Now that we have borne witness to the single most horrifying spectacle ever contained within the four walls of a subway car, a little obnoxious feet-resting feels dull and insipid in comparison. Even Shitting Man has sort of lost his luster next to the dangling bulb of semen tied to the handrail like a putrid bough of mistletoe.

But this cannot be the bar at which we set subway etiquette coverage. Despite the feeling of emptiness and futility we may be experiencing AC (After Condom), it's still important to fight the good fight against sandal-wearing schmucks who feel entitled to sprawl across two subway seats, an act that is only permissible when barefoot and pounding a Becks. It's the Broken Windows approach to blogging.

There are times when it's hard to say something to an obnoxious seat hog. It's tricky, for instance, to ask a male leg-spreader to condense his outsized stance because it invites the potential for an awful conversation about ball-size. But this lady? What are you, at the beach? This is not the grass outside the main stage at Coachella—it's the subway, the city's most popular and overcrowded form of public transportation. You get ONE seat. Put your fucking legs down.