An ex-housemate...
was by far and away the most grimy and filthy person I've ever known. He never washed anything - his laundry, his dirty plates or even himself. He was an utterly repugnant person, both in terms of his hygiene and his character. Tall and thin, his back hunched like an old man, despite being in his early twenties, with a weaselly, screwed up face to match. His hair was matted at the back where he hadn't washed it, and his face was bright red, greasy and spotty.

I literally don't know how this guy was alive. He went out drinking every night, smoked like a chimney, and ate a diet mostly consisting of junk food. I came home one day after lectures to a smoke-filled kitchen, and an acrid smell of burning. I walked into the dining room to see him eating a plate of what looked like lumps of coal. It transpired he'd found some chicken in the fridge a week over its sell-by-date, and decided it would be safe to eat if he cremated it in a frying pan and smothered it in chili sauce.

He used to come home drunk most nights with a pizza, which he'd eat in his room, and then dump the box on the floor. Only, it never went directly on the floor, because his floor was covered in his old dirty clothes. He'd then wake up the next day for lectures, fish out an odious item of crusty clothes from under the pile, and repeat the cycle. Slowly the greasy boxes became layered between the clothes, along with beer cans and juice cartons, and plates, knives and forks from downstairs. He also had a shelf above his bed where he would put his cups and glasses, often with a finger or two of milk or coke at the bottom, which were at various stages of decay. Every month or two we'd ask him politely if he knew where all the knives, forks, and crockery were, and the next day the sink would be full. To his credit, he would occasionally wash them for us, but knowing his hygiene-levels we'd do them again to be sure.

Possibly the most disgusting encounter was when he came downstairs while we were all in the living room watching TV. He took his top off, and asked us if we knew what the red patches on his skin were. We told him to go to the doctors, where he found out it was a fungal skin infection, and was prescribed a special shower gel and cream to use. I'll never forget the combined look of disgust on all of our faces when he came down from the bathroom, after 6 months of living together, and asked us how to turn on the shower. I can only assume he'd never used it. After a week of frequent washing, I was surprised how well his complexion cleared up. Despite this, once the rash disappeared, he slipped back into his old routine.

Needless to say, he was an utter filthbag.
( guffguff fuckes your gradeds balls!, Sun 5 Feb 2012, 16:58, Reply)