98 hurst street, Oxford
So this is the "Motley Crue" that I've been sharing a house with all last year.  From the left, Alston, Me, Mark, Hugo and Reda.  Basically we've left the house now so y'all can feel free to go trash it.  I mean, we did...
This background's kinda faggy isn't it? Hmmm, oh well - people have been nutted for less...
Our last night saw the settling of some old scores.  Firstly we had to do some public service photography. Parents, take a good look at the photo (right) - do not let your children go anywhere near this place, or this man.  They are both sick and in need of help.  We publish this photo here so that others may learn and not have to go through the same trauma we did.  
The Purple Turtle, Oxford.  Only alcohol can make this seem like a good idea.
If you've seen the film Office Space (which you should!!), or ever experience the smug, self-righteousness of a Sky Digibox then you'll understand the significance of this scene...
Above is our second score being settled.  Rupert Murdoch, if you are reading this you are a very lucky man - that digibox could've been your head!  The good, honest people of Britain will rise up against you and your filth, your porn, your poor reception and your built in obselescence.  Let this sacrifice be a warning.
Our Sky Digibox stopped working a few months after our guarantee ran out - co-incidence? We think not...A horrible fascist plot by Murdoch to annoy us and vote Tory and not watch Film Four and...actually we haven't really thought this bit out too well...
Everyone would like to be remembered for something - we like to feel we brought  happiness to oxford with our parties. Certainly this young worker from Bain and Co. will never forget the lessons he learned in the ways of life from the University of Hard Knocks, Hurst Street.  Not quite sure who the queer in the Suit is though...
"Ohmigod you're gay!!" Somebody call N.A.M.B.L.A.!!
Can someone explain this to me, please?!
Other weird things happened in Hurst Street.  Magically appearing lipstick, magically disappearing socks, champagne and Turkey Rashers.  There were mice, slugs, snails, spiders and psychos inhabitting every corner. (We mean it about the psychos....)
However, with all the shit-smearing, darkness-fearing, blood-letting and feet-picking wierdness, one particular ritual sticks out as being weirdness above and beyond the call of duty.
I'm talking about the Grapefruit ritual here.
Every morning, without fail, one of the house/team members would religiously massacre a young grapefruit in the kitchen.  The defenceless citrus circle would have to endure a merciless onslaught of dissection and disconfiguration with a razor-sharp curved knife, sometimes lasting up to 15 minutes.  Eventually the maimed and bleeding health-food would be consumed rapidly, with glee and excitement.  A horrible end to a brief and pain-filled life.

We only have one disputed instance of the grapefruit striking back, cold comfort indeed for fresh fruit all over the world.
This bizarre and atavistic display was never fully explained....
Top Ten Hurst Street In Jokes
10. I am the Walrus?
9. Northerners
8. Micks
7. Arabs
6. Asians (small hands...)
5. Man-whoring
4. Smeus
3. D.V.D.A.
2. Baked Goods
1. Yeah....Right...Okay....
Hurst Street may be gone, but it certainly won't be easily forgotten. 
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