Monday, November 9, 2009

Subway Superlatives

So, as I was coming home from work on the 2 this evening, I decided to play a little game I like to call Subway Superlatives. It originally began as Who I'd Like to Fuck on This Train, but that set me up for a lot of disappointment, as well as a general sense of creepiness. So, it morphed into Subway Superlatives, thus giving me the opportunity to judge just about everyone.

Our first superlative goes to the "The Home I'd Most Like to Wreck." Now, by no means am I homewrecker. But if I could find it in me to destroy a couple, this is the one I'd want to destroy. Not because the dude was hot. Au contraire. He was short and going gray (not in the hot, salt-n-pepper kinda way) and he had the face of a person who just smelled something questionable. His woman was way higher than him on the food chain, which is normally something I like to see. When Christina Aguilera married that goofy-looking motherfucker, my heart nearly burst with delight. But not this time.

This couple was making me homicidal. They were snuggling, giggling, hand-holding... just making sure everyone on that train knew that they were in love. In fact, they were so hell-bent on making sure everyone knew that they were ape-shit for each other that when she was able to snag a seat and he had to remain standing, he hovered over her and continued to hold her hand. Even if that meant all he was holding onto was a pinky, three feet above her head. I fiddled with the hangnail on my thumb and decided that I hated them. I'm all for hoop-jumping and taking it to the limit for the person you love, but that just looked stupid.

After sneering at K-Fed and Britney for a while, I decided to focus on the others. There was the hot guy leaning against the door. He got the obvious superlative...which he managed to keep even after I noticed him flirting with the boy that accompanied him. He was just that hot. But, in an effort to avoid complete fag-haggery, I focused my attention elsewhere.

I spotted a girl around my age digging through her purse. Curious, I continued to watch her, using my thumb-picking as a decoy. I gnawed on my thumb as I saw her pull out a pair of tweezers. Okay, this is weird. Then, I saw her lift up her shirt, ever-so-slightly. Okay, this is really weird. Then, I saw her begin to pluck invisible hairs from her tummy. Then her arms. I realized, Oh, this is trichotillomania. Great. Now, I'm an asshole. And my thumb is bleeding.

NEXT!

I looked around. Saw nothing. Looking, looking...nothing of interest. Until I looked straight ahead and saw this crazy Asian lady straight-up glaring at me. I was slightly taken aback, so I looked away. I waited a few seconds, then looked back at her. Still staring. I stared back. Crazian was playing 'Chicken.' I stared. She stared. I felt creepy. She was creepy. I stopped staring and pretended to play with my iPod, even though I was perfectly content listening to Discovery's "Osaka Loop Line." She won. I was too disturbed to give her a superlative at the time, but looking back, I think she'd get "Most Likely to Participate in a School Shooting."

Luckily, my stop was the next one, so I didn't have to deal with Hannibal much longer. I gathered my crap and stood up to wait by the door. I overheard an older gentleman say, "Mmm...booty" when I stood up. I wished I could've farted at the moment and taught that skeeze that beholding my behind when I haven't invited you to do so is a major offense. Sadly, there were no farts. The best I could do was award him with "Least Likely to Tap This" and walk out the door.

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