Shared housing is a big bag of sweaty balls (sometimes literally, depending on how many men you live with), and I don’t like it. I still have to do it, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to afford the beans I like so very much, nor the fake Pot Noodles. It’s an unfortunate situation, but as soon as I’m not crippled by debt I may be able to get my ass out of there and away to somewhere where I can actually live how I want to without some pathetic, petty nonsense causing someone to complain at me.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about living with friends here – I don’t really class that as shared housing per se. Though it does come with its own problems, it’s nowhere near as bad as the minefield of fury that is living with, as they say, “randoms”. The main reason for this is quite obvious – I could go into details of individual examples, but that would be boring and irritating. For me. The main reason is this: random people are exactly the same as strangers, strangers are members of the public and – as we all know – members of the public are contemptible shrews of humanity. Boring, devoid of positive elements of their so-called personality, petty, ugly and stupid. Very stupid. Basically, it all boils down to this.
Oh wait, I live in shared housing. Damn.
Sorry this entry’s a bit phoned-in today. Lacking any drive to rant/joke about anything and I only have one hand to type with. First person to make a wanking joke wins the prize.
P.S. I feel a bit daft about yesterday’s entry, as it turns out this weekend has been one solely comprising of ITV coverage. Curse you, FA Cup. You mean my praise of Sky was less relevant than it should have been, and that I had to put up with Tyldesley saying clubs should have some kind of long throw training, and that he was surprised clubs didn’t have players capable of long throws, aside from Stoke. The man is a fucking dillweed.