Reader’s note: This story is satirical in nature and published in a spoof issue.

God I hate the Metro. I don’t get it, why don’t people move out of my way? Don’t they know who I’m going to be some day? If you’re in a rush you’re important, it’s so obvious that you don’t have to be a Georgetown graduate like me to know that. Even the 10th-place finisher in the Special Olympics retard run could figure that out; everyone except for these morons. I can’t believe I have to ride the Metro today since the stupid battery on my Hummer died this morning. I’m going to Blackberry my boy Steve and let him know how much everyone else here on the Metro sucks.

Where the hell is the train? I’ve been here like almost two or three minutes, my time is too valuable to waste on a Metro platform. There it is, finally. What is everyone else doing? You can’t wait for people to get off first; the train will leave you behind if you do that. It’s every man for himself on the Metro. I thought everybody knew that but I must be the only person here with an IQ higher than 10.

Oh man, never mind e-mailing Steve, I gotta call my boy and fill him in on fox I brought home last night. Wait a minute . where’s my Bluetooth headset? That shit was expensive and I hope I didn’t, wait never mind, there it is in my pocket. Now I can Blackberry and talk on the phone at the same time, more than doubling my productivity while the rest of you schmucks do the crossword puzzle.

Oh look, an empty seat. Sorry Grandma it’s mine, I can’t risk wrinkling these new threads. The guy at the Men’s Warehouse told me that this shit top of the line, handcrafted in Italy and all that. The guy on those commercials was right, I am liking the way I look. Not that I ever look bad. Unlike that weird hippie looking kid over there that keeps giving me dirty looks. I think he’s jealous of the way I roll, I mean who wouldn’t be jealous of this? Well not everyone can handle how I roll.

Like the girl last night, after we were done, I humorously pretended to mix up the size of my penis and the size of my big-screen television (50 inches!) and she called me an asshole. Does that make me an asshole? No. It makes me an asshole with a 50-inch penis. And a Blackberry.