Everybody's Genitals Ride the Train

Okay, what?

What?

A man gets on a train. He holds two drumsticks. "Oh no," a woman thinks. "Here we go."

The man settles his butt on a milk crate and proceeds to drum. ON HIS CROTCH. Specifically on the baggy crotch of his jeans, which he periodically stretches out for maximum surface area on which to drum. His feet tap along with his, er, drumming, and he works himself into a beautiful drummy frenzy.

"Is that man drumming on his crotch?" I say to the woman next to me. "Don't you think that's a bad idea?"

I gape, I laugh, I realize the man is not asking for money. He finishes crotch-drumming, scoops up his milk crate and exits the train within four stops.

~

In a somewhat related story, the other night my colleague and I took the train to Brooklyn.

"That is the most intense camel toe I have ever seen," he says to me.

I look.

This is not camel toe. Calling this "camel toe" is unkind to camels. This is, to coin a word, swagina. Sweatpants in the shape of a vagina. Vagipants.

"Do you think when she takes them off, they retain the shape?" my colleague asks.

"No," I say. "I think they come that way."