

... only to find the chav scumbag had broken into my room and stolen the £150 I had placed in my drawers in my room. It was tucked under two towels in the drawers by my desk, as I'd not had time since moving in to instal a lock on my door. The little bastard had been through all my drawers, stole my credit card (which I immediately cancelled), and gone through all my private confidential stuff. If he had come back home that night I would have cut his throat and made his bitch drink the blood. I was seething, mad that I'd made the wrong decision to move into this house just to get away from my mother's scumbag husband who still thinks he's an Army Sargeant, just to be closer to my work so that I didn't have to suffer trains being late all the time and could supposedly save the cost of travelling, mad that I'd moved into this house that seemed so nice at first but had turned into a nightmare. My landlord called the cops, but we never saw Ste again, the landlord saw him once, a few weeks later, to give him his stuff back (we'd gone into his room and shoved it all in bin bags) (I would have killed him if I'd seen him, in fact I'd still kill him now and this all happened about 9 months ago). The cops couldn't do anything, as there weren't any locks on my room door, and he had a right to be in the house as he was a paying tenant. So rule number one, I knew then (and I'd lived in a LOT of dodgy places before this) was..... NEVER LIVE WITH A CHAV. THEY WILL LEAVE BLOOD STAINS ALL OVER THE HOUSE. THEY WILL ARGUE WITH, AND THEN RAPE, THE POOR STUPID FEMALE CHAVS THAT ARE STUPID ENOUGH TO HAVE RELATIONSHIPS WITH THEM, AT ABOUT A LEVEL OF 1000 DECIBELS EVERY NIGHT. AND THEY WILL STAL FROM YOU.....

.... at least he was gone, I thought. So we could move someone decent into the spare room, I thought.....

AND THEN IT GOT WORSE..... (nightmare post to follow)
(fourplusone, Thu 5 Apr 2007, 23:46, 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)

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)