Alright here we go bag number 3 for the kitchen. Let's see what we got today? Ah, here we are, a the usual pyramid stack of beer bottles on the counter. Some of them still half full. Alright, awesome. I can hit some of these and make some sort of song and tune with each one. Neat. Wait, what do we have here? 3 day old pizza. The cheese turning a nice moldy brown. Pepperoni curled up in a taco like shape with a dark dark red color that almost looks burned by age. I could nearly shatter this to pieces with one hit against the counter it is so stiff. Fucking pig. And lets see....what else do we have hear. Assorted plastics, papers we got here from food. Oh, here is a nice surprise. A half eaten banana under some cereal boxes. At least he was trying to eat healthy for once in his life.

Man, I have every right to throw this right in his room. Not like he'd know anyways. His room is a nuclear explosion of waste. Our cream colored carpets darkened to a near black with ground in dirt, dust and other misc. shoe debris he has picked up from his random and often few encounters outside. Clothes scattered on his bed, window, door, creating a secondary carpet for him, right near his closet. Speaking of closet, mounds of decrepit waste mound like a waterfall, almost having it be the center of the disaster. Ice mountain bottles take the base, Kleenexes crammed inside of them sometimes, growing unknown new life from the mucus and other bodily fluids that were placed on it. More mounds of month old jeans pleading to be washed, old T-shirts that had nearly changed color because of the months of nature abuse on it. Food wrappers from McDonalds, chili cheese burritos, the filling still seeping from the wrapper, and half eaten chicken nuggets are scattered brightly amongst the heap.

All of which is consumed by an overpowering smell that would make any hardened man gag within the vicinity. Not even a ton of bull manure can mask the stench of this man. He reeks of smell that makes flowers welt, a sort of wave that follows him around. A bottle of Febreeze could possibly take care of it, for a matter of time that is, only before the smell destroys whatever cleaning power it has. His hair is matted, black and greasy. His skin is a pale white, with red quarter like acne marks covering his face and shoulders. Overweight, 265 pounds, he still walks with a swagger, almost like a penguin, or if constipated. His chubby hands still grab for the 2 day old mac and cheese sitting under his desk and he continues to grind away at a computer game (that shall go nameless at this time). His shirts and wrinkled but plain. Often a witty phrase or demeaning quote will stretch along his chest, which are of a B cup to any woman's bosom measurement. Hair covers the front of his chest continuing down to his legs and foot, where often he'll describe himself as the second coming of Frodo. But the only adventures he has getting up to go down the hallway for his weekly dump.

"Yeah, yeah I'll clean it up tomorrow" he'll say to me, as breathes heavily towards the fridge for another mountain dew. "But I appreciate you cleaning up. I should buy you a beer". He holds up his dew in a celebration toast to me and my slaving to clean up his hiroshima like disaster in the kitchen while I nod and continue filling up the next bag from the counter. Off he'll walk into his room, shut the door, only to appear a couple hours later, whether it be to make another microwave burrito, or to use the bathroom.

The strangest part about him though, is that even if he creates a mess with every step he takes, he takes meticulous care with his socks. Out of every part in his room, there is a dresser, yes, still dirtied to hell with random clothes, messes, vomit like messes, but he'll keep in one drawer, a coordinated display of pure white socks,as if fresh from the store and have them aligned perfectly among one another.. As to why he does this, I cannot say.

I really can't explain how I feel towards him. He is nice in doses, much like aspirin medication or something but having to live with him was one of the most worst experiences of my life. I am not one to say that I live my life as clean as I can, there are times where I can get overwhelmed with not cleaning, but I still do my best to keep it as clean as possible. But to a man who lives like a pig in a room that can rival a landfill, I could never do that, even if you paid me a great portion of money.