Not strictly a housemate
but I am on the same staircase as my friend at Uni. One day, I knocked on his door, no answer. I tentatively tried the handle, it was open, he was out. So, I quickly recruited a co-conspirator, and decided to wreak as much havoc as possible. We started off with unscrewing his light-bulbs. Then we stole his chairs, and his tables, set his computer to a rather obscene home page (you must have heard of it, it spins me right round), and then stole his mattress. But... we packed a load of clothes underneath his duvet so it appeared to all but the most discerning eye that it was still there. Then we played the waiting game.

When he finally arrived back, he discovered the light-bulb bit fairly easily, so he came out, we had a bit of a laugh, and he went back in. Two seconds later, he re-emerged, "where are my chairs?" We laughed, returned his chairs, then stole them again and planted them around the staircase, eventually he got them back at about midnight after I made him a treasure hunt to retrieve them. At about 8pm, he knocked on my door. He'd sat down on his bed. Little did he know we'd already surfed his mattress down some stairs and hidden it away.

I am a very bad housemate.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 12:56, Reply)

OMG ROFL, my uni flatmate
Was such a messy cunt, not only that, he told me that the ice cream van only played its music when it had run out of ice cream.
*yawns*
(m1lf never says no to another glass of wine, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 12:56, Reply)

I'm a programmer
and just for fun I coded up an autobot which would spam QOTW with...

I'll get my coat
(><(((">, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 12:05, Reply)

lest i forget:
crystaltips: who took me back to her flat share and shagged me senseless whilst howling like howler was her first middle & last name.
i discovered the next day that it was her ex fiancees flat too. connected?
funnily any time after that i shagged her at my place she never vouchsafed a murmur......
social workers-i believe they're all mad.
the one who invited me to a party then made me kip in her kids bunk bed (away with daddy) to turn up at 6.30 in bra & knickers 'did i want anything?' yep: more kip please, did not go down well, but then neither did she.
the one who did porn modelling to help her pay for her living costs whilst being a student, but would then lecture me on feminism and not seeing wimmin as sexual 'objects'
ps. i'm not a social wanker, er, worker, I once came close but couldn't face losing my objectivity.
as Bill H.sed 'i'm sorry if this sounds bitter and twisted-but thats how I am-so thats how it comes out'
(mickturate if i could be arsed i'd be bored, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 11:43, Reply)

Naked Monday.
My housemates at university have a terrible habit of getting drunk and taking their clothes off, male and female. However, I admit this was my idea and I partake in it every time. On the second Monday on every month, it is tradition that we start the evening with a game of reverse-strip poker (you start naked) and finish the evening with a few rounds of hide and seek. One evening I pimp-slapped my mate's penis and made him scream like a little girl. In response, he took a swing at mine, but I went into bullet-time, dodged and ran away cackling like a gremlin. Later on, we played hide and seek, and I decided to safely hide on top of the freezer. My mate, his little todger still sore, thought it would be a fine idea to hide in the top shelf of the boiler cupboard. He got in and...

*Kerrrunnch!*

... the shelf had completely given away, leaving him stranded atop the rounded menhir of the boiler, legs akimbo, flailing out of the cupboard door, whilst his arms were hidden and pinned on the other side, with his head. So we were all having a wonderful lolocaust trying to extract him from the said position, all stark bollock naked, boobies and willies wobbling delightfully.
(The Sheisse Kaiser, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 11:30, Reply)

effffin soshul wurkers in flat share hell:
Lisa, a nice devonian gal who couldn't/wouldn't get out of my bed til she'd spliffed herself conscious, gill who took over bill payment scheme and deducted days she wasn't there, deducted days for the bog roll she bought (even tho' I'd bought it-the tight fisted bitch) added days in for those of us who'd had partners staying over night & she didn't wash either...sally anne who left her rusty knickers by the bog and thought that leaving the iron on and face down on the ironing board all day (think china syndrome) was funny, the knickers she left under my pillow for me thinking i'd bought them, she'd forgotten it was her ex who she'd knee trembled on the way home from teh pub one night and he'd bought the luminescent nylon things as a thank you (think CUNT)
Bones (who thought that was a cool name for a 30yr old 'dude')(another cunt) who knew every fucking thing about every fucking thing, and you wonder why I hate social workers???
(mickturate if i could be arsed i'd be bored, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 11:24, Reply)

'Where are the duvets?'...
...were the first words of our new housemate. Coming from Potter's Bar to live in Leeds he had brought one pair of trousers, two football shirts. And a football. Nothing else.

He moved into our 2nd year student house a week later than the rest of us and was shocked and appalled that 'the maid' hadn't already furnished his room and left his slippers out. At this point although guffawing inside we took pity on his naivety and I lent him a bed sheet to sleep with until he got himself sorted. He slept with that sheet the whole year, not adding to the linen collection or washing it the whole time.

He used to drive down South every Thursday to collect his weekly meals, 7 times chicken curry made by his aunt, with microwave instructions Post-ited on the top. 'Put in microwave - press High - press 1 minute TWICE - take out, WATCH OUT IT'LL BE HOT!' It was the same fucking dish every meal why did he need the instructions every single time?

No washing up, no tidying up, complete and utter rovination of the bathroom. Halfway through the year, he set up camp on the sofa because he thought there was a squirrel in his roof. He would sit with the house phone in his hand all day, never going out, and not answering it or letting us answer it unless he knew specifically it was for him.

He only ate pumpkin seeds and strew them around the house. He seldom washed and would spend hours in the only toilet. Shitting forever. One delightful weekend he moved some of his equally scummy pals from home into the flat who decided to commandeer the whole operation, and smashed up a few of our kitchen items in the confusion of preparing the chicken curry composition. When asked about who had snapped a plate, he answered 'Which one is a plate?'

It gets worse, my brain is sulking writing about him so I'll stop.
(Waspard has your wank bank account details, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 11:12, Reply)

defrauded
well I was 19, and after being married (actually married folks) for about 3 years and having my own house and everything, I went to live in a Welsh town a couple of hundred miles away from where I was from, to get space from my ex.

I was supposed to move in with a friend, who backed out the day before I was meant to move in, and actually turned off his phone and wouldn't leave the house. Turns out he has a mental illness, and actually pervs on kids. I suppose it was a blessing, but then i moved in with this lot.

Went to see the place. Really nice. Sharing it sometimes, but mostly will be alone apparently. Furnished, etc. I did it through a friend, so I gave my deposit and first month cash in hand.

went to move in.

Landlord had moved two Drag Queens into my bedroom (it was the larger one) and put me in a box room for 350.00 a month. Every single night there was a bunch of people in and out the house, and turns out they were dealing and also stealing from me. My passport went missing along with clothes, money, etc.

Within a week, it turned out he was a major drug addict and thief, and it turned out that he wasn't even the owner of the flat.

I came home on the Friday after work (after moving in on the monday) and the real landlord had turned up - changed the locks, and put everything I owned into the back of a van. I was hundreds of miles away from my 'home' I'd left a few weeks earlier.

And my phone battery was dead.

I never got a penny back, and ended up so much in debt with having to fall back on Mr Credit card, that it took nearly 2 years to get back into the black.

I got money back from the Overdraft charges that HSBC gave me when I was having all this crap going on.

To be honest, I'll never live with anyone ever again unless I know them beforehand properly, and even then, I'll be cautious. Landlords aren't out for your best interests.

The next place i moved into cost about the same, but was closer to work. I put my clothes in the washing machine - it ate them. All of my clothes.

The housemates were nicer in the new place, but with lack of money, I didn't have enough money for proper clothes, and was working in a very important business. I am 10 stone now, but I went down to about 7 stone because I couldn't afford to eat.

Bloody hard days.
(livinonaprayer1985, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 11:09, Reply)

once in a hotel

the maid forgot to put a mint on my pillow.

After I'd yelled at her for half an hour I saw the funny side, and agreed not to demand that she be fired.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 10:13, Reply)

Jabba et al
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I shared a flat with Jabbe the Hutt. You may have seen him portrayed in a film, and that was pretty realistic, I can tell you. If you haven't seen the film, he was was a 200kg invertebrate blob of mucus with goggling eyes and a fetish for carbonised smugglers.

The language barrier was the first problem. I couldn't understand a word he said, though I kind of knew when he was laughing. It was usually when he was eating my pets. Christ, he was a fat bastard. Every night he was on the lager, stuffing pork scratchings down his neck and watching X-Files or ER while dribbling all over himself.

Naturally, it was a waste of time bringing girls home. They'd take one look at the drooling phlegm-heap in the corner and leave. And if he had a girl delivered, I had to sit there watching ER while some girls slipped and slid all over his jiggling folds as he laughed away to himself. The fat cnut.

Anyway, one day the landlord came round and said the council had been asking questions about extra-terrestrial immigrant workers. It turned out Jabba had been claiming disability benefit under the name Brian Cockcheese and he'd been found out. A team came round from the Organic Hygiene Squad and they poured a big bucket of salt on him.

You should have seen him melt away. In no time, he was just a liqueous green stain on my sofa. I had it industrially cleaned and eveything was back to normal within a few weeks.

Until one of his old friends turned up claiming that Jabba had invited him over. Short-arsed little bastard with patchy facial hair, he was. He spoke English, but his grammar left a lot to be desired: "Not good is this ER," he'd say. And then he'd make the remote just levitate towards him and change the channel to Gardener's World or something. I've written a letter to the Immigration Service about him.
(frankspencer, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 10:12, Reply)

not so much a housemate from hell as an oportunity to mock the differently abled
four friends in a five-bed house: the only option is to advertise. we duly do so, and receive a total of one applicant (perhaps we didn't market as well as we might have done...).

interview arranged, he arrives at the door, right hand stuffed in his pocket. trying to be the friendly host, i answer the door and offer my own right for shaking in full "hail fellow, well met" fashion, to be greeted by a crooked claw of beadle-esque proportions. not a problem in itself, but having introduced the newbie to my remaining housemates, one of the first questions was, "so, do you play any instruments...?"

as the only applicant he had to move in, but this was not the best of starts to a relationship that went steadily downhill from this point...
( hubris, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 2:06, Reply)

Migraines...
... are not fun, for those of you who have never had one. A common symptom is massively increased sensitivity to light and sound, with the presence of either of these causing head-splitting pain and waves of nausea.

The fuckwit in the room above me had not ever had a migraine, but he knew about the symptoms because I explained them to him. So when I had migraines, he thought it was funny to put on thumping rock music, which because of then sound/nausea thing, quite literally, made me puke.

Another housemate told me that he used to actually time it, and see how many minutes of different heavy metal bands it would take, before I was crawling to the bathroom to puke my guts up.
(Turangalila, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 1:34, Reply)

I'd put it down to
karma if I was spiritually inclined, but I'm not so I don't.

At my first uni I'd houseshared with friends. Two of the guys I lived with, one of whom had got my name on the bills, where filthy monkeys with a nasty habit of spending all their cash on having fun. I, having dropped out and got a job, kept having to bail them out on the bills, often under threat of disconnection, and thus was always broke myself. Not really nightmare, I know, but I moved away at the end of the year, and one of the guys, The Don, got a new house with others.

Shortly after he moved in, there was a knock on the door. It was Smiler. Smiler had been a regular at our place the previous year, had a penchant for cheap, white cider, and an aversion to washing. He'd failed the previous year and left town. Until now.

"Don't mind if I stay for a couple of days?" chirped Smiler "Thought I'd visit."

Smiler was the kind of guy who could get away with anything, and I mean anything.

"Ok" shrugged The Don, but he would rather have had notice. The Don was a very mild mannered guy, never lost his rag. And anyway, guests were good.

A week passed, and The Don's housemates were beginning to mumble about the man who slept on the couch each night, and the loss of the living room. The Don figured he'd speak to him the next day.

The next day Smiler went out. He returned a couple of hours later with good news. He'd signed on.

Bought off with a couple of cans of white cider, The Don put off asking Smiler to go. He was a mate after all.

The next day there was a knock on the door. When he opened it, The Don believed some children had placed a ragged pile of shit-stained tranp's clothes on his doorstep. Then he realized it was a special brew crusty.

"Is Smiler in?" The Spesh enquired.
"Er hang on. Who are you?"
"HELLO? SMILER? GET HIM!"

Taken aback by the abruptness of the vagrant on his threshold, The Don went to get Smiler. The Spesh followed him in.

Smiler greeted The Spesh and told him he was cool to stay. He grinned at The Don, and got away with it.

The Spesh took up residence on the deckchair in the living room, existing only to get trashed and insult, threaten and rob the people who's hospitality he stole and abused. After a few days the rest of the house came to The Don to complain about the guests. The Don had to act.

The following day he went up to Smiler. Smiler smiled. The Spesh dozed, drunk in the deckchair.

"Smiler, er, we have to talk."
"Have a can of white cider and a grin, The Don. Aren't we great mates?"
"Well, yeah."
"We're cool here, aren't we?"
"Er, spose"

He couldn't do it Smiler was just too charming. This was his mate, his good mate, and his, er, chum paying a visit. He couldn't chuck him out! The others would have to go hang. In fact, he would tell them now: His friends stayed.

He got up. Then a noise distracted him. A tinkling noise, running water.

It came from the deckchair, where a flow of golden urine tricked onto the floor from under the Spesh's arse.

The imposition. The poncing. The boorishness. Pissing the floor. The Don, for the first time in his life, exploded.

From across the street, the noise was terrific. Then Smiler ran from the house as though his life depended on it, embracing his white cider. Shortly afterwards a comatose Spesh was hurled through the door, bounced off the path and slithered to a halt against the gate. He awoke, and on beholding the rage upon The Don's face fled, never to be seen again.

And the moral of this story? Never owe me money.
(cs1ca, Sun 8 Apr 2007, 0:18, Reply)

Filthiest roommate ever.
It's Pat, hands-down.

Pat was the bass player in a friend of mine's reggae band. Pat moved into my house.

Pat was a filthy bastard.

His bedroom was just off the front room, and the front room soon became a no-go area for me and anyone I cared to bring by, due to the fetid odour emanating from Pat's room. No worries, there, lots of room in the rest of the house.

I know it's prosaic, but Pat did not do dishes. Ever. I tried everything to change this -- from the passive-aggressive approach of immediately cleaning up after him in the hope that he would come to appreciate the kitchen always being clean and feel vaguely shitty about having someone else clean up his mess. (This is the approach that reformed me from my formerly slovenly ways.) It didn't work for him, so I switched gears, and stopped doing any of his dishes, which effectively meant abandoning the kitchen altogether.

The most he would ever do was rinse off dishes and utensils as needed -- it didn't bother him that every surface was covered in filthy clutter, or that he was eating off dishes that were usually kept under a layer of composting organic material. When every dish in the house was soiled, he hit upon a solution -- he went to his storage unit and brought home two more boxes of dishes.

But still, this is really not remarkable stuff, is it? We've all seen these.

No, what sets Pat apart is this:

One day I returned from a weekend at my girlfriend's, and Pat informed me that the toilet wasn't working. The unspoken assertion was that it was my toilet, and therefore my responsibility to set it right, even though in spite of its unflushable state he had continued to fill it up as dictated by the ineluctable demands of peristalsis. Let's leave aside the cheek of his refusal to stoop to having a go with the plumber's helper himself, and instead expecting me to look after things after he'd contributed two days' more worth of poop to the problem.

Why was the toilet not working?

The toilet was not working because I had been away at my girlfriend's for a few days, and so had not been there to buy new bog-rolls when the supply had been exhausted. (Pat, of course, would never walk the block-and-a-half to the store and make the two-dollar expenditure required to maintain usual anal hygeine. This is a completely alien thought; banish it utterly from your mind.)

What is such a creature to do in such a situation?

It's obvious: Use coffee filters. (My coffee filters, of course -- this was another consumable item that Pat considered only right and proper that I should supply him with.) He just brought the whole box of 200 right into the bathroom for convenient use, and left them on top of the cistern.

To be fair, I must concede that they were #2 filters.

Pat was looking for a new address after that weekend, I'm afraid. I'm pretty tolerant, but...
(Larry_Mudd, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 23:41, Reply)

I lasted six days...
but I should have realised something wasn't right much sooner.

Huge house in Darlington, elderly couple lived there and rented out rooms to mugs. I was one of them. Went round for visit before renting... house nice and clean, no pets, landlords sweet as pie.

Moved in - house full of dogs, cats and parrots (where the hell did they hide them?), stinking of animals, landlords drunk as skunks.

I came home to find that my landlady had been through all my boxes of possessions and unpacked everything for me - from CDs to pants - "to make me feel like home". actually, it made me feel invaded and cross.

anyway, general weirdness continues until day five. should mention that landlady sleeps on ground floor, her husband in separate bedroom on first floor (separate bedrooms are one thing but separate floors? that's a bit excessive), and I have the bedroom next to his.

come midnight and I'm awoken by demonic shrieking "MARY! MARY! MARY!" (for that was not my landlady's name, but it'll do for now) coming from the bedroom next door. I bang on the door "Are you alright Mr. X?" No answer, just more screaming "MARY! MARY! MARY!". I run downstairs, bang on my landlady's door. She comes upstairs, goes into her husband's room (he's still yelling) and starts yelling herself.

10 minutes later the ambulance arrive. apparently my landlord is utterly sozzled, pissed himself, fell out of bed, can't get up... yet when the ambulance men try to help him he starts swearing, lashing out, refuses to let them help him, so they have to leave.

he keeps screaming for his wife "MARY! MARY! MARY!" who has got cheesed off with him and gone downstairs again. I bang on her door again and she shouts back to just ignore him. She tells me: "I'm sick of the crazy bastard. He did this last week too. And the week before he chased me around the garden with a knife. I'm going to leave him"

at 4am he finally stops screaming. not that I slept a wink.

next morning at breakfast, Mrs Landlady hands round polaroids she took of her husband the previous night. pissed out his mind, in a pool of his own piss and poop even, stark-bollock naked. she says she's handing round the polaroids "to teach him a lesson".

I moved out later that day.
Minus any rent, because her husband suddenly became a "dear elderly man who was taken a little poorly" and apparently I was trying to take advantage of them. The bastarding bastardy bastards.

ho hum
( biscuitbiscuit is in ur garden, watering ur plantz, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 23:36, Reply)

i guess you had to be there
my girlfriend's ex-housemates were a different class of human being. besides having shared baths and done a burnout with a motorcross bike in the hallway, they cut down a resonably sized tree from the garden to use as a christmas tree and set light to each others' hair (head and pubic) on many occasions.

the one incident that stands out above all though, is when i walked into the bathroom to witness one such housemate eating a can of cold beans, downing a can of 'K' cider (8.4% ?) then proceeding to puke beans+cider over his naked mate who was in the bath.

a week later the same kid was seen downstairs in the kitchen pissing into a bin then tipping the bin upside down on his head. needless to say he's now a heroin addict crawling around croydon somewhere.
(falic, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 23:15, Reply)

Hell sweet home...
Let's see... there was the halls of residence in the first year that I had to move out of, especially as it seemed they'd been trying to get into my room every day. And it took a self-professed "knows how they think" new housemate to help me find all my belongings.

Or there was returning after the summer to the house I'd rented in the second year to try to get some mail including my missing bank card only to find out that the new tenants had thrown it all away. They also seemed averse to light and there was a strong sweet musty smell coming from the hall when I went round. Oh yeah, and the noise pollution complaint against them that came in our names as that was what the council still had on record. They'd been there about four months by that time.

Then there was reclaiming my furniture in the third year from around the flat as my housemate had moved her boyfriend in over the summer and had spent it lying to the landlord about his living there.

But the best one was moving back out of home after deciding that there'd be blood spilled if I stayed living there. I bought a house with my sister, let a room to a lovely lodger and then a year later my sister decided she wanted to move in her git of a boyfriend as well over the summer. This is the sort of guy who liked to tell me to go away in my own house. I told her that I wasn't happy but I'd put up with it. A month later she moved out to live with him and she hasn't really spoken to me since - except for screaming matches on the phone while selling the house. It's now been three years. I'm qute impressed.
( Bozo the Clone will work for chocolate., Sat 7 Apr 2007, 22:34, Reply)

Wonder how much mileage I can get out of her...
In the God-forsaken hellhole that is St Louis, I shared a flat with a fellow female student who seemed to have taken the view that as she moved in a week before I did and cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, she should be absolved of all cleaning duties for the duration of the lease. She didn't even use the toilet brush after she successfully basted the entire bowl with her excrement.

The defining moment was just after Christmas. I went home, and flew out a couple of days before she did, but returned a week before she came back to town. When I opened the door to the flat, I was hit by a wall of stench. She'd had a party the night before she went home for Christmas. But she neglected to clear anything up before she left. Three weeks earlier. Beer bottles were now welded to the coffee table (I lost absolutely no sleep over the sheer amount of varnish that I ripped off in the course of separating the two). There were dubious stains in the bathroom (and of course, shit smeared all over the toilet). The worst of it was of course the kitchen. She'd obviously cooked earlier before the beer started getting chucked around, and that was where the plates had remained.

For three weeks.

The friends who had picked me up from the airport were so horrified they took me back to theirs and cooked me dinner so I wouldn't have to eat in the cesspool that was our flat. To add insult to injury, she'd left a very giggly message on our answerphone saying she hadn't had time to do the dishes (not apologising or anything, just explaining why I came back to rotting cabbage). There were no flies, but she had switched off the gas in sub-zero temperatures, so I'm amazed they didn't all hatch the moment I stuck the heating back on.

Think it was at that point that my friends started calling her "skank ho" behind her back. I got my own back eventually though.
(Mrs Lawofnations, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 21:38, Reply)

Got one this week
When I started teaching I shared a council-provided house with a peripatetic music teacher. Basically he was a nice guy but he had a serious booze problem that had lost him his previous job. This made him into the idlest slob imaginable. He would leave piles of washing up in the sink for a week. One time I came back after a few days away and noticed a rancid smell in the kitchen, which he nonchalantly informed me was rotting vegetables he'd left in the sink bowl. Frequently he'd cook himself a meal when he got back pissed at 1 am and fall asleep while doing so - it's a wonder we weren't burned alive. And when he had a cold he'd leave scrumpled-up snotty tissues all over the place. I couldn't wait to move out.

Booze cost him his driving licence and this job too. I hope he went to AA - he was a nightmare to live with but at heart a decent person.
(eesnahk, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 19:25, Reply)

Landlords, actually
1) The one who refused to speak to women, even down the phone. Whenever anything needed fixing in the house (which was quite often, as it was a bit of a dump), one of the boys had to call him as he would put the phone down on us females.
Why, you ask, did he rent rooms to women, when he allegedly thought we were disgusting sluts? Because someone had to clean the house for the male lodgers, of course.

2) The one who let himself in quietly, early in the morning and creep up to peer through our keyholes to try and catch us in states of undress.

3) The one who got drunk one night, and stood in the hall outside my (locked) door, shouting obscenities at each of the lodgers in turn. He then started shouting that he had a knife and was going to stab the first of us to come out of our room. Especially "that bitch who's on the phone all the time", meaning me. Talking of phones, this was some time ago, when mobile phones were only for yuppie businessmen. I certainly didn't have one, and the only phone in the house was out in the hall with the psychotic landlord. I wedged my door with a chair, and sat by the window all night, ready to jump out of it if he managed to break my door down (only on 1st floor). When it had been quiet for some time, i.e. at about 6am, I peeked out, saw him lying in a small pool of blood outside my door, with cinematic bloody hand prints on the wall. Stepped over him, called the police, and called a friend with a big car to come over and help me move out ASAP. Then he suddenly sat up, like something from a zombie film, and started cursing and threatening again. Turns out he had just cut his hand slightly on his own knife, and passed out from the alcohol, not the loss of blood.
The interesting thing is that all this should have been quite scary, but at the time I was suffering from a hormonal imbalance with a significant adrenalin deficiency, so while I was aware, logically, that this was not a good situation to be in, I didn't actually feel the slightest twinge of fear.
(Turangalila, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 18:50, Reply)

Never share with teachers...
...found myself in a position after splitting up with the ex, where I had to move into a skanky old house which was being let by one of the schools in the town. And my god was it skanky! Would love to know how they called it subsidised rent... 5 people each paying £400 a month and a downstairs box room converted into bedroom #5. Go figure the profit!
Anyway. One housemate is a 23 year old guy who likes to slam his door so my whole room rattles, and takes the bathroom during my slot so I have to go to work without a wash. He then moves his bummer girlfriend into the house so there are now 6 people wanting to use the bathroom in the morning...I end up having to carry my toothbrush in my handbag and wash in the sink in the staff loos. Nice!

Mary Poppins as I like to call her, was the worst though. We are all between 23 and 35 years old, she is in her fifties, wears WHITE wrinkly tights and rouched high neck blouses, big old lady skirts and glasses thicker than milk bottles... and constantly harps on about her ballerina daughter and how her husband left her (I dont wonder why, the poor man). Every day I would get in from work to find her sat piously on the sofa with a TV dinner perched on a tray and a look like there was a bad smell under her nose, gingerly picking her food with her fork and chewing each mouthful 30 times before swallowing.
Then she started on about my TV. I am in the room above her. I have no stereo, a laptop,and a little 14" portable telly, and apparently the noise from the laptop and/or the telly was bothering her. So was me typing my work... at 8pm! She would frequently bash on my door to ask me to turn my TV down or stop typing because it was disturbing her. When my TV was on so quietly I couldnt hear it myself. Ended up living in headphones and putting my laptop on a towel to try and stop the 'constant thumping' going through the floorboards. Still I was too noisy. It was like living with Hitler on acid. She became such an intimidating old witch thet I took to never leaving my room and moved my microwave in. The plate turning in it and the ping seemed to get on her tits too. Bullying old witch.

I ended up leaving the place after three months and sneaked all my stuff out whilst they were all at work. I forgot what it was like to live normally, with a TV at normal volume, a laptop I could actually type on after 8pm, and being able to cook food and not smother the microwave with towels to stop the 'ping' noise being heard. And to be able to use the bathroom in the morning again... bliss!

I am only glad that the kids at school hate her just as much as I do, but then she does her Hitler impression there too.

She's on ratemyschoolteacher if anyone is feeling wicked...!
(wodalling_spirie, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 18:11, Reply)

The Canadian
Never did any housework, had dinner parties without giving us any warning so that we could have dinner before he took over the entire kitchen, at one point had about four people staying for two weeks, over the course of the year had an average of two people staying at any one time, never cleaned up after them either, never contributed towards toilet roll etc so the rest of us were paying for not just him but his multitude of guests. Had friends over all of the time and their idea of fun was sporadically shouting really loudly - not good for the nerves at all! On top of this they used to drink my beer - when I confronted them about this their defence was "but that's what we always do" - like because they constantly steal my beer it is ok!?!
We also had a weird Dutch guy, but we never saw him so that was ok.
At least the other three were ok - unlike the current flatmates.

If there is a QOTW on landlords I'll tell you about the landlord - he was the stupidest dodgiest landlord in the world!
(mmm....beer, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 17:31, Reply)

I can't be arsed to read these stories
They're too bloody long.

Short one - I was blamed for being a skank, but I knew it was someone else in the house. They all moved out together, then realised, it wasn't me and had a dreadful time together.

I was happy, bunch of twats!
(Jugular, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 15:49, Reply)

Cthonic underwater horror
I shared a house when I was a student with two guys and a girl who had an original approach to washing up- i.e. wait until the sink is completly obscured and then switch to takeaways. Anyway one saturday I'd had enough and so set to for an hour to do the dishes. Flash back 3 weeks to one of my housemates having delusions of culinary ability and attempting to cook a whole chicken. After the carcass had sat on the side for over a week being picked at I insisted that, while it had been fun, it's time was now over. The chicken and plate duly dissapeared, the plate joining the mountain over the sink. Flash forward. Washing up almost done I swished sbout in the brown and greasy water for any last cutlery, when there was a bloop! of gas and shreds of rotting, stinking chicken flesh and bones upwelled to the surface. Nice! Much Vomit.
(lichnis chalcedonica, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 15:11, Reply)

The Case of the Ever Present Pants
Another one that occurs to me was a friend of mine at uni. We shared a house and he had the downstairs front bedroom - I'm guessing it was where the lounge used to be when it was a proper house instead of a student let. Anyway, for the entire year a pair of red y-fronts could be seen on his window ledge by anyone walking past outside. To this day he swears that he wore and washed them regularly and he was just putting them there to dry every week - but I maintain they did not move.

I digress though. The real story about that house is the female housemate who moved her boyfriend in and then got herself pregnant. He was an arrogant cnut - technically had a job but never seemed to go in to work - got the sack for stealing eventually - instead of buying stuff for his impending child, he spent all his money on PS2 games.

To top it all off, they couldn't afford much food, so were limited in the amount of meat and fresh veg he could buy - fair enough, there's no shame in being poor. However, when you have limited amounts of fresh food and a pregnant girlfriend, I'd say it just wasn't cricket to keep all the best food for yourself and leave said pregnant girlfriend to eat just dry pasta. As luck would have it, the baby was not born deformed thank God - but was very small.

Anyway, most of the other male housemates were intimidated by him. Odd, as the guy with the pants in his window is 6'7 and about 20 stone, but was still intimidated by him.

I'm not small either, being about 6'1" and fairly stocky. One time, the arrogant boyfriend was shouting his mouth off at the pregnant g/f and my g/f (a wee lass of 5') stepped in and gave him a piece of her mind. I swear he looked like he'd hit my g/f, so I was about to grab him by the neck and pound him to a pulp.

There was no need for me to worry though - my g/f shouted him down to the extent that we all ended up a bit scared of her (I still am, after 5 years together!) - seriously, you have never heard anyone bellow and yell as loudly as she did, and there was never more gratifying sight than a 6' bully-boy being brow-beaten and shouted down by a wee slip of a girl.

He fled the scene in ignomy shortly after.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 14:57, Reply)

Not mine but...
A mate of mines got a housemate/fridgefreezer/shit story, complete with pic, which is piss funny, and can be found here in his blog:

blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=67640811&blogID=121651205&MyToken=14eb6929-a2d4-492e-87a7-a7854bbad333
(strangeone456789, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 14:30, Reply)

My fiance's house mate again
I forgot to mention the grossest thing about my fiance's bullying house mate. If you ever find yourself in Cheshire/Flintshire, avoid sharing with a lanky haired goth girl with the initials T.B., at all costs.

Because it was not a student house but a proper grown up rental, a certain standard of maintenance was needed.

I didn't technically live there, but I stayed over 3 nights a week. As a rule, we tended to stay in my fiance's bedroom while TB was in the house - it was just easier that way.

Now, TB refused to do any cleaning - as I mentionned. Aswell as that, she brought her loser mates round and hogged the front room, to the extant that my fiance felt like she couldn't even leave her bedroom (TB had a housewarming party to which only her friends were invited and yet we were expected to contribute half the money for booze etc).

One day, after she had gone to work, I was cleaning up the collection of chinese takeaway containers that routinely appeared in the lounge. I noticed a number of what looked like large seeds on the floor. I thought they must be some sort of health-food nutty-type thing. Anyway, I vacuumed them up. A few days later I came back from work to find dozens of the biggest blue bottle flies you have ever seen flying around.

Yes, you got it, the "seeds" were infact maggot chrysalis' and they had hatched inside the vacuum clean.

I said I stayed 3 nights a week - the lease they had stipulated that was the maximum length of time a guest could stay before they began being classed as sub letting. So as a rule, I stayed at weekends and one day mid-week.

Her boyfriend however lived there constantly. To move a third tennant in required the permission of both existing tennants too. For some reason however, the landlord let TB officially move her boyfriend in while my fiance was still there, despite her having objected to it. Oh, and instead of splitting the rent three ways as a reasonable person would, he only paid half of TB's share, still leaving my fiance (and by that I mean ME!) paying her half.

Utter cnut she was.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 14:15, Reply)

My mate Dave
..was bullied mercilessly by his housemates in his second year of university. They would often be verbally abusive and would often go into his room when he was out and take things. They would also take all the clothes out of his cupboard and throw them in the garden or in a bath. The worse thing is the used to mess about with his food which was dangerous as he had alergies....they really were a bunch of c***s!! On his final day in that house, they all went to the last day of lectures early. I had stayed over the night before so when they went out I went to the bathroom and did the biggest shit known to man (pretty easy after the amount I had the night before). I then cleaned around the toilet with their toothbrushes and flushed. I then took the kettle from the kitchen and pissed in it. By the time me and Dave had finished loading the car said housemates had come back from their early lecture....Just before we left we got a shout from the kitchen "Just put the kettle on, do you fancy a cuppa to show there are no hard feelings?"............We declined!!

Length? They probably gagged!
(jidler changed his name on, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 13:57, Reply)

Toilet paper
angry manxmans's post has just reminded me, as the household items budget in my house is routinely blown on mind altering subsatnces. the toilet has been blocked twice.



With yellow pages pages.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 13:32, Reply)

pdizz
Re the flatmates who stopped wiping....maybe they rinsed their fetid rear-ends in the shower.

I once lived with someone who did that rather than buy their own toilet roll.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Sat 7 Apr 2007, 13:29, Reply)