The Nation's Best Public Transportation System

While riding on the Metro recently, I was pained to discover that my forearm had produced an enormous whitehead resembling a tablespoon of elmer's glue. Simaltaneously proud and ashamed this dormant yet grumbling volcano, I pondered with horror and fascination how an absurdly large pimple could go unnoticed for so long.

Most reasonable people might discreetly conceal the blemish with a plausible cover: coat, ipod, a fig leaf. Unfourtately, I fell victim to a mysterious logic that somehow convinced me that it would be less embarrassing to immediately extinguish the zit while in plain sight of anyone watching rather than roll down my sleave and wait until I got home.

With a sense of purpose and urgency, I pounced on the blemish with the wicked delight of a neglected housewife sufficating her rich, bed-ridden husband.
But as the ruby, white puss splattered against the seat in what looked like cover art for a White Stripes album, l felt a deep sense of remorse. Despite years of deluding myself that I was mature, wise young man, I solemnly conceded that I was indeed that "that guy who pops arm zits on the subway." Shamed, my eyes quickly scanned the car to confirm whether anyone witnesses my crime.

That's when I saw a girl blowing a guy.

That's right. Not more than 20 feet away, a teenage girl, barely concealed behind a short wall and plane of slightly tinted glass, was chomping on her boyfriends genitals like a homeless man devouring a $50 steak.

At least that's what it looked like from my vantage point. To be fair, all I could see was the back of the girl's head bobbing up down from behind the short wall. However, the young man's expression seemed to confirm my suspicions; his euphoric gaze, head alternately tilting back with his eyes closed and then looking down smugly at the beautiful sacrifice being put forth by his lady...yeah, this guy was getting his shit sucked.

Suddenly, my embarrassment was put into perspective. Here I was, worried that someone might have witnessed me waste a few seconds by pinching my skin to expel some harmless white puss. Whereas, this girl was clearly straining her back and neck (those seats hurt to sit in normally, let alone ....) for who knows how long; demonstrating her undying affection for her love, undeterred in her conviction that this blowjob could not wait until they could go somewhere more private/romantic like a public restroom or roommate's living room futon.

What better place than here? What better time than now?

Carpe Diem, my friends. Carpe Diem.