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This is a question Filth!

Enzyme says: Tell us your tales of grot, grime, dirt, detritus and mess

(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 13:04)
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When I was much younger, in my late teens,
I had a certain affection for a band called Biohazard, who in retrospect were rubbish. When I was 23, I found a second use for their albums. I got a sheet of paper, traced the 'biological hazard' logo from their cover art and then stuck it to Joizi's door. Joizi stank, Joizi was filthy. The cleaner refused to enter his room, because of the smell.

Home for me then was a halls corridor populated by six earlytwentysomthing males. It was reasonably clean because we drank from cans and ate from plastic trays, mess was just dirty forks or a full bin. We had a wall covered in porn. There was a dead christmas tree on top of the fridge covered in porn decorations. We called it 'the clitoris tree'. We had stolen it, from elsewhere. The decorations were ours, though.

Joizi sat in our kitchen, smoking a cigarette and drinking lager. He wore a stained tshirt and his 'ants in your pants' boxer shots. These were the clothes he had worn a few weeks earlier. Then he had run from his room, lapped the kitchen and cheered. He had finally overcome his girlfriend's vaginisthmus. She was nervous and eighteen and it had been her first time.

We called Joizi 'The Monkey' because of his personal habits. He didn't eat and lived on lager. He confessed to only cleaning his teeth twice in the first term. He never did laundry, ever. His clothes stank. He wore the ones that smelled the least. He almost never showered, and confessed he wanked in there when he did. This made me glad it was almost never, because he was a filthy animal. We called him 'The Monkey' because no matter how much shit he flung at the bars, he was always given bananas, and he loved bananas, and we all wanted bananas.

There had been a parade of women through his room, he was rarely single. One had recounted to us how a former lover had drunkenly vomited on her during sex. She had wiped it off and kept on going. One had claimed to have fucked a member of the band Pennywise. It may have been the one who died, but I forget. Another had lain there in his lightless stinking hovel while he thrust past her subliminal reservations and ground away her virginity with his rancid stinking penis. He did a lap of the kitchen afterwards, while she lay there like a badly iced cake.

Joizi sat in our kitchen in his 'ants in your pants' boxer shorts. It was January. In around a year his liquid diet would get so bad that he would randomly shit his pants as he walked down the road. He was never without women. They loved his stinking balls. His latest one did his laundry for him now, now he had lapped the kitchen. She came around, with news.

"Hi Joizi"
"Hi babes"
"We need to talk"
"Can I do this here, in front of everyone?"
"You have crabs"
"How do you know?"
"Because I have crabs, and there has been only you"

Joizi thought. Two of his friends had had crabs. They all had a sexual partner in common, who was ultimately responsible, the Pennywise girl. Joizi had shagged her in September.

It was January.

"I wondered where the itching came from"

He swigged from his can and drew on his cigarette. Those in the kitchen looked at each other in disbelief, then noticed his pants.
(, Mon 6 Feb 2012, 21:19, 4 replies)
i know someone
who has a large rectangular biohazard tattoo on his calf.
(, Tue 7 Feb 2012, 15:02, closed)
Does he
pepper his conversations with the word 'motherfucker' and references to brooklyn?
(, Tue 7 Feb 2012, 16:35, closed)
A University Colleague Of Mine....
God knows you could smell his feet.

In fact you could smell his feet so much, that lurking behind his door in halls, and in his room in the house he then shared with my best mate.

The lights were always off and there was an impenetrable wall-of-stink that people with working noses would not dare attempt to pass though.

Bad feet like you wouldn't ever believe.

He went on Industrial Placement during his University sandwich year and loved it - he was learning a lot, and earning money.

He came back to University to finish the final year of his HND, and when the exams arrived...Proceeded to get drunk before each and every exam and spoil his papers, in one case by drawing in some detail schematic plans for an "execution machine."

His contemporaries passed the HND, some of us went on to the final year of the following degree course, and some left. Some, like me - went into a 2 year degree programme.

He went back to Egremont in Cumbria and killed himself some years later.
(, Tue 7 Feb 2012, 15:06, closed)
I love
a happy ending.
(, Tue 7 Feb 2012, 17:47, closed)

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