It's name was Dave.
And it stank. (I can't bring myself to think of it as "he" it must be sub-human.Perhaps feral.)
It lived with me for a year and a half, paid nothing.

It had two showers over the course of that time. When I kicked it out the room had to be sterlised. The smell was somewhat akin to Foul Ole Ron for those discworld fans. This became known as the infamous "Eau de Dave"

We later discoverd while it was claiming poverty as its reason to give me any rent that he spent approximatley £30 a week on its pay as you go phone and judging from the litter around £10 a day on rainbow drops (Small manky sweets that are basically e-numbers colouring and sugar)To put that in context they are about 10p for a fair size bag.

It worked in record shop and got paid in 50p records. It thought this was a good deal.

Possibly the worst point was when I had to clean the room. I had a spoon attached to a bowl by mould. I was able to stack 3 glasses on this and it was still solid. They went swifty in the bin.

It now lives in a hostel, is still to take a shower, became emo and has a child bride of 16. It is 25.

The moral dear B3tans? DO NOT EVER LIVE WITH YOUR BEST FREIND. What is fun in the pub is not actually what you want to live with.

*pop*

Length/Girth? Got to make a good first impression!

p.s - We are no longer best freinds. In fact I declared him my nemesis 2 years ago.
(J.T Squid, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 13:53, Reply)