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  1.  (9685.1)
    • CommentAuthorPow
    • CommentTimeMar 25th 2011
     (9685.2)
    haha, sweet noodle-lady lovin'
  2.  (9685.3)
    Oh god, Meat Lover is never going to be just a pizza to me anymore, it's going to be so much worse...
    •  
      CommentAuthorbjacques
    • CommentTimeMar 25th 2011
     (9685.4)
    Holy crap! But I'd still have taken the room and, um, dined out on that story for months.
    •  
      CommentAuthorEd Jackson
    • CommentTimeMar 25th 2011
     (9685.5)
    I've heard worse. It involved a bath full to the brim with piss, turds and toilet paper.
  3.  (9685.6)
    I could argue against worst roommates and a worst landlord story. Involving a witch cursing me and threatening to stick a switchblade up my ass while I slept, and a landlord who almost killed me with Chlorine gas while I was on the shitter.
  4.  (9685.7)
    @government spy.

    Mr bond?
  5.  (9685.8)
    When I was at university, my letting agent allowed a chronically mentally ill alcoholic to move in. It was meant to be student accommodation, but hey, fuck contracts right? He left wine bottles full of piss and cigarette butts in the back garden, claimed my friend's flower vase (as well as numerous pint glasses) and filled it with piss, had mold growing up the walls of his room due to the appalling conditions, had been sick on the carpet and neglected to clean it up...

    One day he lost his job and had a breakdown. He spent the week in his room weeping uncontrollably, drinking and smoking himself to death and pissing himself. He once went in my friend's room to borrow a lighter. My friend turned around and this guy was in piss-soaked underwear (and nothing else) with eyes red from drunkenness and crying. He threw the lighter at him and told him to get out of his room.

    That was a pretty dark two months.
  6.  (9685.9)
    @Boodoffstage I always thought I was more of a Felix Lighter, without the shark-bitten amputations...

    I feel compelled to add my tale now, sorry if this is too much, I didn't intend for it to be so long...

    So I helped a friend move into this dilapidated old flat in Pilsen (aka Little Mexico) in Chicago. During the move-in, the landlord also offered me a room. It was a three bedroom, one bath with no closets. The other tenant was a 50-something old woman, and when I met her, I introduced myself as a new roommate. She immediately started screaming and throwing things at me. The landlord calmed her down and apologized to me, and told me she just wasn't expecting another roommate so soon, since the guy I was replacing had just been evicted for passing out drunk with a lit cigarette, and setting his room on fire.

    Later, after several months of incidents with this roommate, my friend and I complained to the landlord about her. They were old friends, and it was apparent that nothing would change. The old woman and I then got into an argument where she cursed me "that all that I love would turn to shit" and to watch my back when I slept because she would shove a switchblade up my ass. That's when I told the landlord it was us or her, and he moved her out of our apartment, and downstairs into his apartment. We still ran into her occasionally, and she still threatened me. Shortly after the initial "curse" I got hired on in my first federal job, so I actually thanked her and asked her to curse me more often.

    Shortly before I moved out, the landlord informed me that there was a water leak in his downstairs apartment, and he would have to shut the water off for "a while." When asked how long a while was, he responded "at least a week." Reluctantly, my roommate and I stayed with friends, and on alternating days stopped by the apartment to feed & water pets. On one of my days, I stopped at a burrito place for lunch while checking on the pets. The inevitable happened, and I ended up in the bathroom regretting my choice of lunch. The landlord had left a bucket of water next to the toilet for emergencies, to pour down the bowl to use as a flush.

    As I sat there, an odd smell hit me, and as it grew, my eyes teared up and it became hard to see. I looked down, and coming from between my legs was a thick smoke emanating from the toilet. I started coughing and gagging, and tried (to no avail) to flush the toilet, but there was no water. I started screaming, and kicked open the bathroom door, to help air out the room, causing my cat to start running around the apartment, apparently also blind, and running into things. Blindly, I flailed and threw the lid off the back of the toilet; it landed in the bathtub. Hands shaking, I poured the emergency bucket of water into the bowl, and forced what horrible things were in the toilet to be flushed.

    Eventually, I cleaned myself, the bathroom and the cat (who was fine) and I confronted my landlord. He had filled my toilet with chlorine bleach, and hadn't told me. When I used the restroom, I added a lot of ammonia from my urine, and together they became poisonous gas. I grabbed him by the collar, and informed him quite clearly that he was not to put anything in my toilet without my express permission.

    That's my worst roommate/landlord story.
    • CommentAuthorRenThing
    • CommentTimeMar 25th 2011
     (9685.10)
    During my first year of college I started a slow and rather fucked up break-up with my then fiance who was also going to the same college. During my second year, while still in the middle of the break-up, I ran into some housing issues and my sort-of ex-fiance said a room in her place was opening up and she had someone to be a roommate with me if I wanted it. Being desperate for housing so I could continue to go to college and low on funds, I moved.

    The room was the master-bedroom on the top floor of a two-bedroom condo. There was me, the landlord/roommate J, my ex-fiance, and my roommate K. During my year and a half tenure there were so many things wrong with that place.

    -There was the salt-water fishtank, a large 100 gallon affair, that a former roommate left behind because she couldn't transport it. Problem was, it never got cleaned and developed algae that covered the insides of the entire fucking thing in a half-inch deep layer of of noxious green slime. Eventually, the tank began to smell and the landlord/roomie bribed me with food (I was really poor) if I helped her clean it. I threw up three times but we got it done.

    -Half-way through living there my ex and my roommate started dating. I got to hear them have sex for the first time which was, let me tell you, not fun. They then tried to tell me that I should move out onto the tiny loft where she was living, which had no door of its own and instead was blocked off by a folding Chinese paper screen, and they should get the master bedroom so they could have privacy. I told them to get stuffed. Yes, I know it was petty (and I later voluntarily gave them the room) but this was a rather bad time for everyone involved.

    -K fancied himself something of a chef but, unfortunately, not a dishwasher and neither did my ex. K had a habit of putting dishes in the sink and then filling the sink with water until the water covered the dishes. He always said he'd get back to them, but, days later, they'd still be there, sitting in the water. This didn't stop K from cooking and using more dishes mind you, so the stack of dishes grew and the water level in the sink rose until it would get so high that the water completely filled the sink, which was full of food-crusted dishes. This would then cause the surface of the sink to form a nasty layer of partially dissolved food, grease, and fat that, after time, solidified. When I complained to the landlord she said it wasn't that bad and, to prove my point, I set a large serving spoon down on the solid layer of nastiness; it didn't slip through, it just sat there, resting on the horrible layer of solid waste. K grumbled the entire time he had to clean it as if us asking him to stop playing video games was the greatest sin ever. This happened frequently, the sink filling with shoggoths, not K cleaning up after himself.

    -My roommates decided that they needed to add more living things to our space and got cats. Our landlord already had a cat but they decided to add three more cats to the mix. Which they didn't pick up after. Ever. The litterboxes were located in both bathrooms, the floors of which were constantly covered in kitty litter. When the cat-litter box became a literal mound of cat shit the felines started using the bathtub. One of the cats, a female, wasn't spayed and so would have cat periods all over the fucking place. At one point one of the cats pissed on the carpet and the rooommates just covered it up with a towel, soaking it in cat piss as well and doing nothing to actually clean the mess. This led to the house reeking of fermented cat piss.

    -The one time the place got fully cleaned only happened because I went through the living room with a rake and started taking out bags of trash. K and the ex asked what I was doing and, after telling them and giving them the stink eye, informed me they were going to go see a movie. I managed to guilt the landlord into helping me and twelve hours later the house was clean. The other roomies came home and celebrated by inviting a bunch of their friends over, all of which brought fast-food and left the trash all over the fucking place I just cleaned. After that I just started taking care of my stuff and futilely asking the roommates to pick up after themselves.

    -I once turned down bringing an interested woman home for sex because I didn't want her to see the place I lived and judge me for it.

    -When I finally fixed my money situation and found a place to live, I asked a friend to help me move. He made one trip worth of boxes before he had an asthma attack brought on by an allergic reaction from the air inside the house (because it was so full of dust, cat dander, and the reek of stale cat piss) that almost necessitated him going to the hospital. The landlord of my new place offered to help move my bigger furniture because he had a truck. He didn't believe me when I told him how bad the place was. He bought me a bottle of good whiskey as a "Glad you escaped and came to join us" present and left it on my desk while I was at work the next day.

    It wasn't a good time for everyone involved and I'm sure I wasn't a peach to live with either. Thankfully, everyone got better. K and my ex got married and I ended up being an usher at their wedding but that year and a half was one of the worst in my life.
  7.  (9685.11)
    Don't know if it counts but I lived with a barren shrew of a wife for years...spouse:the roommate that moves with you...
  8.  (9685.12)
    In 1991 I lived with a psychopath who burned down the house while I was away, leaving my other roomie and myself with literally nothing but the clothes we were wearing. Our church ran an appeal and ended up giving us about a thousand dollars each that they'd raised, but I lost a load of irreplaceable stuff including photo albums and twenty years' worth of art.
  9.  (9685.13)
    Oh, shit, if we're bringing up spouses, exes, and shit, I became roommates with my ex (aka baby mama) and her boyfriend years after we split up (brilliant fucking idea) and a friend of ours, and me and my friend discovered that neither my ex nor her boyfriend knew how to wash dishes, take out trash, or even put the trash in a trash bag. So, one day, my friend and I decided to clean house. Upon entering the master bathroom, we discovered that my ex also was taking her used maxi-pads and leaving them on the bathroom counter along with wood shavings, leaving a mix of menstrual blood and sawdust all over the bathroom counter top. One of the most disgusting things I have ever seen. And I've seen people die in several bloody ways. My friend, blessed angel that she is, being a woman, refused to allow me anywhere near the bloody sawdust pads, and cleaned them up all on her own. Afterwards, she looked like a war survivor. I gave her a cigarette, and she looked at me and said something to the effect of "we will never speak of this again."
    • CommentAuthorStefanJ
    • CommentTimeMar 25th 2011
     (9685.14)
    I feel . . . . blessedly lucky.

    I've had friends, and known room-mates of friends, who were utter slobs. Not just lazy, not just tolerant of unholy squalor, but seemingly incapable of recognizing that their actions (or lack of action) had consequences. Thank Gawd, I've never had to spend more than an overnight couch surf in these places.

    There's got to be some kind of personality disorder thing going on in these cases.
    •  
      CommentAuthorD.J.
    • CommentTimeMar 25th 2011
     (9685.15)
    As but a young lad who will soon be getting into the roommate game, I am now absolutely terrified.

    Thank you all.
    • CommentAuthorRenThing
    • CommentTimeMar 25th 2011
     (9685.16)
    We live to serve (and avoid being eeled).
  10.  (9685.17)
    @DJ -NEVER move in with strangers. Best bet is usually to room with a buddy you know fairly well, especially if you've spent a fair bit of time over at his or her place in the past. Otherwise, always ask for checkable references.
    • CommentAuthorRenThing
    • CommentTimeMar 25th 2011
     (9685.18)
    @Greasemonkey

    Funny, I've had better experiences living with strangers than I did when I've lived with friends.
  11.  (9685.19)
    No matter, how careful you are, you always roll the die when picking roommates. You never know how someone is until you start sharing a place with them, and by the time you find out you cant live with that individual its too late cause you've already moved in and don't have time and money to move again.

    truth be told, the first time I got a room mate, I ended up being the bad room mate. I had to adjust my own behavior and living habits or nobody would want to live with me.

    also, one rule to focus on is "Every roommate must wash their own dishes when they are done with them" if all the roommates focus on following this one rule, it avoids one of the biggest problem that roomates argue about.
    • CommentAuthorRenThing
    • CommentTimeMar 25th 2011
     (9685.20)
    @Bood

    That rule certainly helps.

    "Don't fuck on the living room couch" is a pretty good one that, unfortunately, some of my roommates didn't follow.

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