House party
Back in 1988, second year of college and nursing a broken heart, I pleaded with my mum to let me move out of the halls of residence after two weeks and move into a rented house. My reasoning being that it would help me to become more responsible and all that shite, but really it was because I couldn't stand being in the same confines of my ex. Oh, and also because all the really good people from last year had left and their places had become populated by a bunch of Bros and Kylie obsessed 16 year olds.

Who frankly were a pain in the arse to be around. I mean, I was 17 by that point - the gulf in maturity between us was cosmic in size. They'd sit in the common room reading Smash Hits; meanwhile, I'd snort derisively at them over my Batman comics, smouldering enigmatically under my wide-brimmed hat.

See what I mean? Bloody kids the lot of 'em.

And so, my loving mother reluctantly agreed to let me move in with Phil and Rob. Phil had been a resident the year before but not allowed back; Rob was a fellow returnee who was equally as pissed off as I was. The three of us could not be more different; Phil was a 6 foot tall hippy with a gut you could balance a full pint glass on (and we did, frequently), Rob was a normal guy with a dry sense of humour and a love of rap, and there was me... the love child of Andrew Eldritch and Robert Smith; small, skinny, and with a propensity to sit in the dark moping (if the poster drawn by our mate Gaz Death was to be believed anyway).

We settled into our new found lifestyle with surprising ease, our lives based around college, pizza and the pub. Life was good. Until the day we pissed the neighbours off. We decided to have a house warming party, and proceeded to draw up tickets for distributing around our mates. And then, genius struck...

"Let's get a live band in", someone suggested in a moment of extreme madness. And so we enlisted the aid of Cocky, who had a band (appealingly named 'Random Felch'). Fortunately for us they couldn't do it, but Cocky was free and offered to pull something together (Cocky ended up being a housemate the next year even though he only lived in the next village 2 miles down the road - more on him later). Thus, it was with pleasure that we unveiled the entertainment for the night - the equally splendidly named for-one-night-only... The Necrophiles. Who proceeded to amuse us with half arsed renditions of Iron Man and other classics of rawk. Badly, it turned out, as they had only reheased for an hour that night before arriving.

The speakers pulsed, the floor shook, Phil disappeared for a spliff and the opportunity to get off with a very pretty girl who ultimately cunted him in the fuck a year later. Meanwhile, I was carted off to hospital following an incident with a bathroom wall and a bloody nose thanks to some pissed up and severely tripping friends who thought I was dying...

I returned a few hours later, having been discharged, to find Phil standing at the door, stoned off his tits and arguing with the neighbours about the noise levels. Phil never argued with anyone. "It's only midnight" he was heard to exclaim indignantly. "HAVE YOU NEVER BEEN YOUNG???"

I slipped passed them and into the sanctity of the carnage that was ensuing in the living room.

"More beer?" asked Rob, as the band (minus Cocky, who had accompanied me to the accident and emergency department, tripping wildly) stumbled shambolically around us. I thought for a moment.

"Aye, go on then. There's now't left after they pumped me out, I've got to start all over again".

Cracking blokes the pair of them. I wonder where they ended up?
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 27 Feb 2009, 17:58, 2 replies)

HAVE YOU NEVER BEEN YOUNG!!!
I never thought of that retort for complaining neighbours. It was usually fuck off.
( girlinthehole, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 18:53, closed)

The best one I heard
was on a lads party, on the night of the Lennox Lewis/ Frank Bruno fight, some harridan come to the door complaining at 1am. A voice drifted from the rear of the room "wassa matter, luv? Your vibrator broke? Cos sure as fuck no-ones going to fuck you." Scowls and thinly drawn lips did nothing to dispel our glee at this comment, but no fucker would claim it after- especially when PC plod turned up at 3.30am.
( Duke Of Belmsford has got 99 records, but Jay-Z ain't one, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 23:54, closed)