Her name was Maryanne. We met at an open mic night at a crappy bar where we both were playing. She was short, had dreads, and looked a bit like a troll-version of Tracy Chapman. She played a Beach Boys song and we bonded over our mutual love of said group. We would occasionally bump into each other at various dive bars and parties and became casual acquaintances. She had a sketchy look about her and would grit her teeth and make strange facial expressions as she spoke. Eventually she moved into an apartment building across the street from me with her girlfriend. I eventually found out that she was bisexual and a recovering crackhead, and was infamous for crashing parties uninvited, looking for crack. One day she showed up at my house when I wasn't home, visibly intoxicated, and asked my roommate for a pen and paper so she could leave me a "pen message". When I later read it, it was just scribbled gibberish. She then showed up at a mutual friend's place and started acting crazy. After refusing repeated requests to leave, my friend called the police, at which point she pulled out a large kitchen knife and cut the phone cord. My friend managed to escape with her in hot pursuit, and ran to the nearest phone booth and called the police. My friend managed to hold her off until the cops showed up, at which point she refused to drop the knife and was pepper-sprayed. This had no effect and the police were forced to tackle her into submission. I haven't seen her since and I have no idea where she is or what happened to her.

I met Andrew on my first day of university and we were great friends for seven years. He's a man of firm convictions and strong intellect, and we enjoyed arguing with each other about politics. One of the amazing things about Andrew is that he's only ever mad at one person at a time, but he focuses all his energy on that apathy until someone else makes him mad, then all is well. It's the key to the man, the fact that, once discovered, makes his foul moods bearable: Weather the storm, and he will one day again be your friend. Twice over the years I fell into his dog house, both times when I caught him lying about women he claimed to have been intimate with. Twice we buried the hatchet. Eight months ago Andrew got a real girlfriend, a true and nice and wonderful girl, and I was so happy for him. Then he told me I was too immature to meet her --that I could not be trusted and I would only embarrass him-- and I was devastated. Every one of our conversations after that became an argument, but he no longer respected my views or what I had to say. I kept waiting for his anger to move on to the next person, but it never did. He would go on and on about how I had no friends, when, in fact, he was the one who was drifting out of our social circle. One day, out of the blue, he sent me an e-mail that I couldn't finish reading. It was the ravings of a man insane. I wouldn't send a letter that brutal to anyone. I forwarded it to a couple of our mutual friends, just to show that I wasn't being overly sensitive when I said I'll never speak to him again. Turns out he had spent the last four days bad-mouthing me to my sister over facebook before he worked up the nerve to send his e-mail to me. I thought he'd be an uncle to my children. I thought we'd know each other when we became old and grey. I haven't forwarded that e-mail to his girlfriend. My friends tell me to. My sister tells me to. My mother tells me to. I won't. It's not the mature thing to do. That e-mail is the last words we will ever exchange, and they make him look like an animal. That should be enough for me, but instead it just makes me sad. Goodbye, Andrew.

My own personal experience with a fucktard is as follows:

My last husband, Mike. He lived in the house I owned for over a year while I supported him. I found out after the fact that on our wedding trip to Vegas he paid a dominatrix to tie him up and whip him while I was back at the hotel, wondering why in the hell my soon-to-be groom didn't want to spend any time with me. Seventeen days after the wedding, he left me and moved in with his ex-girlfriend. A few months after that he moved to Mississippi to be with the father who abandoned him as a young child. I used to blame the dad for abandoned him; now I understand completely. Losing him was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I knew this girl Kaylie in high school who showed me a picture of the girl she gave birth to WHEN SHE WAS 12. And since the father was only 11, his parents adopted the baby. Anyway, we were friends for awhile. Years later I was in college and looking for a roomate so I could afford to live off campus. Although she was not in college, she had been in touch with me and needed a roomate too. I soon found out she smoked 2 packs a day and had a lot of strange habits. The worst was her sex addiction. She had more than 30 sex partners in the 3 months we lived together. Yes! That included our apartment manager, the schizophrenic man downstairs who was on state disability funding, two brothers in the same night (aged 14 and 16), one of my professors, a few of my friends, and yes, my own boyfriend. All unprotected sex as she told these men she wasn't menstruating and therefore it meant she was unable to get pregnant.(!) Later, a lot of my 'friends' had complained to me that they got crab lice from her. Although I wasn't sleeping around, we lived in a small studio apartment, and I got crab lice too. Sometimes she would bring somebody in and have sex just a few feet away from where I was trying to sleep. She never did pay any rent, but I was just as happy to get the hell out of there and never look back. She wasn't even that pretty.

It was T.D.’s 19th birthday party. We were drunk virgins and I was sick of waiting for him to make the first move. I wanted him to be “the one” more than anything at the time. I knew that he was uncircumcised so I asked him to show me what it looked like. He waved the “let’s go” flag, grabbed me and we locked ourselves in the bedroom. He proceeded to show me the business. I looked at him, he looked at me… I went to make my move when he pushed me away and said “We’re just friends, right?” So I was trying to work through being rejected (and staring at my first penis) and went to tell him that I really liked him when he started crying about how much he loved his mom. The bawling was so loud that our mutual friend had to come in and console T.D. with “it’s okay, man. Your mom's great.” With his raging-semi shlong hanging part way out of his jeans. Last I heard he "had his heart broken by a stripper" and spent some time in jail. He may have just delivered your pizza.

Tricia was her name. She is my mother. My parents separated on 11 September 2001. My father blamed it on her alcoholism and cheatin' heart. Even though I didn't want to admit it, I knew they were unhappy. My little sister and I were to live with my dad. Tricia was to go off to my grandparent's house until she could get a place of her own. Fast forward three or so months of akward every other weekend vistits, Tricia rolled her little Ford Espire over. Everyone in the small town where she lived was shocked that it was due to alchol. My grandfather kicked her out and told her that she had to go to rehab. She went to a rehab center about an two hours away from where I live. My little sister and I visited every other weekend with the supervision of the counslors there. I hated my mother for making me visit her here. I hated how she made cry myself to sleep. At eleven, a girl needs her mother. During that time, I was rasing my sister with the help of my father. Tricia would pop up every two or three months with a letter or phone call. During one of the first days of summer after my seventh grade year, she called. I remeber cursing at her trying to figure out why she was calling me. Tears were rolling down my face faster and faster. My dad told me to go to my room. I did. I closed the door behind me and all I hear are screams from my father. I decided to call my grandfather. That event changed me and within a few weeks, I decided that she was no longer going to make me cry. It took me a while to get over the whole ordeal but, I feel stronger because of it.

Tiffany. We were fairly good friends for a few years in elementary school, but when highschool hit she started calling to hang out with her every day. It wasn't until years and years later after talking to other people who knew her did I realize she didn't have any other remotely close friends before me. Throughout our friendship she got progressively sluttier and used more drugs and heavier drugs. She also weighed about 250lbs when we first started hanging out, but mysteriously lost all the weight (I suspect it had to do with her drug use) and could never shut up about it. She would constantly transparently try to make me feel bad and fish for compliments by obviously sucking in what little stomach she had and asking if she looked fat. She would also force me to answer questions about whether or not she was fatter than women on the street (she would usually pick very fat women to ask about) and would not let up until I answered that she was skinnier. Her world revolved solely around her, and long past any stage of acceptability she would build up "relationships" with pervy older guys who she met online and met up with for no-strings sex, and she would never stop talking about these "relationships." Over the years she alienated me from my other friends by spreading rumours (again, that I would only realize years later had been started by her) about things I had done or how I supposedly felt about these people. The story ends when I had my 19th birthday party and just about burst into tears at how sad my life looked at that moment. She showed up with some drug addict who looked about ten years older than him, smashed a beer bottle on my walkway and tried to have sex with him in my bathroom. I sent her home, told her we were through on the phone the next day, and spent an entire year trying to distance myself from her.From what I hear, she never ended up getting her high school diploma, has "meth-face," and was arrested for having sex with a trucker at a rest stop. I can only hope all of it is true.

I don't remember his name (thank God). He was a friend of a friend who seemed fine in mixed company, but when I started spending time alone with him he got...creepy. Strike that, he was batshit insane.

He was paranoid and hateful. He thought his parents, his neighbors, the cops etc. were out to get him. He made crass sex jokes even after I asked him to stop. He excused his hatred of all religions by saying a Catholic nut-job burnt his girlfriend to death in the park, and his homophobia by saying he was molested when he was four. I believe neither story.

He refused to drink soda because he said it depletes calcium from your bones, but would smoke a pack a day because he planed to die by age 23 anyway. He blamed his stench on his pet turtle and made plans on how to kill it. He would talk repeatedly about forbidden "shadowcraft" moves that could kill a man with one blow, or how to evade the cops by "going all stealth". His favorite words were "sketch", "sketchball", and "crackhead" and he would use them to describe anyone who didn't like him. He claimed to have friends out side of school I never saw.

When I deliberately avoided him, he came looking for me. While waiting for him to realize he wasn't welcome around me without pushing him into rage, I wrote cathartic, thinly veiled hate stories about him for my English class. He eventually stopped searching for me at lunch and I didn't see him again. It was a breath of fresh air. I sort of hope he did join the army like he planed to and met his death goal early. Bastard.

Did I mention that our mutual friend once to set us up together? At first all our friends thought we'd make a great couple. The mind boggles.

Fleischmann was a guy I dated briefly only because he was the poor man's look-a-like to my previous boyfriend who dumped me. He looked good on paper: he had a car, didn't live at home with his parents, and had a job. The real story was that he was a massive stoner and his car and rented room looked like it was inhabited by pack rat homeless people. I dumped him for his weed consumption and somehow he came back two months later. He said he was getting help and talking to a therapist and I went along with it. He was in hisl ate 20's and had only been with one woman in his whole life. At first, it was endearing and I felt sort of bad for him. Then after I slept with him for the first time, he informed he wasn't into it because he was addicted to porn and had an unhealthy view of what turned him on. I was overweight and pissed off that he felt the need to tell me this AFTER we had sex! We met at a club for fat chicks which he went to all the time because he was desperate. I threatened to tell everyone at the bar about him and his tiny ding dong.The funny thing is that he has a friend who works with me. Sometimes she mentions his name and that when he's in town, he has the urge to stop by my place to see how I'm doing. What a fuck-nut!

Lucy was a flatmate who took an instant dislike to me despite my best efforts to be nice to her. She would mutter insults under her breath just loud enough for me to be able to hear, but not quite loud enough for me to know if she'd meant me to hear it, or was just thinking out loud.

Marc. he was my boyfriend for about a month before he told me he had to go out of town to work undercover (he was a cop). he left in the beginning of january of last year and we talked every day. the middle of january he said he wasn't allowed to call me anymore, so we emailed everyday. the beginning of february the emails because less to none. i got a clue...finally. i will probably run into him one day while he's out with his wife and 4 kids.

Dana. We took a language class together and she was fun to hang out with. She loaned me the entire series of "Sex in the City" and we'd talk about the show and laugh about life. After a while, I realized that she always put me down in subtle ways. Every time we parted, I felt like I was doing it all wrong. The last time we talked, she said, "I always call you. You never call me. If you want to remain friends, you have to call me and make plans. I'm not going to call you." I agreed, but I never called. After a few months of feeling sort of guilty about it, I realized (like Miranda says in SITC) that I was just not that into her. Andy

josh, who used to fuck me while i was sleeping. i would wake up and he would be humping my half-conscious body. the last time we 'madeup,' i vowed not sleep with him until i trusted him again. and like clockwork, a few days after our reconciliation and he did it again. i got up the next morning; i took the morning after pill to be sure, and i got rid of him, once and for all. three weeks later, and i just took a positive pregnancy test. the perfect end to the perfect relationship.

Michelle. I knew this girl in high school but became good (best) friends with her in college. There are MANY reasons why I no longer speak with her, but I will just choose one or two stories. First time I stopped speaking to her was because she didn't show up at her job (that I had gotten FOR her) for three days because her grandfather was "sick." This was always her code for she went on an unexpected last minute vacation. Another time she decided to visit me and help me with my Oscar party. Well, just when preparations we getting hectic she told me she was taking a walk to get some "air" because the kitchen was getting so hot. Two hours later I call her to find her shopping at Macy's on 34th Street.

Dan. He videotaped us making whoopee without my knowledge. I learned of this tape years later, from a new boyfriend.

Max. Came dressed to a Halloween party as 'Captain Abortion.' Three of the women at the party had had abortions in the past three years. Nice one, man.

Tim. We dated briefly when we were in college. I was a virgin at the time and wasn't intending on that changing for him. He was seemingly cool with that until one evening, when he tried to convince me to sleep with him by telling me that he'd read an article in Men's Health that men who don't have regular sex have a higher risk of prostate cancer. "And...well...you know how health-conscious I am."

Liz. I lived with her for six months when my roommate decided to spend the semester in Australia. I took to calling her The Hoover, because when she ran across an item, she sucked it up; countless pairs of earrings, gift cards, sweaters, and bottles of Gray Goose disappeared into her extra-large maw. When I finally confronted her, she broke down and told me she was pregnant - and that she was going to get rid of it by drinking and doing "a lot" of drugs. It worked. I was never so happy to move out on someone in my life. Sarah

Got one for you, in haiku form: Girlfriend moved awayOops! Pregnant from secret man. Definition: cunt. If you want a name, it's Jodi, which could be..Jodi moved awayOops! Pregnant from secret man. Definition: cunt. Ben

Jacqueline. We became roommates in grad school, having met because we were in the same degree program. I spent the summer between the first and second year of grad school in another city, working on an internship. While I was gone, I sent her my rent check every month. When I returned – a few days before classes were to start – she told me she wanted to start living on her own because she needed to work on herself to be “more centered.” She found a new apartment the next day, and I had to scramble to find either a new roommate or a new apartment. But, since the new semester was about to start, everyone I knew already had living arrangements and all the affordable housing was already taken. Over the next week or two, she bugged me every day, asking what I was going to do, because she wanted to give our landlord notice right away since she already knew she was moving out and she didn’t want to get stuck paying rent on two different apartments. In the end, I couldn’t find a new roommate, so I moved into an apartment in a sketchy neighborhood where we had to change the exterior locks because we found a homeless man sleeping in our lobby. We also had to call the cops on my neighbor, because he was beating up his girlfriend. (And this apartment was even more expensive for me because I was now living on my own!) I still had to take classes with her almost every day over the next year, and we even had to work on group projects together.


Sabrina

We'll call her "B" for Bipolar. I moved into my friend's row house following a break with my now ex-husband. She seemed a bit mentally off, but we nevertheless became fast friends. A week went by, and three guys moved into the house. Ms. B morphed into the devil's right hand in no time. A typical day in her life began with her prancing about the house in something less-than-appropriate to wear among the opposite sex. She'd then go to work to do "graphic design art" at a local screen print shop. She carried with her what I later found out was a bag full of samurai swords. She became angry one night and threw one of her swords into our front door, cracking it down the middle. She'd drink at least a bottle of wine each night, arriving home wasted and most often arm-in-arm with a skeevy male friend. She once brought home a recently-released prisoner, who she left on our back porch to "hang" with us. She frightened everyone in the house pretty quickly, since she tried to sleep with each and every one of us. We all tried to resist B, and were met with various responses. One of our male roommates, for instance, said no to one of her come-ons in our kitchen, was punched in the face, then given a blow-job; right then, right there. She tried to straddle another male roommate at his glass-blowing torch one day and was resisted. She walked into his room that night as he slept, punched him in the balls, then passed out on his floor. She awoke the next morning screaming and punching around, as though confused. She was once kicked out of a local bar. She walked out of the bar, removed her bike tire and threw it into the grill of an oncoming truck, because she was "pissed". Her dog ate various pieces of our furniture while we were at work; the couch, a chair, our clothing-anything, really. She stole all of my winter clothing as she moved out of the house. She was moving away [thank god] with "the man of her dreams", who's girlfriend later contacted us on Myspace to ask who the hell "B" was and why B was trying to get with her boyfriend... Need I say more? Thanks for reading. I wish I was lying to you. Cheers! K.