You filthy bastard
When I was about 12, I went on a ski trip with school. Most of the kids were revelling in the freedom you get when you go on holiday with school and starting trying to smuggle booze and porn into their rooms. After like 2 whole beers us youngsters were feeling a bit smashed and started talking about wanking (as you do). Then came the question "Has anyone actually spunked?"

Of course, this is a tricky question, where you don't want to be the first to answer. If you haven't, are you weirdly under-developed? If you have, isn't it pretty gross?

Not for one lad. Even tho he hadn't developed a pre-pubescent moustache yet, he proudly exclaimed that he "had 'spunked', loads of times, and can prove it".

He then whipped out a tub of hairgel from his suitcase. Only it wasn't full of hairgel. It was full of man-gel. He had been collecting his semen for months. This earnt him the nickname "Mary" after the scene in "There's Something About Mary" where she uses spongle for gel.

Every time I eat a boiled egg nowadays and the eggwhite is still a bit runny, my stomach turns.
(Hammer Time, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:37, Reply)

Student teim
Being in my 3rd year of uni, I've lived with a fair few scummers. Oddly in some cases personal hygene was immaculate, it was just everything else that got shitted up.

Year 1: Lived in halls with 11 other people who never did a days washing up in their life. Once left a whole crate full of washing up to rot over easter. I bagged it up and hid it so we wouldn't get fined. When we came back they had a go at me for messing their mould up and carried on using it. Unwashed
I thank mighty zeus we had individual showers

Year 2: More washing up. Also any stain was left unwashed on the floor, including post pub vomit. At one point we ran out of bog roll. I witnessed one of them take a one hour dump and emerge casually later having wiped his arse on god knows what. Probably the floor

Year 3: Oh shuddering fuck Im living with bigfoot. Lets call him jon, for that is his name. He fills every available space in every room with hair from ALL parts of his anatomy. His room smells like a 4 week old sock that a 5 week old zombie has been wearing. The smell almost pushed me down the stairs once, honest to god. We measured it, it's got a 3m radius! I've even heard rumours he only showers when he goes home, and he dont go home too often.
Mice in the loft (now dead, much to the distress of everyone else. Im now worse than hitler)Kitchen floor thick with god knows what. MORE washing up (mostly sasquatches) sitting in a sink full of water waiting to disolve or something. Things have actually started decomposing in the fridge and the washing machine smells like a penis. All this from a house of 5. And ones a girl. Weep for her soul for she is forsaken

Still, could be worse

Scuse the length, the moulds built up a bit on it

edit: forgot my other housemate who threw up a bottle of port at the top of the stairs and went to bed. Our blue carpet is now purple
(Cyberpope Oh my god!! Somebody put shit in my pants!!!!!!, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:36, Reply)

Satan's Feet!
My best friend and his little brother have quite possibly the worst feet in the world. On at least 3 occasions, I can remember both not being able to go swimming due to in-growing toenails...on every toe...on each foot! How the fuck do you manage that! 20 toes, all swollen and leaking pus. At the ages of 15 and 13 too! The elder also never cuts his toenails. One day sat around playing abit of PS2, I look down at his foot and see a black mark on his big toenail - on closer inspection the mark starts to move. Seconds later, a live ANT crawls out from the yellow, rotten cavity behind the nail and walks across the carpet!
(Ciderbob is still recovering from the rapage at..., Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:34, Reply)

Plane
I fly a lot (as those of you that know me will know) - but I fly on a little 29 seater turboprop.

I always try to get the individual seat as I don't like sitting next to someone who will, inevitably, try to engage me in conversation - not good when all I want to do is sleep....

Anyhoo - a couple of times I've found myself sat next to someone who might have been on an oilrig for a few weeks/months/years/decades - and who is unfamiliar with personal hygiene.

You can only hold your breath for so long... And they always smell of oil, BO, piss, shit and anything else they might have been dragged through - and that's before you smell his breath - and he's bound to turn to you and say something lewd about the air hostess and then you see his teeth too.

When you've been sat next to such a person for an hour, you feel very, very dirty - I've often showered the moment I've gotten home as you find yourself paranoid about the smell from the guy coming off on to you. Bleugh.
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:34, Reply)

Hmm
one of my current housemates is very much a cleanliness freak; he takes at least 2-3 showers and one bath a day, so by his standards the rest of us are the stinky buggers.
How obsessive is he? Well, there are three shelves in the bathroom; my stuff takes up one corner of the top shelf, and the rest is taken up by nearly £100 worth of his grooming products.
Now this would be all well and good if he worked in (say) a slaughterhouse, but he's a quote-monkey for an insurance company; not exactly a dirty job, and hardly justification for the 2 hours he spends in the bathroom every day, stopping everyone else from using it. What makes this more than a mere annoyance is that we pay for our gas etc. with tokens and not by monthly bills, so if we unexpectedly run out of gas it's usually his fault. More seriously, there is a leak under the bathroom floor which becomes very noticeable when he's having one of his cleanliness orgies.
He's completely unreasonable about this and some of his more antisocial habits too; according to him, we're all the ones in the wrong and being in the same house as us is "like living with a cow or a pig".
And before you ask: yes, he is a confirmed gayer metrosexual, but that doesn't stop him playing tongue-tennis with one of my female housemates.
Good thing I'm moving out soon.

Frankly, I think I deserve a click just for putting up with this dickhead's company for the last nine months.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:32, Reply)

The same
guy I previously mentioned once actually shat himself at his desk. No. Really.

Rather than doing the normal thing (like dying of shame and quitting) he sat in his own dung for the rest of the afternoon...

Oh the smell, the smell.

Bastard.
(flibbley lame balloon man far and wee, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:28, Reply)

I work in Videogames
So there is always a few stereotypes wandering around the office. Fat, into metal and *insert generic sci-fi series*. They waddle the corridors infusing the place with their own special odour; a combination of long hours, poor diet and awful hygiene.

Thankfully ours are all trapped a floor below me.

The girth can sometimes be a touch frightening too.
(mehmeh 0% witty, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:27, Reply)

The most unimaginable stench...
This happened in the gents' toilets at Cannon Street Station about ten years ago:

There I was, minding my own business and having a pee into a urinal, as were several other respectful-looking commuter types.

Down the stairs comes a tramp; a proper tramp as well: wearing six jackets, one on top of the other; the outer one shiny with stains. His hair and beard were long, matted and greasy and his skin was brown with layer upon layer of grime.

He stood in the middle of the toilets (the actual room; not a cubicle), dropped his trousers and appeared to simply lose control of all his bodily functions at once.

Standing with his trousers round his knees, he proceeded to shit, really runny shit into his trousers and onto the floor. At the same time, he pissed and puked: three foul-smelling outpourings at once, over himself and the floor. It wasn't a particularly nice site either.

Once he'd finished, he pulled his trousers up and stumbled out. He didn't clean himself at all: just left covered in shit, piss and puke.

Bless my dad*

*Not really my dad: inserted for humourage reasons.
( <>Dog www.stevelaker.blog, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:24, Reply)

Glaswegian Squaddie
My local after hours underage drinking a trysting fleapit nestles in the high street of a well known army town.

As a result, the club would be full of teenage squaddies but things turned grim when the Scots Guards were posted to the town.

I was trying to gingerly step over the inch deep puddle of piss between the urinals and the sinks when I was greeted with the phrase:

"Aagh muhn, ah jus' shatmeeshelf"

Yep, a cannon fodder neanderthal had indeed soiled his pants. But instead of quietly going off and committing suicide in shame, he turned round and bent over to show his shit-riddled keks.

Half hour later he was seen drunkenly gyrating with a local lass on the dancefloor to "I will always love you", her hands foolishly groping his buttocks as he no doubt attempted to woo her with tender whispers of romantic poetry in her ear.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:21, Reply)

History Teacher
Mr Banks was his name. An angry man he was. Very Angry.

Anyway. He had, according to local school lore* a medical condition that meant he sweated a lot.

Personally I think it was his aversion to anti-persperant myself...

Anyway, his classroom had windows on 2 side - South and West facing. And it was a small room. And in summer - the room had a special smell. And not a good on either.

At the start of a class, we'd walk in and comment lightly on the faint smell - as the class progressed he sweated more and more. And he didn't like to open the windows. The odd thing was that what you really didn't want to do was go to the loo during the class...

Odd, you might think, but the simple reason for this was that once you were out, you'd breathe in fresh (Well, fresh for a secondary school) air - so returning to the BO room was hell - you would be almost hit by this wall of smell. It was NOT nice.

It was, however, far worse if you were his 4pm class. After a hot day.

Actual vomiting occured upon entering the class and first breaths were taken.

Makes me feel sick thinking about it now actually - Or is that my massive hangover?

* I'm sure every school has/had a local school lore - usually involving some affair, bodies buried under classrooms, etc...
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:16, Reply)

My old flatmate was a stinky bastard
Mark was his name, he stank badly. Unfortunately in our flat for a period of a couple of months, we had problems with the hot water. It was fine for me as my parents house was just round the corner so I would pop round there for showers /baths etc. Anyway, he didn't have this luxury and as he was so stinky my parents would not allow him in their house. This guy was unbelievable. My friends never used to come round as the flat stank so much. For the entire time we were there he never changed his sheets once. His room was piled high with clothes that he wore and wore again without washing them. He would cycle to and from work building up even more of a sweat and not showering. Our flat smelt foul. It got to such a stage that I could no longer face entering the flat. I spent most of the last 2 months of our tenancy round at my parents. He never once emptied the bins. I always had to do it. I remember going away for 2 weeks and coming back to find 6 black bags sitting in the kitchen. There were soooooo many flies. He used to wank in the living room at night (caught him twice) and leave the tissue on the coffee table.

He now lives with a bunch of Australians so I guess he fits right in.
(Clivicus, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:16, Reply)

Ew
When I worked in Hull (I'm know, I'm sorry too) - there was this guy who was large. Very large. Huge in fact.

I need to point out that this building wasn't air conditioned. And that the front of the building was mostly glass. And South facing. Summer was sheer hell.

Anyway this guy sweated. A lot. And in Summer it was a battle to not go and see this guy as to be in his orbit meant death by bad smell. It was vile.

His chair, on the other hand, was a special kind of disgusting. Even when he wasn't there, I'd be sure to NOT sit in his seat as the mere thought of sitting in the same chair as this overweight sweatball sickened me to the core. I never touched it, but it looked damp all the time.

The vile part was when I and my colleague (Let's call her Nicki) went to see him - now I was happy to let Nicki take the lead as, well, I didn't really want to talk to him any more than I had to.

Nicki knew about the chair. Everyone did.

The question is though, how do you not sit in a chair that has been vacated by the guy you've gone to see, when he insists? Answer - you don't.

And it had been a particularly hot day. The chair, apparently, was an unpleasant kind of damp. Nice.

The look on Nicki's face was fairly priceless, a mixture of disgust, revulsion, terror and eventual resignation - she did, however, fix his PC. Back in the office, after much "ewwing" - she decided to go home to shower, bathe and burn the clothes she'd been wearing.

I never sat in the guy's chair ever - I always wheeled one over. Nicki did the same after that.

/retch
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:09, Reply)

Pate
Until recently I was living in South London and working in North London, spending around three hours per day on the tube. During this time I, unsurprisingly, encountered some Class A Freaks. However, none stuck in my memory in quite the same way as this woman. Well, with the possible exception of the guy who stood calmly in front of my seat during rush hour and casually flopped his dong out, practically resting it in my lap.

Anyway, let me set the scene. This woman was morbidly obese and wearing a hideous salmon pink coat, which is bad enough. However, over a period of around 20 minutes I sat and watched in horror as she devoured a whole large french stick dipped in AN ENTIRE FAMILY-SIZED TUB OF PATE. It smelled like rotting vagina, and it was all I could do not to heave. Seriously, what kind of person eats a tub of pate on the tube?
(clumsyeloquence is a girl, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:07, Reply)

Mr T
Mr T was the first initial of an IT teacher based at a very well known school in Wimbledon (at the top of Edge Hill).

Now picture this: 30 or so computers, left on all day. The room has poor vetiliation, which means the temperauture in the room is increased to a level of heat the devil would be proud to have in hell.

This couple with Mr T is a baaad combination. Mr T was/is a short fat man, with a wonky eye. His BO was bbbaaaadddd. Infact it was so bad, that i heard rumors that parents have complained to the school because captivies at Guantanmo are kept in better conditions than we were being 'taught' in.

he left after a while, to another school (poor sods)

Length- I was concussed.
(drain_bamaged, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:03, Reply)

I'd like to take this opportunity
to say hello to a wonderful man, and a close friend.

No-one here knows him - although you've probably heard of his work with the band Kiss - and it's entirely unrelated to the question.

It's just my personal 'Hi Gene!'.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:02, Reply)

back when i used to commute to work on the tube
one summer, i used to regularly end up in the same carriage as a big fat mediteranean bloke.
This guy wore a nylon mesh 'sports' top and tracksuit trousers (he was always wearing the same clothes).
and would sit with his arms out over the backs of the seat, wearing a smug expression. I swear he was smiling cos he knew how bad he smelled.

Put it this way, his BO was so bad i could feel my saliva curdling. I had to breathe through my mouth. Even moving to another seat didn't help, his stench filled the entire carriage.

I used to encounter him so often, that i eventually started getting off the train and waiting for the next one.
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:01, Reply)

Spunk man
There's a vile, fat, sweaty bastard who travels on the same train home as me every day. He stinks to high heaven and beyond. It's the smell of weeks old cum. It's so bad that I know he's on the train without actually seeing him. God knows how he's got to that state and I don't want to know but if he continues to sit near me I may have to murder him. So if you hear any stories on the 10 o'clock news about a stinky man being lobbed off a train in Hert's, you'll know why!
(angelica666, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 14:00, Reply)

Stinky schoolkid
My year at school had several candidates all competing for the title of "smelliest kid in the year". Lee Atkins was pretty ripe, his BO would hit you right in the nostrils as it followed his generally grubby, crumpled form. There were allegedly one or two rather oniony girls but I never stood close enough to the culprits to confirm these unsubstantiated rumours.

Then there was the absolute Grand Master of Mank, the Sultan of Stink himself; Richard Moss.

Mossy was a strange chap, his parents were from Macclesfield and Mossy never lost the accent despite moving to rural Essex when he was eight. He was a brilliant student, but man was he eccentric. You occasionally meet people in life who possess IQs off the scale, but cannot be trusted to tie their shoelaces and Mossy was one of them. However, he also possessed vicious temper would spark with little warning and he used to come out with the oddest things, often compulsively lying for the sake of it. Reading back I feel a pang of guilt about posting this because it seems obvious that his home life must have been less than rosy.

By the age of 12, when most of us started sprouting hair in unusual places and lurching between tenor and soprano mid sentence, we began to notice something a tad "aromatic" about Mossy which proceeded to worsen as we all entered our teens.

A pattern was established thus: The start of a new term was greeted by Mossy turning up neat as a pin, hair freshly cut and him having recently been bathed. By the start of the second week you'd notice the tide mark on his collar and the shininess of his hair, not to mention the rather tangy odour which clung to him. By half term he'd be officially rank, having apparently gone six whole weeks avoiding showers.

After returning from half term the shirt would change, but the smell and grease was still apparent. Every week we all trooped off to assembly in form order and the competition not to sit next to Mossy was intense. Often we took to drawing cards as a means of fairly deciding who sat next to him. This may sound a little cruel but it was enough to make one's eyes water. Worse however was to come.

The summer of 1989 was bad for two reasons, firstly it was the hottest on record and secondly it was when Mossy got fitted with a brace. The former made his stink unbearable, the latter gathered particles of food which decomposed in his mouth (which was a stranger to a toothbrush) which gave off an unforgettable smell which makes me retch just thinking about it. Subtle hints were dropped, even pointing out he was the only kid (apart from Lee Atkins) who didn't shower after games, but this made no difference. The knuckledraggers in the year just used to scream "Mossy, you fucking stink!" but no dice, he'd continue to cultivate his stench.

However, in an utterly unbelieveable turn of events Mossy managed to turn the head of a girl in our year. Despite his outrageous funkiness and indecipherable humour someone took a bit of a shine to him declaring he was "sweet". I'd love to be able to say that being motivated by the attentions of a lady he changed his ways but no, he rebuffed her advance and went on smelling with all the charm of an abbatoir.

Now I'd not normally post with such relish, but seeing as he chap not only started a fight with me for no reason aged twelve (something about Airwolf being faster than Blue Thuder or something) and turned psycho on me I've harboured a grudge for two decades. Meh.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:58, Reply)

an actually true one

Someone in my then-girlfriend's share house met some people somewhere, and they came home and hung out with us.

A couple of days later when they were still there, someone asked them politely why...

The house was so filthy that they'd assumed it was a squat!
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:51, Reply)

Shreaded Poo Pants
I once shared a flat with 3 men, with me being the only girl, I ended up buying all of the bog roll for the 4 of us. Needless to say, after a while I got pretty fed up with providing shit tickets for the flat and, ensuring I had my own secret supply, stopped putting it in the bathroom.
Desperate times had obviously called for desperate measures as I returned home from work one day to find a poor plumber digging pieces of poo-covered, ground up boxer shorts from our toilet.
Dirty B*stards.
(NJ, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:47, Reply)

once I had an LP version of 'Strangeways Here We Come'

which I didn't clean for several months.

By the end it was Rank.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:46, Reply)

Setimret's
post has reminded me .. One of the most rank people I have ever worked with gave out the most pungent smell imaginable.

When he was made redundant I had the task of moving his stuff, I discovered that over the years he had managed to leave a salt line on the BACK of his chair..

How can anyone produce that much sweat to permeate through 2 inches of chair and leave a permanent stain?
(flibbley lame balloon man far and wee, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:46, Reply)

Wake up, it's a beautiful morning...
I used to sit, eyes mostly watering, next to a guy called Paul in English Lit. Festooned with chains, a Maiden teeshirt wearing type, by God he reeked to high heaven. Coming from Chav Central as I do, the teachers probably sat me (Little Miss Square) next to reeky Paul because I was most capable of compassion/least likely to stab him in the eye whilst yelling 'WASH! WASH! JUST HAVE A WASH!'. My Mother once told me never to wish my intelligence away no matter what it bought me, but Jesus, sometimes it really has a lot to answer for.

The worst aspect was the stinky breath: I endured two long years of Paul breathing heavily over me and singing Wake Up by the Boo Radleys (we were studying To Kill A Mockingbird at the time). When anyone else complained about the grimness that dwelt in his mouth, he told us he didn't need toothpaste, 'cos he used mouthwash. Ugh.

Bless him, he's dead now, and it's probably bad to speak ill of the dead and all that, especially when I sort of know he was alright underneath. What I'm about to say is WRONG and I know it, but he probably doesn't smell much worse now. I will say this for him though: I'll hear Wake Up Boo and smile every time I read that book.
(Dr Wee is rummaging through the spare kidneys on, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:45, Reply)

Another Manchester squatting tale
There was a chap who tracked dogshit into a friend's flat, all over the carpet, up the stairs etc. When the householder noticed, there was the expected 'who's tracked shit all over my house?' query, to which he cheerily replied 'oh, that was me'.

When asked why he hadn't taken off his boots, his response was that his feet were so repulsive and smelly that he was actually doing them a favour by leaving them on and smearing shit everywhere instead - 'you wouldn't have wanted me to take these off, I promise you'.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:44, Reply)

Ah yes I actually have dozens of these
I used to be out and about on the free festival circuit in the late 80s and one of my compadres actually developed trench foot from not taking his socks or boots off for three months.

My brother tells the tale of legendary Manchester squatter Carlos, whom he once witnessed gagging on his Special Brew and spewing onto the grassy mound on which he was sitting. He then scooped a handful of muddy vomit up and then ate it, stating 'I'm not wasting that, I've just eaten'. Not really personal hygiene but ewwwww...
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:42, Reply)

Smelly wee bastard
As a young Venture scout away camping for a week, I discovered the stinkiest little shit I've ever had the misfortune to know. His very presence caused such an unholy assault on the beak that you instinctively wanted to beat him with a shitty stick. Not only that, but he was a bit of a bloater, so he regularly sweated like a blind lesbo in a fish shop.

After five days of avoiding having to wash, or even change his clothes, young Stuart was starting to get more than a bit ripe. To make it worse he spent all day on his own playing soldiers near the pit we dug for rubbish and bodily waste. Using discarded mushy cornflakes, among other things, he'd set them out in formation and have them attack each other while he provided the sound effects.

So when we went swimming in the river, it was decided by all that Stuart WOULD use the opportunity in the water to wash, change, and above all stop playing with rubbish.

On the way to the river in the van, someone commented on the stink of shite, which was jokingly believed to be Stuart, but no more was thought of it. But Christ, we had no idea how close to the mark we were.

He was ordered to get cleaned up the moment we arrived at the river, and after he heaved his Speedos over his bulky sweating frame, he held up the scants he'd just taken off, having worn them all week. Thinking none of the people around him would notice, he held the previously white Y-fronts up to the light.

What we saw made us all heave. They were utterly caked to the point of overflowing with dried fudge. It appeared to have hardened to the point it began pouring out the sides. He'd shat himself on the first day of the trip and left it there for five days. He hadn't even tried to scoop any of it out. He'd simply left it all there to fester for days and refused to do anything about it. The front of his soiled grundies was also stained - completely yellow!

He was commanded to get down stream and clean out his shitty crack with a bar of soap. A request to borrow my facecloth was politely denied.

Upon returning to camp, the offending scants were burned in the name of hygiene - an act which prompted his distressed wail: "No! You can't do that. They're my dad's!"
So it begs the question: Did his dad shit the pants then give them to his son? possibly, but I think not. BEsides, if they really were his dad's, I doubt he'd want them back.
The next day, a routine trip to the waste pit brought us the shocking sight of a small clear plastic bag the size of a calculator, with another pair of pants taking up half the space, and a turd taking up the rest.

The guy was unstoppable!

Length? About 8 inches, with a portion of sweetcorn near the tip.
(Barry Subchimp, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:41, Reply)

Boiled cheese and ammonia
My Bro in law (same as in the weird eater QOTW).
His room smells like boiled cheese...odd in that he doesn't eat cheese AND he washes almost obsessively.
He does consume vast quantities of milk (as in a gallon a day) and doesn't tidy up his room unless we are there with our cattleprods ($22 plus p&p on ebay, for real!)
This means lots of slimy glasses of milk hidden around and under stuff combined with him rarely washing his clothes and collecting cat puke (really)
So really we aren't that suprised.

One day though we will be shocked as he suddenly transforms in to the pillar of society blah blah blah (or has a fragrant room)

Work wise, someone in the nearest gents to my office release urine so odious and high in ammonia content that my eyes watered, my skin became hot and I had to about turn and run to the nearest toilet to splash my face .. with water.

Was nice!
(markov1723 Annoying Bavarians since, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:40, Reply)

3rd year college shared house
adrian, if you're reading this, you stink.
your filthy crusty once a year bath made the sofa smell of fetid cheese, and anyone who sat on the sofa for more than thirty seconds stank of you too.

god knows how your burd put up with you. i really dont. who would want to touch the nob of a bloke who actually boasts that his last bath was twelve months ago...

it wasnt cool, it was grim.

just because your previous housemate lost his sense of smell in an operation and couldnt actually tell if milk was off when he drank it was no excuse for your lack of sanitation.

makes me gag to think of that horrid gaff in ipswich
(magictorch, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:39, Reply)

when I was a student
I went to have a bath, but the water had been cut off!

I asked my flatmate about this. She said not to worry, just get in the bath, she'd provide a substitute.

I don't live with tubgirl any more.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:35, Reply)

my personal hygeine is so bad
that technically, I am typing this message using gangrene*

*not actually true...yet - and why does it seem this QOTW will turn into a round of engineer-bashing?
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:35, Reply)