when I was in Africa, I lived in a conex box called a CLU (contained living unit);
well, it was like this ^^^^, except broken into 2 halves, and you had 4 people living in it. I had a roommate, and then there were two others on the other side. But you can see how small of a space it was. My fucking roommate, almost never showered because we had common showers that were too far to walk (literally 10 ft from our box). We both worked as military policemen (MPs) who would do 12 hours shifts on and off; and always came home drenched in sweat, it was Africa. Well, I would always tell him to shower and wash his and wash his damn uniform because it smelled so bad. I even took it up with the housing control and filed a complaint after he didn't wash for like 1 month.
One day, after I was working for well over 24 hours due to bomb threats, I slump into my room and just pass out in my rack (bed). Next thing I know, I wake up with a bottle of febreeze being sprayed all over me. I snatched it and threw it at the wall. His reasoning, "you smelled really bad, bro".
Fucking drove me nuts. I had to go through so much paperwork to get a new roommate, but it was worth it. Dude was so fucking disgusting.
You were lucky. We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at six o'clock in the morning, clean the bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down mill for fourteen hours a day week in-week out. When we got home, out Dad would thrash us to sleep with his belt!
Location: A ditch in Scotland hugging a bottle of rum.
Posts: 3,216
Re: Bad flatmates
Oh christ, bad flatmate stories?
So 1st year uni I'm in halls, 250 folk, of those about 25 ish are from the UK, we all band together apart from the cunt in the room next to me, a bastard from Edinburgh named Euan. Now Euan, Euan was a special fucking guy, the sort of guy whos mum would phone him twice a day to make sure he'd brushed his teeth, the kind of guy who, every and I mean every morning at half past 7 would decide to play God Save The Queen on the trumpet, the complete fucking bastard who would talk to foreigners in their own accent because supposedly they understood it better.
Guy was a cunt is what I'm saying, a boring, dull, offensive cunt who thought lolcats were the greatest thing ever and plastered our living room in them... but then about December people retaliated to the boring cunt, his posters all dissapeared the same night a bonfire was started, how very odd huh? And then there was that time his fucking trumpet was drowned out by the DJ of the student union (He lived in halls, he was a dick too but he was a good dick to me) setting up his speakers outside the guy's window and blasting The Venga Boys at him, and then our French flatmate took a shit on his bed.
No-one really liked the guy, complete cunt that he was.
Now 2nd year? Oh lordy, moved into a flat with one of my best friends from halls, he was a massive stoner, got chucked out of uni within 2 months, didn't understand how electricity worked because he'd lived in Moscow where his dad runs some UN school for 10 years so he was completely lost on... everything in UK culture or anything like that and he was so ignorant he didn't care to learn, all whilst tricking his parents into thinking he was still going to uni.
Of course that one doesn't have a happy yay retalliation ending, guy kicked me out to move his dealer in, although I have managed to turn every single one of his friends against him and the dealer has supposedly already slapped the shit out of him one night.
You were lucky. We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at six o'clock in the morning, clean the bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down mill for fourteen hours a day week in-week out. When we got home, out Dad would thrash us to sleep with his belt!
Luxury. We would have to get out of the lake at three o'clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of hot gravel, work 20 hours a day at mill for two pounds a month, come home and dad would beat us around the head and neck with a broken bottle if we were lucky!
You were lucky. We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at six o'clock in the morning, clean the bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down mill for fourteen hours a day week in-week out. When we got home, out Dad would thrash us to sleep with his belt!
Quote:
Originally Posted by Arm-Bar1004
Luxury. We would have to get out of the lake at three o'clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of hot gravel, work 20 hours a day at mill for two pounds a month, come home and dad would beat us around the head and neck with a broken bottle if we were lucky!
Bad flatmates
Re: Bad flatmates
