Introducing Chile’s “Subway Goddess”

I love how she’s there for “the people.” Yes, I’m sure all “the people” love their subway poles smeared with vajayjay juice.

Actually, I’m fairly certain the only people who love that are the same people that make the subway a rather unpleasant place to be, even without the vague scent of fresh poon. (Which is not an unpleasant scent in the right context, any form of public transport necessarily being excluded from the list of locations in which the scent of fresh poon is contextually appropriate.) People like the guy I once saw pee in a jam jar on the el in Chicago, or the guy who grabbed my boob and gave it a lingering squeeze, as if it belonged to him, prompting me to knee him in the googlies, which was immediately followed by the exchange: “Bitch!” “Tit-grabbing pervert!”

But I digress.

What rather amazes me about the Subway Goddess is the gusto with which she slides down the pole, given that I don’t feel particularly thrilled with the idea of my cooter being anywhere near any surface on the subway, even when separated by a minimum of two layers of fabric. The mere thought of subway detritus and grime coming in contact with my ladybits makes me want to scrub with bleach.

This is only one reason why I have never found the train-sex scene in Risky Business sexy. All I can think is, “She was sitting on those nasty-ass train seats in a short dress with no panties?!” Grodius maximus.

[Tip of my cherry-bedecked pillbox to Michael K.]

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