Dave was the kind of guy who liked to let the dust accumulate. He'd rather sit around in his boxers all day and watch the mold grow on that 3-month old bowl of cheerios still sitting in the middle of the livingroom floor. The bowl had been kicked by negligent roommates a couple of times, knocking fetid milk over the edges of the paper bowl, so that the what had once been deep-pile shag carpeting surrounding it was thick and matted into rug dredlocks. There was mold growing on the carpet now, too, and it was spreading.

Dave was a chronic masturbater, and by chronic we're talking on the hour. Sometimes on the half-hour. Dave beat off so much he had callouses on his penis that were shaped like his fingers. You could see Dave's grip on his dick when it was hard; when it was soft, it just looked like his dick had a dog's paw growing out of it - those thick, leathery oval pads like little raised moons of hardened flesh. He didn't pump out much sperm as a result, maybe a drop the size of a pea. Who's testes could keep up with such output? Not Dave's. He didn't care. In fact, he looked at is as a major plus: This way he didn't have to wipe the spooge off on whatever shirt he was wearing at the moment, causing odd stares at the grocery store from other patrons who couldn't help but notice the large, crusted white stains on his clothing.

Dave went through roommates like most people go through the junk mail at the end of a long day at work as a result. It took a while before he could find people who didn't mind the rotting laundry balled up in the back of the stinking refrigerator, the dead mice dangling by their tales over the iguana's cage, the thousand tiny balls of dark green affixed haphazardly to the "booger wall", or his incessant beating off at all hours of the day right there in the Lazy Boy recliner positioned directly in the middle of the living room. Dave surmised that had he been blessed with the genes of say a Brad Pitt or perhaps an Ashton Kucher, they wouldn't have minded so much stumbling into yet another session of self love. No. They might not have minded at all.