A good mate of mine
had the unfortunate experience of living with the flatmate from hell. I will begin by stating that my friend is of dubious personal and social hygiene, as it is, and to that end can be trusted to provide a fairly understated account of his flatmate's doings.

His name was Gary, he was a little bit of a loser.

Gary:

wanked onto plates. Got off on it.
played Van Halen very loudly, very /badly/ on his guitar constantly.
slept with ugly, abusive fat chicks.
was a gaming addict (with dubious personal hygiene ahoy).
drew up cleaning schedules and never fulfilled his quota - constantly complained to my mate that he "didn't chip in".
was anal retentive about food; divided his butter into 16ths so he knew if anyone had used it/meticulously weighed cereal etc.

The other two flatmates, my mate and the other, passed e-mails between themselves mocking this twunt. They went into explicit detail and plotted to leave Gary after their year together.

So, naturally, Gary uses my mate's computer unannounced to find the e-mails onscreen.

Cue anger.

Cue madness.

Cue... Sparta?

Not quite. Gary went silent. For 9 months he did not utter a /single word/ to the other two. He kept himself to himself, his chicks to himself and left the flat with glaring hate. My mate swears he's going to wake up one day to find Gary bearing over him, guitar in hand...
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Tue 10 Apr 2007, 3:03, Reply)