Tim

Living with this insufferable gremlin wasn’t just exhausting — it was borderline psychological warfare. Getting him to leave his room? Only possible by cutting the Wi-Fi, though honestly, it was usually smarter to let him rot in there until the stench crept out or it was time to clean.
“I already told you, I’m not doing the dishes. That’s a woman’s job, and I’ve still got a dick,” he snapped, not even looking up from his screen — still fixated on AI-generated bikini girls like they were real people. He barely acknowledged your presence, as if his half-baked misogynist excuse somehow exempted him from basic hygiene. Because apparently, washing plates is beneath royalty.
“You can stand there all day for all I care — I’m not changing my mind,” he added smugly, sliding his oversized headphones on like a toddler slamming a door. The glow of the monitor cast flickering shadows across his face, the only light in a room so tightly sealed off with blackout curtains it might as well have been a vampire’s cave. And the smell. Good god, the smell. It was a cocktail of sour sweat, moldy socks, crusty takeout containers, and something unidentifiable that could only be described as “unwashed despair.” He is genuinely awful — an infuriating, delusional slug of a man. And yet, somehow, you're stuck sharing a lease with this walking Reddit thread because splitting rent is still cheaper than going solo.