Where's that drink taking you?

It has been forced upon my attention that I need to look for a new flatmate. The room is fairly large, and has a balcony so we are all hopeful it will not take too long to convince someone to rent it. I cling to that thought, because we have had some dubious potential flatmate experiences in the past, particularly when trying to offload the smaller, cheaper room. The gimp room. On one occasion someone moved in who had an odour problem. I swear, the smell coiled out his door, onto the landing, down the stairs and out the door, right back up to his window. A circle of smell, like a snake biting its tail. Things came to a head when I started leaving the house and it would nefariously cling to me.
When people went to look around that house to take over the lease there was always a sprint around shutting up rooms before opening his door, and many amusing moment as the prospective tenants recoiled.
The second example I think of did not actually move into the small room, just might have. Some highlights of the interview include:
-Failing to turn up to first appointment to meet flatmates and see room
-(turned up to second appointment & seemed reasonably normal)
-Turning up to meet final flatmate 1/2 hour late
-Breaking out the woodstock bourbon and cola
-Deciding we should all drink together and taxi-ing down and up the hill to fetch whisky.
-Drinking the large portion of the whisky himself, repeating stories about his impoverished North Shore childhood
-Congratulating himself on being good looking
-Requesting that we take photos of him with a cell phone that had no camera
-Upon being refused, having a tantrum and then going to the toilet & talking to his dick
-Telling us all how big his cock was
-Talking about how disgusted he was with the homosexualists, with especial reference to their dancing
-Claiming that Temuera Morrison was a really good guy
-"You guys should not flat with me, I'm too way out for you"
The list could go on, but suffice to say when he insulted a visiting friend we kicked him out. He ended up outside, screaming at the house for a bit, then staggering down the hill to jam at the Empire. He rang up the next morning as if nothing had happened. Apparently he had lost his glasses and he had to find out if he'd left them at our place.
And so, Dunedin drives yet another person to alcohol. Anyway, as is the horror of living here, we keep seeing him round now. Yet another person to duck into shops to avoid.