You can see where he was scratching his head
I am posting on the demise of the world's dirtiest man- a bold claim if you ask me. Anyway, I've decided to put 'pen to paper' in deference to his passing. Here is my previous musing upon this foul but crusty individual. So this fella has been pottering about the Iranian plateau for a goodly 60 years, without a sniff of bodily cleaning products. Eventually, after niffing up the environment and general locale, something awful, the villiage folk decided to take matters unto themselves and subject our 'hero' to thorough bodily cleansing. Not long after however, the shock of being moderately clean was too much and Dan's mortal existence was so sorely tested that he died, mayhap of shock. Although that said, the old bugger was well over 90.
I was so moved by this grim tale of grime, that I have put forth an ode, nay ditty, in commemoration of Dan's filthy existence, sadly snuffed out by an impromptu scrubbing, unwanted and decidedly unwarranted.
A sad tale of woe and dirt,
As Dan never did have a clean shirt.
No more doth he smoke da shit,
No more doth he pong a bit.
He has gone forth to meet his maker,
No more emitting a noisome vapour.*
* To qualify: this would not apply, of course, if they just left his body to rot under the hot Persian sun. Poetic licence/nonsense.