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Ubikoh pete, that's later. maybe we'll be dead by thenRegistered Userregular
edited February 2007
I'd like to bring this back up because my moron roommate is asleep.
And he fucking left Vent on his computer running.
I can fucking here idiots talking in his headphones.
And I was about to go to bed.
Now I have to make my way over to his computer in the dark and turn that off without killing myself.
Screw that noise. I'm turning on the god damn Sun.
Ubik on
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Shortytouching the meatIntergalactic Cool CourtRegistered Userregular
edited February 2007
I would talk about my slob of a roommate except I'm pretty sure I already did fairly recently. In this thread, no less. So instead, I'm going to tell a little story about slovenly living and chewing tobacco.
For about six months, I lived in a barracks room about the size of a regular bedroom, with two other guys. One of these guys is solid and I still talk to him every now and again. The other was kind of a new guy. He could be a dick at times, but he was usually cool. Really into motocross. Anyway. When you live in the barracks, your room has to be spotless every day of the week except the weekends. We're talking spotless, as in you have to clean behind the damn toilet, shave with a cup full of water so you don't get any cream in the goddamn sink kind of spotless. Three dudes living together like that need to let their hair down every now and again, and we let it down hard. That's what the weekend was for. By Sunday evening, the floor was literally covered with everything imaginable. Pizza boxes, soda cans, dirty and clean clothes, shoes, boots, various video game controllers, all kinds of crap. Anybody walking in had to be brave enough to put their feet in places they had never dreamed of.
The first of my two roommates, Cody, was what we call a duty section leader. Short version: he has responsibilities I won't go into because that would take too long. One Sunday morning, the Officer on Deck knocks on the door. All you need to know is that he's in charge, and that he's working on the weekend. You can understand they all tend to be in poor moods. He wakes me up pounding on the fucking door, I'm there in my boxers in this filthy fucking room, no idea what the fuck is going on. I just open the door and there's this grouchy douchebag standing there.
"Where the fuck is Anderson?"
"Uhhhh................I don't know."
"Why the fuck not?!"
"...be....because I was sleeping until five seconds ago?"
At this point he looks over my shoulder (easily accomplished, oh ho ho) and sees the warzone which is our room.
"....hoooly shit. How the fuck do you live in here? What the fuck is this on the floor? Pizza? WHY THROW IT AWAY WHEN YOU CAN JUST LEAVE IT THERE, HUH?!?!"
This fucker proceeds to rip apart everything in the room asking me pointless stupid questions about every goddamn thing. Picks up one of my Gamecube controllers:
"What the fuck do you do with this!??!?"
I put it in my ass.
"It's for playing video games, petty officer."
"Bullshit."
"..."
I'm not making that up. Things go on like this for about twenty minutes. Eventually he gets to the locker of the second roommate. He picks up a seemingly empty can of pepsi and takes a whiff of it. Apparently, dear old Harris has been chewing tobacco in the room. Huge no-no. Dudeguy accuses me of hiding this from him, I tell him flat-out that's not true, and he tells me to send Harris his way as soon as I see him. Then he leaves and I start playing some Metal Gear Solid.
I see Harris about an hour later and give him the chant. I follow him down to the OOD office because I know whatever punishment he winds up with is going to be goddamn hilarious.
"Harris! GET THE FUCK IN HERE!"
Lots of yelling ensues. Eventually, an ultimatum is given:
"I'm going to give you three choices: 1) You drink that can I found. 2) You dip an entire can of snuff at once. 3) I call your weekday bosses and let them deal with you."
Harris opted for option Two.
We go out to the smoking area. He runs and grabs a fresh can, opens it up, and starts packing it into his mouth. He looked like a damn squirrel, spitting nasty brown shit all over the damn place. He got about three quarters of the way through before he puked. Directly in front of himself. Right square on the OOD's shoes. Dude looks down at his patent leather shoes, sees a mix of long cut Skoal, waffles, and orange juice, and he says, "Motherfucker," then turns to the side and throws up himself. At this point I'm laughing by fucking balls off, just reveling in this asshole's just desserts. He tells Harris to get the fuck out of his sight and then leaves himself.
About a week later, all the students are standing outside at ease after the workday and the company commander tells Harris to come up and tell us all why you shouldn't chew in your rooms.
"Man I had to pack a whole can in my mouth, and it wasn't cool."
I chime in with, "Well, I thought it was pretty funny."
Posts
And he fucking left Vent on his computer running.
I can fucking here idiots talking in his headphones.
And I was about to go to bed.
Now I have to make my way over to his computer in the dark and turn that off without killing myself.
Screw that noise. I'm turning on the god damn Sun.
For about six months, I lived in a barracks room about the size of a regular bedroom, with two other guys. One of these guys is solid and I still talk to him every now and again. The other was kind of a new guy. He could be a dick at times, but he was usually cool. Really into motocross. Anyway. When you live in the barracks, your room has to be spotless every day of the week except the weekends. We're talking spotless, as in you have to clean behind the damn toilet, shave with a cup full of water so you don't get any cream in the goddamn sink kind of spotless. Three dudes living together like that need to let their hair down every now and again, and we let it down hard. That's what the weekend was for. By Sunday evening, the floor was literally covered with everything imaginable. Pizza boxes, soda cans, dirty and clean clothes, shoes, boots, various video game controllers, all kinds of crap. Anybody walking in had to be brave enough to put their feet in places they had never dreamed of.
The first of my two roommates, Cody, was what we call a duty section leader. Short version: he has responsibilities I won't go into because that would take too long. One Sunday morning, the Officer on Deck knocks on the door. All you need to know is that he's in charge, and that he's working on the weekend. You can understand they all tend to be in poor moods. He wakes me up pounding on the fucking door, I'm there in my boxers in this filthy fucking room, no idea what the fuck is going on. I just open the door and there's this grouchy douchebag standing there.
"Where the fuck is Anderson?"
"Uhhhh................I don't know."
"Why the fuck not?!"
"...be....because I was sleeping until five seconds ago?"
At this point he looks over my shoulder (easily accomplished, oh ho ho) and sees the warzone which is our room.
"....hoooly shit. How the fuck do you live in here? What the fuck is this on the floor? Pizza? WHY THROW IT AWAY WHEN YOU CAN JUST LEAVE IT THERE, HUH?!?!"
This fucker proceeds to rip apart everything in the room asking me pointless stupid questions about every goddamn thing. Picks up one of my Gamecube controllers:
"What the fuck do you do with this!??!?"
I put it in my ass.
"It's for playing video games, petty officer."
"Bullshit."
"..."
I'm not making that up. Things go on like this for about twenty minutes. Eventually he gets to the locker of the second roommate. He picks up a seemingly empty can of pepsi and takes a whiff of it. Apparently, dear old Harris has been chewing tobacco in the room. Huge no-no. Dudeguy accuses me of hiding this from him, I tell him flat-out that's not true, and he tells me to send Harris his way as soon as I see him. Then he leaves and I start playing some Metal Gear Solid.
I see Harris about an hour later and give him the chant. I follow him down to the OOD office because I know whatever punishment he winds up with is going to be goddamn hilarious.
"Harris! GET THE FUCK IN HERE!"
Lots of yelling ensues. Eventually, an ultimatum is given:
"I'm going to give you three choices: 1) You drink that can I found. 2) You dip an entire can of snuff at once. 3) I call your weekday bosses and let them deal with you."
Harris opted for option Two.
We go out to the smoking area. He runs and grabs a fresh can, opens it up, and starts packing it into his mouth. He looked like a damn squirrel, spitting nasty brown shit all over the damn place. He got about three quarters of the way through before he puked. Directly in front of himself. Right square on the OOD's shoes. Dude looks down at his patent leather shoes, sees a mix of long cut Skoal, waffles, and orange juice, and he says, "Motherfucker," then turns to the side and throws up himself. At this point I'm laughing by fucking balls off, just reveling in this asshole's just desserts. He tells Harris to get the fuck out of his sight and then leaves himself.
About a week later, all the students are standing outside at ease after the workday and the company commander tells Harris to come up and tell us all why you shouldn't chew in your rooms.
"Man I had to pack a whole can in my mouth, and it wasn't cool."
I chime in with, "Well, I thought it was pretty funny."
Your stories will be like, "Yeah one time I lived with this socially awkward asshat. That's pretty much it."