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Cold war
As if any more incentive to move out were needed...
Irritating lodger, whom I wish would accidentally swallow a load of fentanyl and heroin, gets back from his hols in London. Usual pissing and shitting and washing and flushing at 5am, heating on, raging away at astronomical cost.
Next morning, I open the fridge to get the black pudding for my breakfast out, to find a note perched on its top shelf.
My first reaction: "Could you not fuck in the general direction of off, Irritating Lodger?"
My second reaction: "No, looby, it's you that's got to fuck off. You've got to find your own place, get some more hours, and get your own front door key and leave them to it."
I am so irritated with my situation, to the extent that I am actually going to do something about it.
6 comments
I’d leave him a little bastion of ordure in his tupperware.
Good idea.
FFS, teenagerish passive-agressive notes in shared houses. Thought I’d seen the last of them thirty years ago.
The irony is that, of all of us, he cooks the least. It’s all frozen pizza and tinned soup.
Isn’t he the asshat who gets upset by the smell of proper food? What a dick. The sooner you get to Kirsty’s house, or even Trina’s boat, the better.
Arsehole, love, the word’s arsehole. We’re English :)
Yes, tis him. He complains all the time, about everything. He comments on my food, saying it stinks. This is when for example, I am eating skate wings and charlotte potatoes and mange tout and he’s eating tinned soup.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
They do Exile. Honestly, this is going to be the beginning of somethting new. I am glad and happy that that he is being such a dickhead because it’s making me act rather than moan about it.
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