It's actually quite infuriating

I try not the take for granted some of the finer parts of New York City. For a city whose functionality is reliant on countless complex systems working in unison, all through the toils of thousands if not millions of civil service workers, it is remarkably easy to forget that we owe a lot of thanks for some of the smallest, seemingly involuntary tasks that help us call ourselves "New Yorkers." Sick of your train stalling before going over the bridge every morning? Well, quite yer' bitchin' princess Hilton! Some lowly worker is busting his ass trying to get you to your BS job daddy hooked you up with on time. You might even have time to get a double mocha skim vegan Osama soy bin latte! Show some god damned appreciation! On the other hand, I really don't care about any of that if you insist on taking up the seat next to you. What's that? You have a sore hip? First, I'm not even gonna ask why. Second, I don't care. Have some respect for your fellow "New Yorkers" and follow my rules of subway etiquette.

1) You are not that fat guy: So stop sitting like one. You don't need that extra space; you want that extra space. Well, tough luck. My ass wants it too. Wanna guess who wins this battle? The seats have very clear demarcations. Stay within yours or I will fart on your leg. 

2) Your balls/ovaries are not the size of basketballs: So stop kicking back and spreading your legs like this subway car is your living room. I think it's really nice that you can find comfort in such a crowded place. But, if you hadn't noticed, your sweet little "giving my jumblies some fresh air" move is pushing your knees directly into mine and giving my nuts the ol' "just hold your breath and we can all get through this as a team" maneuver. If you want adequate knee space perhaps you should consider biking. Your knees get all over the place on those things.

3) There is no such thing as primary standing room: So will you please get out of my way so I can get away from this neanderthal breathing down my neck. The flip side of this rule is the wonderful Samaritans who love to glide through already packed subway cars. You see this backpack I have on, right? If you seriously think I'm about to put it into three lovely people's faces all for your extra 1/8th inch of breathing room, well, first you'll have to tell me how it feels to ride on the train with a sweaty armpit in your face. Yeah, it's mine. Good luck with that.