Long ago, in a flat, far, far away...

....FLAT WARS

    So I get home and I know there's a crisis because the flatmates are all in 
different  rooms  studying for that exam in about 10 years time.  I don't know
what the crisis is because no-one will tell me, and if I ask,  all I'll get is
"What crisis?"  You're not allowed to say - It's against the crisis rules.

No worries - not my problem.  Then I see that there's been an attack on me in
my absence: someone has stacked all the stuff I leave all over the house in a
pile  outside  my  door.  Like they NEVER go into my room when I'm not around
and finger through my back issues of "Hot Leather Nuns on Harleys" Magazines!
Sure.  So that means that I'm under the gun as well.   I must have done some-
thing.

So who gives a shit, as a retaliatory attack I make a mental note to start my
stereo and 7am, and play the same song again and again until I'm ready to get
up.  Then play it some more.  (Even when I'm in the shower) 

And turn the bass up too, so you can't actually hear the tune, just the thump
Thump THUMP.

 I pick up all my stuff and put it in my room and go to watch TV, only one of
the flatmates has sneaked past and beaten me to it,  which,  by the unwritten
law  of  the flat means they control the TV till they switch it off and leave
the room.  No-one's allowed to touch the TV till they've finished.

    No worries, it's my turn to cook anyway.  Besides, the batteries for the
remote belong to  me.   I take them back and decide to use the mixer to make
something for Tea, cos it always puts lines across the TV picture and pisses
everyone off.  We'll see who gets pissed off first

   The flatmate ups the stakes by telling me her boyfriend is coming over and
can I cook some more for him too - and be careful, as he doesn't like carrots
or hot food.   I look up curried carrots in the cookbook, but there's nothing
there so I'll have to improvise.  We do have some cayenne pepper...

So it was a really good dinner.  And even better, I dish myself out a portion,
mix in some mega-hot chilli sauce and leave it on the table while I go to the
toilet.   Sure  enough,  one of the flatmates swaps plates with me.  His eyes
are bleeding.  One down.

 I get up first in the morning, because if I don't the first flatmate up will
use  up  all  the hot water out of ignorance.  I have my shower and leave the
hot tap running to let them know how it feels.   This'll be the third week in
a  row  I've  done  this,  so  I guess they'll get the picture soon.  I pause
briefly to open the kitchen window to let all the warm air out.  Beat that.

I get home and there's a definite chill in the air and not just from the
window....
There's a message on the fridge from the flatmate who's staying (it appears) 
with her boyfriend for a week,  and sorry, she forgot to pay the power bill,
but it should be reconnected by the time she gets back, and also sorry,  she 
accidentally told my girlfriend  that  I was out with my girlfriend when she
rang.  Fuck you VERY much!  I ring up and order them two pizzas from the new
firm that has armed delivery boys and notify the drug squad of the new home-
bake unit that's in the neighbourhood at their place,  and  how it's a shame
that young people can't do good for a change instead of staying up all night
playing with automatic weapons...   95% sure that it's Two down.

Right.  Two flatmates to go.

The war has escalated a bit since I got home as apparently B tied A's dog to
the fencepost right at the blind corner of the driveway just as A was coming
home, resulting a a large unneccessary dog food stockpile in the flat.

 No problems as with a bit of sauce and some chilli, one of the dog rolls
would  look exactly like the meatloaf that flatmate B made to take to her
boyfriends parents place for dinner...  Well, if you can't stand the heat,
don't play with a flamethrower...

   I give her boyfriend a call and ask him to ask her where that meatloaf
shaped dogmeat  roll  went  that  was  in the fridge because they've been
recalled because of a food poisoning scare...

One to go.

     Last is the flat recluse, who gets up in the early hours and does his
washing and is rarely seen.  He's a bit of a commando too, because he does
all his flat sabotage when no-one's around, like tying someone's dog up,
and adding wallpaper paste to the washing powder...

About 1am I hear the BZZZERT as he stands on the electrified shower tray
("Yes, officer, he had some idea about negative Ion Generation that he
never fully explained to me...) and meets his maker.


...THIS FLAT IS MINE!
-- 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
       *  *..It's:   ."SPLAT - MY CAT!"
     -//-//-_ ..
   +>\        --__.Slower than a speeding DATSUN 180B.   Much slower.
   +>/       _------__  Mortally slower, one might say.    Rest in Peices.
     -\\-\\--..spt@waikato.ac.nz.  ..Fax: 064 7 8384066
       *  *..University of Waikato, Private Bag 3105, Hamilton, NZ
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
REASON: the Devil's harlot.             -- Martin Luther 


Article 4491 of rec.humor.d:
Path: news.cso.uiuc.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!sdd.hp.com!wupost!waikato.ac.nz!spt
From: spt@waikato.ac.nz (Simon Travaglia)
Newsgroups: rec.humor.d
Subject: REPOST: FLAT WARZ
Message-ID: <1992Jul20.131422.9482@waikato.ac.nz>
Date: 20 Jul 92 13:14:22 +1200
Organization: University of Waikato Computer Centre
Lines: 101

Thanks to whoever faked the cancel, I needed an excuse to repost...

Long ago, in a flat, far, far away...

....FLAT WARS

    So I get home and I know there's a crisis because the flatmates are all in 
different  rooms  studying for that exam in about 10 years time.  I don't know
what the crisis is because no-one will tell me, and if I ask,  all I'll get is
"What crisis?"  You're not allowed to say - It's against the crisis rules.

No worries - not my problem.  Then I see that there's been an attack on me in
my absence: someone has stacked all the stuff I leave all over the house in a
pile  outside  my  door.  Like they NEVER go into my room when I'm not around
and finger through my back issues of "Hot Leather Nuns on Harleys" Magazines!
Sure.  So that means that I'm under the gun as well.   I must have done some-
thing.

So who gives a shit, as a retaliatory attack I make a mental note to start my
stereo and 7am, and play the same song again and again until I'm ready to get
up.  Then play it some more.  (Even when I'm in the shower) 

And turn the bass up too, so you can't actually hear the tune, just the thump
Thump THUMP.

 I pick up all my stuff and put it in my room and go to watch TV, only one of
the flatmates has sneaked past and beaten me to it,  which,  by the unwritten
law  of  the flat means they control the TV till they switch it off and leave
the room.  No-one's allowed to touch the TV till they've finished.

    No worries, it's my turn to cook anyway.  Besides, the batteries for the
remote belong to  me.   I take them back and decide to use the mixer to make
something for Tea, cos it always puts lines across the TV picture and pisses
everyone off.  We'll see who gets pissed off first

   The flatmate ups the stakes by telling me her boyfriend is coming over and
can I cook some more for him too - and be careful, as he doesn't like carrots
or hot food.   I look up curried carrots in the cookbook, but there's nothing
there so I'll have to improvise.  We do have some cayenne pepper...

So it was a really good dinner.  And even better, I dish myself out a portion,
mix in some mega-hot chilli sauce and leave it on the table while I go to the
toilet.   Sure  enough,  one of the flatmates swaps plates with me.  His eyes
are bleeding.  One down.

 I get up first in the morning, because if I don't the first flatmate up will
use  up  all  the hot water out of ignorance.  I have my shower and leave the
hot tap running to let them know how it feels.   This'll be the third week in
a  row  I've  done  this,  so  I guess they'll get the picture soon.  I pause
briefly to open the kitchen window to let all the warm air out.  Beat that.

I get home and there's a definite chill in the air and not just from the
window....
There's a message on the fridge from the flatmate who's staying (it appears) 
with her boyfriend for a week,  and sorry, she forgot to pay the power bill,
but it should be reconnected by the time she gets back, and also sorry,  she 
accidentally told my girlfriend  that  I was out with my girlfriend when she
rang.  Fuck you VERY much!  I ring up and order them two pizzas from the new
firm that has armed delivery boys and notify the drug squad of the new home-
bake unit that's in the neighbourhood at their place,  and  how it's a shame
that young people can't do good for a change instead of staying up all night
playing with automatic weapons...   95% sure that it's Two down.

Right.  Two flatmates to go.

The war has escalated a bit since I got home as apparently B tied A's dog to
the fencepost right at the blind corner of the driveway just as A was coming
home, resulting a a large unneccessary dog food stockpile in the flat.

 No problems as with a bit of sauce and some chilli, one of the dog rolls
would  look exactly like the meatloaf that flatmate B made to take to her
boyfriends parents place for dinner...  Well, if you can't stand the heat,
don't play with a flamethrower...

   I give her boyfriend a call and ask him to ask her where that meatloaf
shaped dogmeat  roll  went  that  was  in the fridge because they've been
recalled because of a food poisoning scare...

One to go.

     Last is the flat recluse, who gets up in the early hours and does his
washing and is rarely seen.  He's a bit of a commando too, because he does
all his flat sabotage when no-one's around, like tying someone's dog up,
and adding wallpaper paste to the washing powder...

About 1am I hear the BZZZERT as he stands on the electrified shower tray
("Yes, officer, he had some idea about negative Ion Generation that he
never fully explained to me...) and meets his maker.


...THIS FLAT IS MINE!
