This is my story and I"m sticking to it.

For a guy, it's bad enough to move into an apartment with a female they don't know. It's even worse if she's a manic depressive train wreck waiting to derail. I moved in with a 24 year old chic diagnosed with bi-polar disease when I was going to Cal State Fullerton. I thought things would be chill at first. She was somewhat cute, good body, relatively silent and she kept to her own. I had the living room, while she had her own bedroom. She chainsmoked in the house like mad, and while I prefered to have a non-smoking premisis, I eventually started to enjoy waking up in the morning, rolling over, and sparking a cig. Or smoking one while I shat. That was nice. But of course as time passed by, her little idiosyncracies came out.

Sometimes I would pack a fresh roll of toilet paper, use a few sheets to cleanse myself, and leave the house. I'd come back late at night and use the bathroom, only to find a hallow brown tube of cardboard staring me in the face. Where did all the TP go? I'd pack a fresh roll. Lo and behold, the very next day it'd be done. Sometimes I'd even find the bathroom floor flooded with water. I put two and two together - she was an over-wiper. Apparently in her world, her ass couldn't be clean enough. One deuce dropping session would prerequisite an entire roll of TP, just to ensure her ass was free from feces.

Another time I had some friends over while she was out. One of my friends said to me, "hey greg, have you ever snooped through her room just for the fuck of it?" I told him no, because I was afraid of what I might find. But we went to her room anways. I glanced around the room, then at the floor, and hit jackpot. A purple thong! There was a notebook covering half of it, so I kicked it over to the side. That's when I almost lost my lunch. Gunk. And I mean GUNK! Is period blood supposed to coagulate like that? The bottom portion of the thong was drenched in this thick, gooey concoction of period blood and other vaginal excretes. To a woman, this may sound like no big deal. But imagine my horror, the last time I saw such cottage cheese was when I watched the Miracle of Life in high school and a friggin baby was popping out of some chic's cooter.

During her manic highs she'd read to me peices of the "novel" she was writing. It read like some "Sound and the Fury" Faulkner shit if he'd wrote the thing in 6th grade. And I sat there and listened politely, while she'd pause briefly from her open mic session to drop such intellectual gems as, "I think people hate other people because they don't understand the other person. Like, do you know what I"m saying Greg?"

"Yeah totally, hate stems from fear and fear stems from ignorance"

"Oh my God Greg. You're so smart you should be a teacher or something"

Then there was the time I came home somewhat early and walked in on her cleaning the kitchen - butt ass naked. She ran into the corner like a frightened child, balled up, and whispered, "um, could you leave for a second?" I thought it was hard looking her in the eye after her thong incident, now I was treatin her like she was a fuckin chainsmokin Medusa. And her titties totally let me down, they sagged and looked like the were trying to wrap around her back and touch each other on the other side.

Things started going downhill from here on. To make a long story short, I was getting sick of her, I couldn't even wack off in the middle of the night without thinkin she'd wake up for a cigarette, like she always did, and catch me getting assweat on her ergonomic chair. And she started getting sick of me because of my lifestyle, and plus I couldn't help to show my annoyance with her. And when I used her towel to mop the floor cuz she flooded the toilet and didn't clean it once again, that was the last straw.

Her mom was over one day and asked to talk to me outside. She said, "Greg, I got a real disturbing letter from someone that knew you at Cal State Fullerton. They wrote to me saying you were planning to drugg up my daughter, and gangbang her with some of your friends". I think the geniune expression of shock on my face spoke for itself, and she seemed to believe me when I said I was planning nothing of the sort. Just a prank.

Three days later I'm coming home in the morning, after a good night of partying. I goto the bathroom to take a shit. As I'm sitting on the toilet, I hear a banging on the bathroom door and a guy's voice yelling, "ARE YOU IN THERE?". The door busts open and a man, late thirties, about 200 pounds walks in on me as I'm taking a shit. I stand up and start to pull my pants up but he throws me against the wall. He screams at me, "You want to rape my sister? You want to rape my sister you fucking pervert?". My dick is hanging out. I go to pick up my pants and that's when he clocks me, hard, right in the face. Fuck the pants I thought. I threw my hands up as he continued to scream and throw punches at me. Finally he stops and started to leave the room. Great, I start to pick up my pants when the door flings open again and knocks me back. Another barrage of punches while my dick's hanging out, and everytime I let my guard down to pick them up, that's when he'd really clock me and I'd throw my hands back up. The beating went on for a few minutes, but he was screaming at me and calling me a pervert more than he was really landing good punches. Although he did beat me nice and proper, I guess it was a good thing that my dick was hanging out. I mean, exactly how bad can you beat a man when his nuts are visibly flailing to the rhythm of the blows?

Finally, during a lull in his temper, I made good on an opportunity to get the fuck out of there. I headed towards the manager's office all bruised and bloodied (with my pants up) and had him call the police. By the time the cops arrived, the dude had left.

So what was all that about? Turns out little miss manic depressive stopped taking her medicine to go on a drinking binge. During one of her lows she devised a plan to get me out of the house. When writing that fake letter to her mom didn't work, she told her bid bad brother that I raped her. So he comes over all hot and heavy and gives poor Greg a you-just-raped-my-sister ass whooping. Maaan, that damn bitch wanted my nuts ever since I moved in. Too bad her nuttiness superceded her relative cuteness or I would have definately given her the in-out and everything would have been a happy ever after fuckfest. But needless to say, I didn't touch that bitch with a 10 ft pole, nor did i touch her with my penis.

I don't know what she told the cops, but they totally thought she was crazy and got on her ass for not taking her meds. I decided not the press charges because after all, the guy thought I raped his sister and all he gave me was a simple ass whoopin? What a pussy. I took it like a man and put it all behind me. I left Cal State Fullerton because it was a peice of shit school and I was done dealing with that place. I moved back home and from there, I type this story for you all.

So there you have it. That's my story, free of all embellishment and about 99% true. What's the moral of the story? Drop your pants if you're getting your ass beat, it may just save you a trip to the hospital.