Sam
I worked with Sam for a year. He was a top lad, but a bit of a mental.

Like the time he was kicked out of his house, because the landlord had sold it, and the new owner wanted to live in it. The landlord hadn't actually told them this was happening until the very last minute.

So, Sam and housemates, who were crusties, drop-outs, squatters and the like, decided to have a party to celebrate their leaving of their abode, and make a bit of mess in due course, as a bit of revenge. Well, not so much a party, more of a Bacchanalian riot.

After returning with 50+ friends from the pub, and after much further drunken merriment the group decided a bonfire would be great. So, they collected fuel for the fire...

...which was basically the contents of the house. Kitchen cabinets, wardrobes, mattresses, beds, the lot. All on the fire in the garden.

Then, it started to rain.

Normally at this point, the party would have died down at the same rate as the fire. But oh no. They decided to have a painting competition. With the tins of emulsion in the cellar, applied to the walls of the living room and kitchen.

So, upon entering his new house, the proud owner found the words 'THIS HOUSE IS FUCKED' in bright magnolia on the walls, all the fixtures and fittings in a smouldering mess on the back garden, and some of the floorboards and doors missing. This was after they'd found the three piece suite at the bottom of the road where they'd been having armchair races.

Sam got away with it, somehow, as he had an alibi. The rest (the aformentioned crusty types) disappeared off the face of the earth apparently.

Sam lived with me for a week after that. I was very scared.

But hey, that taught the landlord.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 22:36, Reply)