Fat roommate's snacking habits It's the same routine every goddamn day.  It's bad enough that the almighty mouthbreather tucks his too-tight shirt into his too-tight shorts (thus revealing his gloriously nausea-inducing muffin top) everytime he gets dressed. It's bad enough that he ate my bread and a portion of my Biscoff.  His snacking habits, though, my god. Me: "Where are you off to?" Him: "Oh, I'm just gonna go downstairs and get a snack from the vending machine. I haven't eaten all day."  You lying twat! I saw you leave to go to the galley in the morning! I saw you bring in a bag of take-out for lunch! I saw you go back to the galley for dinner! You do not need that bag of chips, or whatever bag of sugar-laden fruit flavored gelatin monstrosity you brought back. I don't say anything though. I just smile and nod.  The best part, though, is how he says (literally every single day): "Oh man, I think I'm going to PT later today" but then never does.  Not. Once.