There’s a cave troll in my house

In recent years I have had the misfortune of sharing a house with many people of different shapes and sizes. A mixture of races and countries of origin. I have come to the refreshing realisation that no matter their backgrounds or beliefs, they still all have the capacity to fall under the moniker of “cretin”.

None more than the obese, smelly, ill-equipped farther of 4 that is currently frequenting the bedroom opposite mine. The one who I like to call The Cave Troll.

Never in the history of mankind has a microwave been used so customarily. Nor has a toilet ever been left in such a merciless state. There seems to be no limit to the amount of Chicago Town Deep Dish four cheese Pizzas that the Troll can consume. Iceland is raped and pillaged on a weekly basis.

This week to my dismay I also had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Troll who waddled and wobbled into the toilet when I was drying myself after a shower. An apt first meeting considering that on her way back out of the room, her arse-crack was on full display. Like a vast black hole engulfing its surroundings. Shared houses after all do required at bit of give and take. I felt Mrs Troll was a little too generous during this exchange.

I caught myself engaging in conversation with Mr Troll today with some common ground. This continues to be a subject for worry for me. Will I become the Donkey to his Shriek or shall I prevail and be awarded 10 house points for Gryffindor as Mr Troll falls? Alas I believe the time has come to up sticks and find a new cave to rest my weary eyes. 

Wish me luck, kinfolk.


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