Smoking on the A Train

Every time Bin Laden releases an audio message I get paranoid.

Not that I’m not already paranoid, I have clinical schizophrenia for goodness sake and smoke more weed than a lawn mower, but I was riding the train this morning and gave up my paranoia once and for all when I realized that anyone riding a NYC train is going to die if terrorists set off a bomb in the subway tunnels.

It’s comforting to know that my family will not have to cover my cremation expense. At least if I get blown up and die I don’t have to worry about how I’m going to afford Mayor Bloomberg’s new fifty cent cigarette hike. (A pack will now cost us $8 in the Big Apple.)

For some ungodly reason, train car doors are locked at the ends of the subway cars on the A train. They have always been for as long as I can remember.

Why not unlock them? Other trains grant riders access between cars.

At least if there is a bomb, some of us smart commuters who know to stand by the door, can escape and live to give a live report to Fox News.

I suppose locking subway car doors keeps school kids with ADHD from riding between cars.

But I want a chance to survive if terrorists blow up our subways.

If a bomb goes off, I will not be one of those heroes trying to save my fellow commuters—I’m skinny enough to fit through a subway car window—and that’s because I smoke to curb my appetite for food.

I’ll look through the subway car windows at the obese non-smokers and say, “Pay your taxes!”