Akira submitted these photos, from www.12ozprophet.com. I hate to call a little girl an asshole, so lets blame the parents.
I admit, the car is KIND OF FIERCE, and the train isn’t too crowded but there’s gotta be some rule against taking your Cadillac Escalade on the C.
Check out http://www.12ozprophet.com/index.php/grotesk/entry/cadillac_escalate_in_the_c_train/ for more amazing pics.
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No pic for this one, but Augusten writes in with a truly beautiful story of subway assholery.
“I used to be a dog-walker, and would be on the subway for 3-4 hours a day. If this doesn’t make a man crazy, I don’t know what does.
So, one day, I was commuting home. Based on my location, I could have taken the 6 to the 4, and enjoyed a sardine-pack ride home in a fellow passenger’s armpit. I chose the latter, and took the long way home via the R. This route pretty much guaranteed me a seat, so I thought all was fine and groovy this Friday afternoon.
I’m a pint-sized person, so I take the corner seat in one of the old Tetris-like trains. An older gent sits next to me. I am on my way, and all is well with the world.
The next stop comes, and the train fills up. Standing room only at this point, usual stuff for a Friday evening train heading Brooklyn-bound. A rotund, slightly distraught-looking man is holding on to the pole, and starts looking increasingly flustered. He stomps his feet. He groans to himself.
He then hollers in the middle of the car. Not a shout, mind you. A guttural holler, straight from the depths of this man’s bowels.
He then takes it upon himself to play with his junk. This is not hard, as it becomes obvious that this man’s belt is nothing but an errant piece of cord.
Of course, the man next to me decides to offer this hollering, horny man his seat. It is with the next sequence of events that I renounce my agnosticism – the doors open for the next stop, and the crazed man departs, like a feral dog that decides you’re no longer in its prospects for dinner. I would imagine the relief for either scenario is similar, honestly.”
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Hector is the Asshole we all know and hate. You get on a train, spot a couple of empty seats, run over, and some Asshole has beaten you to…both of them? Lori D. experienced this atrocity on the 7 this weekend.
Hector saw the empty seats and sat in not one, but TWO! Right smack on the bump between them, to be exact, leaving just inches on either side of him so none of the other 900 people in the car even had a chance. From the look on his face, it’s pretty safe to say that he pooped in his man diaper right after sitting down. Also, can we talk about how it’s June yet Hector feels the need for a heavy down coat? Part of the Asshole’s game is to make everyone as uncomfortable as possible, so if he’s really playing hardball, the coat is only there to get him nice and sweaty/stinky so he can laugh while everyone else passes out. SCHADENFREUDE!
I hope you got Hector’s stench out of your nose, Lori D…
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Leroy woke up, drank a gallon of whiskey, threw on his trendy capris and a jacket half-zippered with no shirt underneath, and hopped on the N train.
Then he took a nap.
Time to change positions! Legs out proved too inviting for the loose ladies, bars make a more comfortable pillow, and a true Subway Asshole realizes that by sticking your elbows through the bars, those standing have even less to hold onto. It’s so funny to watch them fall! Leroy, 2; New York, 0!
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Welcome to the first Subway Assholes post! Subway Assholes are those who don’t understand the concept of other people in the world of public transportation. When you’ve had a long day and want nothing more than the simple joy of a seat, a Subway Asshole will deny you of this pleasure. Basically anyone behaving inconsiderately or moronically fits the mold. From New York to San Francisco, on buses or trains, a Subway Asshole will do anything to get what he/she wants, regardless of others. If you’ve seen a Subway Asshole, snap a picture and send it to subwaybutthole@ymail.com (yes, butthole, because Yahoo disapproves of asshole).
Now let’s meet our very first Asshole.
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