Metro Encounters III

Last night's commute home was plagued by a married couple who represent everything that is wrong with the state of our Union.

They were chubby, bland, blathering, fashionless, horrible mouth-breathers. They spoke to each other in hushed tones about last night's American Idol, plans for the weekend, and their hideously boring jobs.

And I could just tell -- maybe it was a scent, maybe it was experience -- I could just tell that these two were Breeders.

They'll produce some dotterel child that will coast through life with its self-esteem intact and its mouth agape.

As they exited the train the man made some joke about Jack Abramoff. His wife chortled.

I hate the fucking metro.