the Adventures of Living with a Slob (part 2)

A couple of days ago I wrote about my first two roommates, "Josh" and "Derek". Some may not believe that they were as dirty as I said they were, but to the left here I have an actual snapshot of "Josh's" room. Just think ladies, somewhere under that pile of garbage is where the magic happened for him (on a somewhat regular basis that would probably surprise most of you).
I'm not sure how he wasn't embarrassed bringing a lady home to that mess. I can't speak for everybody else but when I bring a date home, beforehand I clean like Martha Stewart on methamphetamines. Not "Josh" though. But then again when it's three in the morning and your date has consumed enough Jack Daniels to kill a moose, she's not really gonna notice your room.
Okay so that's really a picture of the dump, but his room was almost as bad. I think he may have done laundry three or four times (the laundry room was all the way downstairs) while we lived in the house and the rest of the time he would just go buy new clothes. So his dirty clothes would just pile up along with empty bowls of Easy-Mac, half-empty cans of beer, dead midgets and I'm pretty sure there was a used diaper filled with Indian food in there somewhere.
But that rancid smell quite possibly could have been his socks. Combine over-productive sweat glands with bad hygeine and the habit of taking his stank-ass socks off and just leaving them around the house and you have a problem. You try putting the moves on a date when out from between the couch cushions she discovers a old, sweaty, dirty sock that smells like a turd covered in burnt hair. Needless to say, those damn socks cock-blocked me on more than one occasion.
All in all it was a good learning experience though. Except for the place smelling like Bigfoot's dick. Seacrest out.