Dirtymans

I awoke to my roommate thrashing in his bed covers. He was moaning and mumbling something. His breathing was labored. He pushed the covers away and sat at the edge of the bed muttering. Then he staggered up, swaying, and nearly fell onto me. He was naked. His pudgy, hairy, tattooed body dimly visible in the darkness. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself and with his other directed a trickle of piss onto the floor between our beds.

"Fuck you doing Aaron?"

"Dirtymans," he says. "Its dirtymans."

"What the fuck is dirtymans? You're pissing on the floor."
 
"We're dirtymans, right?"

"You're pissing in our room, you idiot."

"I've got dirtymans."
 
"You're a fucking moron. The bathroom is two steps from the room."

"There's two other rooms."

"What's that mean?"
 
"We'll ask Jesse tomorrow."

"I'm Jesse, you fucking idiot."

"Then we'll ask Jesse tomorrow." He pushed out the last surges of urine onto the carpet.

"Fuck you and your dirtymans. You'll be cleaning the carpet tomorrow."

"Dirtymans! Yes. Dirtymans," he said and lay back in bed and pulled the covers over him. He sounded relieved that I had finally understood.