The Anus Of The Underground

I find it appropriate that the underground subway of NYC gets a 10 / 10 ranking on the MUNG meter. There is no other place in the world beside the Louisiana Graveyards that you will encounter as much raw MUNG for inhalation.

I saw a rat bigger than my 20 pound cat jumping up the steps a few weeks ago because it was so foul down there. I think that the whole MTA is a cornucopia of homeless people feces, immigrant body odor, and grandmas Channel' #1 perfume. Clearly the F train and E train have new standards in Mung creation and warrant further discussion.

There is so much to talk about with the underground from the Duracell battery seller, to the Jesus preachers. However, I would like to concentrate specifically on the homeless individuals who live on the train and happen to drape themselves in shit. This is one of my more memorable trips down Mung valley:

It was 5pm and thus rush hour traffic and I was on the way home to my previous domicile in queens. As the train pulled into 23rd street station, bells and whistles should have gone off in my head. When the train car door opened there was only 1 person in the cart lying down so I figured the Air Conditining must be broke and I would sweat it out... but boy was I wrong. A few other individuals had made the same mistake as I and by the time we realized what we had walked into, the doors had closed the train was in motion to its next stop.

As I got my first concentrated whiff I noticed a slightly metallic fecal whiff, followed by the eye burning smell of MUNG. Now logic would tell you to open the door and move to the next cart, but of course they were locked. I shit you not; it was the single worst smell I have ever encountered in my entire life. The homeless man who decided to rot while riding the F train was covered in piss, shit and newspaper. [Howeverm to defend the homeless person he was draped in the New York Times, which is a third form of shit and added to my disgust].

I bite my tongue and revel in the pungency of decaying homeless carcass and by gods good grace make it to the next stop. Once the main doors open, I burst out of the train door and immediately head to the next car over.

You see my friends, my discomfort and disgust are strong emotions, but not as strong as my sense for comedy. I went directly into the next cart and stood right by the window facing all the other poor bastards that made the same mistake I did. I watched for 45 minutes as people would enter the train car, the doors would close and I would watch their faces in disgust and panic as they all gagged and prayed. My particular favorite was the 15-minute long trip between Roosevelt Island and Queens Plaza, which had the added bonus of getting stuck for a few minutes in transit. Those poor bastards turned green and their misery made my experience much more palatable.

Truly a ride home to remember, but more to the point I actually stopped taking the Subway all together and enjoy the cool crisp air nowadays of stinky Taxi cab drivers. But that’s a different story.