Marvin hadn't washed his hair now for three months consecutively. It wasn't good. Other things too. His mouth was an open anus. His nether-regions were swampy; New Orleans, perhaps. And yet, he couldn't put his finger on exactly what event had sucked him into this whirlpool of bad hygiene. He felt, he felt like a, like he hadn't really lived in a while. LIVED, god damn it! He was a corpse! Like when the hair and fingernail cells are still growing and nobody gives you a pedicure or bothers to shave you.
Maybe the key was to get out a little, see the world. He tried to. Nope, the lid wasn't budging. He couldn't even lift his hands, come to think of it. Or open his eyes! What the fuck! It was weird - like being on really really weird drugs. He was literally a corpse. No really, Marvin was a CORPSE. This is a dead guy I'm talking about. I'm not being metaphorical here. He's DEAD. Just MOVE ON.