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  1.  (9685.141)
    I used to crash pretty much all week at a maisonnette above a 24hr taxi shop/tattooist which some friends had rented. It was pretty much a dope house 24/7, so I don't think anything was ever 'normal' in it. There wasn't really any furniture. To sleep, you just cleared a space amongst the rubbish (cans, takeaway papers, fag packets, crisp bags and fag ends) and wrapped yourself in a coat. It usually helped to not be remotely sober in that place. There was an ongoing war with both the neighbours, and the taxi drivers downstairs, who all looked decidedly neo-nazi, and had a big eagle as their emblem...

    Stuff that happened:

    The orgy of destruction. None of us had any money, so always had to scrounge booze and substances. Except for one of the girls, whose father was loaded and used to send her loads of money. One evening, I happened to ask her for some money that she owed me, not a great deal, would have bought a bottle of cheap wine, which was what I was after. She refused, and promptly left to go clubbing. Which didn't go down too well. The rest of us managed to somehow get trashed through various means, and at some point, with Hawkwind on the stereo, a kind of group mentality took over. The first thing to get broken was the main light and fitting - someone threw something at it and the bulb and shade shattered, showering glass everywhere. Someone else started laughing so much they leaned back on the one chair that was in the room, and fell through the back of it. Someone else hurled a glass ashtray which knocked a large chunk of plaster out. The chair guy was using broken chair legs to break more stuff. And then we stopped. I looked at the record player, one of those big old seventies combo record player, tuner and cassette deck things. It remained unbroken. Someone said 'go on, EXECUTE that as well'. So I did, with my Doc Martens. And the orgy resumed. By the time the girls got back at about 3am, the downstairs of the flat was a bombsite, bits of wire, circuit board, splintered wood and broken glass strewn everywhere.

    I ended up having to buy a new stereo...

    The army invasion.

    The flat was above a taxi company. The town was full of squaddies at the time, at the training camp to the west of the city, 17 year olds out of liverpool being trained to kill people. They practiced on the locals for some years, until the locals reciprocated and kicked one nearly to death, after which the base commander locked the place down. They didn't like 'alternative' types at all. One night, someone left the downstairs door open, and all of a sudden, about 10 soldiers burst through the door shouting 'where's the fucking taxis?' - they'd got the wrong door. When they were in, they realised their mistake and demanded to be fed. There was no food. Somehow, delicate negotiations ensued and they were persuaded to leave without violence. I was completely traumatised by this and in a somewhat emotional state anyway and spent the rest of the night under a chair in a foetal position.

    The death

    One night we thought someone had died of overindulgence. Didn't seem to be breathing, nobody was straight enough to be able to find a pulse. The thing that terrifies me to this day was that nobody was even considering calling an ambulance, that didn't even figure in the plans - instead the groupthink and paranoia had taken over and all anyone could think about was 'how are we going to get rid of the corpse'?

    We debated for hours - where was a dark enough alley, how could we get him there, what would we wrap the body in? I recall we found a couple of binbags and some curtains, which we wrapped him in and then started arguing about who had to go and do the deed, given that we were on a main road and likely to be seen. I think we were still arguing about that when the 'corpse' coughed and stirred...

    The feathers

    One of the girls who lived there had an 18th birthday party, attended by some of her friends, who happened to be mostly 6 foot tall metalheads, and a bunch of other people from a Very Posh Private School who seemed to turn up. None of the groups in the house liked each other much, so it was a rather strange event. At one point, the simmering feud with the taxi drivers boiled over (they'd been pissed off for months with us as every time we went on the flat roof, plaster fell off their ceiling). One of the Posh Boys had drunk way too much, and ran across the roof to throw up - unfortunately, just as one of the nazi taxi drivers came out of their office to yell abuse and got a vomit shower.

    The girl whose party it was eventually had had enough and wanted to go to bed, her metal mates didn't want to let her, and a brawl ensued where they tried to pull her out of her duvet. She was a 6 foot 5 amazon, and gave as good as she got, eventually manhandling them out of the room and shoving them down the stairs. As he fell, one of them grabbed the duvet, which ripped in half, causing a white explosion of feathers, which filled the whole damn place. I passed out at some point and woke up on the stairs, I've a vivid memory of opening my eyes and seeing feathers slowly settling like snow all over everything.

    The match war

    One bored, intoxicated afternoon, we had a match rocket war in the living room. This entailed one team sitting on the bed and another sitting on the floor while we fired matchstick rockets at each other (where you wrap matches in tinfoil with the heads together and light the middle). The rockets got bigger and more elaborate, I think several dozen boxes were used. The carpet was thoroughly trashed. This was after they'd blown up the toilet with gunpowder extracted from a carrier full of french bangers.


    I don't think anyone who lived there got good references...
  2.  (9685.142)
    @le dude.

    San Rafael, That's it! I graduated in 95, so that shows my age.

    And yes, there was such a thing as a super monster. Just picture the monster but twice the size. To eat, you had to find a comfortable seat, then place the burrito on your lap, standing up, and hold with both hands for stability, then you lower your head and take bites until you slowly work your way down,(yes I know how that looks:) until it gets small enough to hold it in your hands easily. And yes, it was funny to watch someone eat a super monster.

    I guess they removed that from the menu.

    No idea what Dejavu is, besides the dictionary definition.
  3.  (9685.143)
    I had a roommate in college that would bring home crack whores and underage girls. We had to set some boundaries when he brought home the heavyset blond black woman with the leopard print skin tight pants, also when he brought home the two jr high girls. His brother was a heavyweight drug dealer, another half brother was a leader in the VIcelords. We had to explain to him why he couldn't piss out the third story window instead of in the bathroom, he compromised by pissing in empty 40oz beer bottles. He drove a white Mercedes that caught on fire in front of the apartment. He had to jump out a second story window when the boyfriend of one of the girls he was fucking showed up. The thing is, he wasnt my worst roommate. He was a double major in mechanical engineering and mathematics with a minor in philosophy, I think he graduated salutatorian. He had a full scholarship from GM. When he graduated , they gave him a job with a starting salary thet was double the normal salary for mn engineer. He started an ISP and a prostitution business, I think he sold the ISP because it was too cut-throat. The thing is he wasn't my worst roommate, he would always help with homework, chip in for pizza and wings and help clean. He always had good stories.
    • CommentAuthorSBarrett
    • CommentTimeApr 1st 2011
     (9685.144)
    I now see that I have been so blessed with roomates.

    Also, in my head, The Goat looks very much like Mr. Tumnus. Really this just adds to the hilarity in my mind.
    • CommentAuthorLe Dude
    • CommentTimeApr 2nd 2011
     (9685.145)
    @boodoffstage, I think the Orange location serves Super Monster. There're even illustrated step-by-step instructions on the wall for how to eat it -- and the approved method is just as you described. Man, I think a trip is in order for lunch tomorrow.

    Déjà Vu was (is?) a greasy café with a pool table, in that strip of stores across from I.V. Market and Mac's Market, like half a block down from Java Jones. Aw man, I'm making myself all nostalgic now.
  4.  (9685.146)
    So I'm living with my ex, and her boyfriend, and crashing in the spare room. And this friend of theirs from out of town, Ryan something, easily 450 lbs, ends up crashing on the couch for a while. The neighbors around the corner are the night manager at some club on 6th street in Austin, and he's having a party with all of his bartender chicks and bouncers. The boyfriend, the fat guy and I end up crashing it. We'd already been drinking for some time, and when we walk in the door, we're handed glasses of whisky. I wholeheartedly approve.

    I'm flirting with some waitress, and sipping my whisky, and I don't realize, Ryan is just downing one glass of whisky after another, nearly one gulp a piece. Later, I'm somewhere ranting conspiracy theories about Freemasons, and I notice Ryan is sleeping! I'm so offended that someone would dare fall asleep during one of my stories, I can't stand it. I try waking him up, to no avail. I splashed water on his face, slapped him, yelled in his ear; nothing. I go to find the host of the party, because, as the manager of a nightclub, and the guy throwing the party, he would know what to do (how to wake the guy up, or help us get him to our apartment).

    The manager guy says he knows just what to do. I think him and hit the restroom. When I come back, Ryan's face is covered in shaving cream. I realized the manager guy was basically head bouncer. Him, and about 5 jock/bouncer guys were just spraying shaving cream/gel all over Ryan's face. Seriously? This counts as "don't worry, I know exactly what to do"? I get pissed, and try to clean Ryan off, and he starts vomiting all over himself. Then he starts choking.

    Ever try the Heimlich Maneuver on a fat guy? It's exactly as awesome as it sounds. I ended up having to clear Ryan's airway with my fingers. With an unconscious, drunk, choking, spasming person, there's this fear that they might bight your finger off.

    Then, about 5 or 6 bouncers, myself, the boyfriend guy (who's like maybe 90 lbs), and the club manager, try carrying/dragging Ryan down a couple flights of stairs. Then we drag him to the apartment. We drop him on my bedroom floor, where I have to prop him on his side in recovery position, and I sit with my back to him to keep him propped up so he doesn't choke on his vomit during the night.

    After the next day, we tell him he's gotta go. We kick him out. After he's gone, I notice all of my CD's are missing.
    I pull fucking vomit out of his mouth with my fingers, and the motherfucker has the gall to steal my CD's.

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