First things first, Marvin is a stupid fucking name. And he has a stupid fucking face. And, since he isn’t that smart, anyway, that’s a lot of stupid stacking up. He’s like a dyslexic form of stack cup.

Marvin never brings his own liquor. Sure, sometimes he’ll bring his own beer but it’s always a six pack of PBR and he usually hides it in one of the kitchen cabinets. And once underneath the sink.

Marvin thinks the John Mayer Trio is a great jam band on par with Phish or the Grateful Dead. We don’t even like Phish or the Grateful Dead that much but recognize that they deserve better than that.

Marvin never bums people’s cigarettes. He doesn’t he claim he doesn’t have any. He just says that he doesn’t have many, and, when pressed on it, that cigarettes are very expensive. But that’s patently false – he’s smoking Basics – like the basic bitch he is.

Marvin is a repeat Bogart. Everyone is occasionally guilty of holding onto a bowl too long while telling an anecdote but it’s worse when Marvin does it because his anecdotes are so goddamn boring.

(Here must will admit one quality that Marvin does have: somehow he has access to very good weed. But we’re close to figuring out his connection and soon we can cut him out entirely. Who’s with us?)

Marvin is a creepy lounger. Anytime a girl lays down on the Couch Fort he has to lay down next to her even though she was clearly lying down in the hopes that one of us would cuddle up with her. And it’s super awkward spooning her while facing his scraggly pubeface.

Marvin is untakeable places. Anytime we’re walking down the street with him we get pelted with tomatoes. Okay, that’s poetic exaggeration, but seriously some redneck called us faggots the other night and it had to be because of him. He was wearing tie dye and a bandana.

Marvin made a rape joke once. What, we never make rape jokes? Fine, we sometimes make rape jokes. But the difference is our rape jokes are funny and no one thinks we’ll actually rape them. Right? We’re not creepy loungers.

Marvin is a conspiracy theorist. He probably suspects we are having this conversation about him as we speak. And, of course, he’s right, but what kind of sick mind jumps to that conclusion.

Marvin sorta smells, too. We don’t know what of – a mixture of mothballs and desperation and a touch of cheap cologne. Plus, he has pretty bad breath when he’s been drinking – much worse than our breath, you know.

We hereby move to ban Marvin from the house as soon as we find out who he gets his weed from and after he brings back Batman: The Animated Series Volume One, which he has had borrowed for a rather conveniently long time.

Lee Blevins forgot to submit a bio, but he’s probably still alive and writing at the time this publication went live.