I'm pretty sure he last showered on the same day that he shaved. Being downwind from him is not a pleasure.
That would all be OK if he would just keep his mouth shut. Sadly, it is not to be. Since the third hand of the tournament, he's kept up a stream of incessant bitching about how abysmal his cards are, and about the other players-- how miserably they're playing and behaving. (Frankly, he's the only one at the table who excels at both.)
A few minutes ago he beat me out of a pot by catching one of two cards in the deck that could help his hand, at which point he started telling me how badly I played. "You had to know I had the king. How could you call?"
He has just come back from the break, and now on top of everything else he reeks of smoke.
I would give anything for a big red rubber ball gag, latex gloves, and a fire hose.