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November 12, 2008 |

By Dustin Rowles | Comment Diversions | November 12, 2008 |


An Eloquent, Tracy, offered up this very succinct idea for a comment diversion, sending an email with only this: “Roommate horror stories.” It’s fairly self-explanatory. Most of us have been there. In our 20s. Forced to share housing with someone who started out as a friend until you lived with him, and until you discovered his self-mutilation phase, which seemed strangely paradoxical to his obsessions with “Beverly Hills 90210” and “Melrose Place.” Or a stranger we found on Craiglist who was offering a room, though he didn’t tell you until a week after you’d moved in that he loves gay porn and the desktop computer was in the living room. Awkward

But of the handful of roommates I’ve had, I suppose this one was the worst: One of my six roommates during my third year of law school. His room smelled like cigarettes. And months-old beer. And dirty, filthy, putrid, unwashed penis sex that emanated into the rest of the house. Funny thing, too: Another roommate of mine, my girlfriend, was helping to contribute to that odor by fucking him. So, I guess that makes one story with two roommate horrors. Also, whores.

An Afternoon Comment Diversion / Dustin Rowles

Comment Diversions | November 12, 2008 |




Dustin is the founder and co-owner of Pajiba. You may email him here or follow him on Twitter.



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