Groups.

Now stop before you get excited, you bubble-gum cracking, MTV on an IV and braces-weilding 14 year-old. I am not talking about Facebook. Nor will I unless I am forced to by a herd of Dutch midgets dancing traditionally while hurling machetes at me. I am talking about social constructs which rise like skyscrapers through this disgrace we call humanity.

Any number of elements can unite a writhing mass of people into a group. Those middle-age guys who don Pink Floyd shirts are a group. So are older guys from Pink Floyd who make out with middle-age guys named Don without shirts(albeit a much smaller group).

I would like to begin with a much larger group. The word “disaster” is thrown around all too much lately. Swine Flu. Al Qaeda. Norway.

What I speak of is an endemic of global proportions. While I am proud to dub myself a commuter, an urban warrior of sorts, I am exposed to this group on the bus nearly every day.

Without further adieu, I present to your their profile:

Hairdo: Hair slicked back with a can of Pam

Odor: Decomposing Desperation by Calvin Klein

Intelligence: Lower than asparagus in sour cream

Seat: ALWAYS RIGHT NEXT TO ME

No name exists for them so I am forced to create one. Bus Inhibiting Traumatizing Contemptible Has-beens. (Eytan and the Acronym for the win). What annoys me the most, more than an upside-down hung roll of toilet paper or a dead MP3 battery on the beginning of a roadtrip, is their tendency to blather on the phone as they ride, turning my busride into a hellish journey during which I can only contemplate shoving their heads into meat grinders as I cackle hellishly and eat Rice Krispie Treats (I just love those things).

I bring this up not because I need people to rant to. I bring this up because social groups are created by the mere existence of similar people. Their existence in no way justifies them wasting the oxegyn on my planet, nor does it make them legitimate. And so, I say to you oh Bastard of the Blog, oh Imbecile of the Internet (aka Jon), the fact that the term metrosexual exists doesn’t validate it (view his post here, if you feel like retching violently). You can dress nicely without spending a full trimester in stores. Your skin will survive without ladies’ handcream (we still have the same leather couches my grandmother owned - I guarantee the cows did not use Neutrogena). And if David Hasselhoff can wear a clip-on tie, so can you.

As for chart of the day, I give you you a chart delineating the word “middle”. As in…I am in the middle of bashing Jon and will not finish in the near future.