MUST. STOP. WATCHING. NYAN CAT.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
"Ladies and gentlemen, I know you're all busy and pissed off as fuck and just want to get home, but can you spare a dollar to fuel my alcoholism?"
If any of you have ever been to New York City, you will know that riding the subway requires a certain know-how. First, there's the arduous task of finding a place to sit/stand/squeeze without touching anyone around you. Then, there's the awkwardness of the ride itself: you mustn't, under any circumstances, make eye contact with anyone, lest they are crazy/homeless and mistake your random look for an opening to start a conversation and stalk you all the way home. That leaves you with the dilemma of where to look during the ride: you can always look at the ads posted around the subway car, but there's only so many times you can reread "Naturally Enhance Your Manhood!" before your brain yearns for different subject matter. Finally, there is the pressing issue of oxygen. To breathe in would mean internalizing the odors of the city, including feces, feet, smoke, and that odd smell you can't quite place but are certain is not from anywhere you would want to frequent. My advice? If you can afford it and have enough time, take a cab.