Benny The Belly Button Lint

When I was in college, my roommate Dave was a slob with a capital S—think pizza boxes under the bed and socks that could stand up on their own. But his weirdest quirk was his obsession with his belly button lint. Every night, he’d flop onto the couch, lift his shirt, and start mining for what he called “Benny the Belly Button Lint.” He’d twirl it into a little grayish ball between his fingers, grinning like he’d struck oil. “Benny’s growing strong today,” he’d say, holding it up to the light. It was fuzzy, sweaty, and smelled faintly of old cheese—absolutely revolting.