I need to fucking vent about living with the fat fuck that is my roommate Somewhat relevant background: I'm 20 yrs old, third year uni. Went from normal bmi in sheltered/controlled life high school to obese in a year through lack of life experience, sexual assault, depression and general misery. Back down to a bmi of 21.5, shooting for 19.5-20. I'm not making excuses. But being fat led me to a complacent friendship with my now roommate/was the reason why I signed a lease with him. This fucking fucker. It's disgusting. He's 21 years old and is actively disgusted by anything healthy. Green beans? no. Broccoli? He looks like he wants to barf. Carrots? only if any nutrient is slowly boiled out of them and replaced by oil and salt.  I want to introduce him with my most impressively disgusting story: He has eczema, which is a bitch, I get it, it sucks. But his obesity (i think he's 240, 6', all fat) aggravates it, and he has no hygiene. So he sits on the couch all day like jabba the fucking hutt. Whatever. I have my side of the couch, and his oily skin flakes stay on his side. One day, I went to drape one of his blankets over the back of the couch, but I kind of threw it and completely missed and it went behind, in between the couch's back and the wall. I go to grab it and white flakes, reminiscent of christmas snow, fall from the microfibers' grasp. What? Huh, what's this? OH NOTHING MUCH, JUST A FUCKING PILE OF SKINFLAKES. Literally a pile. As in, you cannot see the fucking ground. the diameter of a fucking dinner plate. I almost threw up. He was too goddamn lazy to deal with his skin problem in a reasonable manner (as I know other people are able to do) and he threw his skin flakes behind the couch so he didn't have to deal with them. I sent him a text something like "deal with the problem behind the couch before I get home from classes" and we didn't talk about it after that, but the whole living room was vacuumed when I got back and the pile was gone. I have a lot more stories, but I'm waiting on verification and I'll post more when I'm not sleepy. Edit because I need to be more hateful, and my other paragraph isn't satisfyingly vitriolic enough for me: This sad fucking sack of shit was too. goddamn. lazy. Too lazy to even come up with a lazy solution. No way could he have a trash bin near the spot he spends 8ish hours. Nope, because being surrounded by your own filth is better than having to deal with the reality that is your own deteriorating body. God, what the fuck. I told my mom (who's an amazing shitlady and a massive inspiration to me--she's 52, works out 3 hrs a day, drop dead gorgeous, etc etc) and she honestly couldnt even believe it. I think she went into shock. It's almost incomprehensible the lengths that fatties will go to to avoid any sort of motion in their lives. God I fucking hate living here. It sucks so goddamn fucking much. Fuck. ~half-hearted apologies for the obscenities, I have a lot to get off my chest