Tiny.

In your belly button there is a tiny village. A tiny village with tiny roads, and tiny parks, and a tiny church, and two tiny pubs, and tiny traffic lights, and tiny houses with tiny windows and a tiny chimney puffing tiny puffs of smoke. And in these tiny houses live tiny people, a tiny father and a tiny mother and even tinier children; a tiny happy family going about their tiny happy family routine.
Fnord Around 5 A.M. every morning, if you listen very, very carefully, you'll hear a tiny alarm clock going off followed shortly by a tiny smack as all the tiny husbands kiss their tiny wives goodbye and head off to work in their tiny cars. Work for these tiny people is making long hours in the tiny mines deep inside your belly, using their tiny pick axes to dig for Fruba. Fruba is what this tiny community thrives on; it is their food, their drink, their currency.
Fnord A side effect of digging up all this Fruba and excavating the tiny mines is that these tiny people also excavate considerable amounts of lint, which is entirely useless to the them. So they load all the lint onto tiny trucks and haul it to the opposite side of the tiny village where they dump it on one big heap. And every once in a while, a huge Q-tip descends from the sky and takes away all that lint.
Fnord The tiny people don't question this; it's a part of their tiny reality.