Brian is the type of person of whom someone can say completely out of the blue, "At least Brian is not going bald," and everyone in the room will know what the "at least" refers to. He is a blatant hypocrite, so honestly so that it is more humorous than anything; he has no self-control when it comes to his libido, his appetite, his spending problems; he is always complaining that his body is falling to pieces. "How many times do you shit a day?" he asked me today. "Once or twice," I said. "Damn," he said; "I gotta find out what's wrong with me. I shit at least seven times a day. My ass is all jacked up from it too. It feels like it's all ripped to pieces. I've got some serious cheese ass. I'm constantly getting jock itch too from the monkey suits I have to wear, and the rash spreads out over my ass and chafes like hell when I walk." "You probably shit so much," I said, "because you eat so much." "But I don't eat that much," he moaned; "what is wrong with me? I take two showers a day and scrub my privates like hell with a washcloth and I still get rashes all over my ass and balls. I'm the cleanest person I know! And I get such cheese ass you wouldn't believe it: it's like it's rotting before I'm dead, getting a head start on the decay."