2 Versions

ReidRansom came out of the closet to say:

…writhing…in…shit… What the christ?

edit: That’s it??????? …the ending was a bit sudden, but very entertaining nonetheless.

Sorry for the sudden ending. I felt very rushed so I just told it like it was, how I could remember it. The whole re-entry was like a nightmare to me, and it’s not very well lit, so I can’t describe a lot of stuff in detail. Just how X felt when I whacked it, some of the stuff I ended up hurling I remembered, and soforth.

The real remarkable contrast was that my apartment is about as clean as an apartment can get. It was a real yin yang thing we had going on in that cottage.

Funking Giblet Says:

oxling came out of the closet to say:

Shitty Roommate Trumpet But seriously, what the hell.

More like Shitty Roommate Shitty Trumpet

Shokan came out of the closet to say:

Did he actually play the saxophone?

No he didn’t.

And for those curious, the shrill whale-like noises were actually his insane vocalizations. If you don’t know, it’s very hard to be that crazy and actually make a sound on a saxophone. No, I don’t know where he got the sax.

thekidd came out of the closet to say:

Any explanation on the blood? The blood in the room, blood in the truck….

There are two versions, the official version and how I think it happened. The official version was that he had a psychotic breakdown and cut himself and that’s why the blood was in the truck. My opinion on it was that he wanted me inside the apartment and burning to death, so he invented the kidnapping story, planted the blood, and attempted to blow me up with garbage and paint thinner. I don’t know why he had the sax.

It was fun trashing an apartment with full legality though.

Just to clarify, the shriek noises were his psychotic wailing, not the sax, which was full of shit and inoperable. The strange base noises was his movements in the shit lasagna tub, amplified by the fact that it is a gigantic shitty cheap plastic tub and next to my wall.

Oh, and now that the story is over, I can spoil this.

There were never tarantulas actually running around in the apartment. They were all in their cages and quite dead by the time the showdown occurred. I wish I had known that, because I might not have been so berserk frenzied at the time of re-entry.

Shii decided to show you this image:

Shitty Roommate Fuck Shit!

squirrellypoo came out of the closet to say:

wow just HOLY FUCKING WOW. I clicked on this as a “last post before bedtime” read and now I’m pretty sure I won’t be falling asleep anytime soon.

Also, I have extreme sympathy for the smells. My overgrown oaf of a French housemate has a baseline personal odour of stale cigarette smoke, overripe camembert, and raunchy body odour, with the special bonus of having no sense of smell left from a lifetime of heavy smoking. I’m forever spraying air freshener, and this has got NOTHING on the smells you were putting up with. god, puts it all into perspective…

It was so bad when I went into the bathroom that it went like this: I opened the door, and got physically HIT IN THE FACE with the smell, my eyes ceased to function, blinded by the odor. I protected my face with one hand and swung my wrench madly with the other before getting into a crouch and being able to finally see.

Also for the previous poster, yes, I have nightmares about this experience, but, strangely enough, I have more nightmares about spiders in my bed than storming the evil castle of count von feces.

Edit: Also, I was pretty panicked, which is why I threw the first jug of urine without opening it.

sigtrap came out of the closet to say:

Many cities have publicly available police logs. You should dig these up – I’d love to see how these calls were logged.

I actually have the blotter somewhere, I saved it.

The call to the police was pretty together. I think my summation to the police dispatcher went something like, “My room mate had an accident and he is trapped inside his apartment covered in feces and has injuries to his head. He is psychotic and might harm himself.”

Shawnatrip came out of the closet to say:

Dude WTF did the cops say when they got there?! What did his parents say about the whole thing? Do you have any idea what the cleaning costs were?

The cleaning costs were somewhere around twenty five thousand dollars. I know I scored around 8 thousand dollars after it was all said and done. I don’t know what the police said, and his parents refused to speak to me except through lawyers.

I know they called some special unit or something with moonsuits to extract Jeb from his shithole, but I didn’t stick around much after that before going to the hospital. I drove myself.

Clownhunter came out of the closet to say:

Give us more background on Jeb. Did he just come across as a free spirited party animal when you first met him? What kind of music did he listen to? What does he look like?

Jeb was the dyslexic slightly medicated son of wealthy, distant parentage. He had trouble in school and wasn’t very smart, and had a little bit of trouble dealing with things on a rational level since I first met him; I think this was due to the fact that he’s been medicated since high school.

He was white as can be, with blond hair, and very skinny. I am only 6 feet tall and 150 pounds (I get a lot of aerobic exercise so it’s difficult to maintain bulk) and he was smaller than I am. I could easily overpower him.

He dropped out of high school because of his dyslexia, got a GED, and finally attended a two year college at the time of the incident. He worked at longs drugs as a stock boy despite the fact that he didn’t need the money, and made most of his friends through his job. I don’t know if you know this, but longs drugs employees are some heavy drinkers and heavy partiers.

He had trouble with drugs, and while I knew him went from completely clean to having a problem with alcohol to going as far as snorting cocaine off of our television set once during a party. He was a pretty decent, but troubled guy before he went apeshit crazy.

I, in contrast, am a very clean, humorless fellow who never drinks, parties, or watches TV. Some would call me “obnoxiously uptight” but I break that mold by being extremely easygoing and laid back about everything. So I’m very uptight with myself without being uptight with others, if that makes sense. I’m the ultimate stoic.

Also I was just reminiscing with a friend who reminded me that I was screaming at the apartment afterwards calling him a “Shitbathing nazi”