The Safest Subway in the World

As you might very well imagine, dear reader, the luminous headquarters of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is a very classy building. Located atop a fetching high-rise, the home base for the crack young staff positively reeks of stature, refinement, and success. If we must say so ourselves—and at the current time it appears as if we must—our digs demonstrate that our deep-pocketed financial backers have served us well.

Since we’re a very successful outfit on Al Gore’s World-Wide Web, we are housed in a building with up-to-date security. After all, we wouldn’t want some lonely nutter, enraged about our savage hectoring of Gillette razors, to beat us to a pulp. As such, our headquarters comes equipped with a highly-trained team of security professionals.

Well, if by highly-trained team of security professionals, you mean “one fat guy who seldom seems to do his job.” Which, of course, we do.

You see, dear reader, the generous owners of “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” headquarters pay some portly slob to watch over the building, in a strangely lax attempt to ensure our safety. We’re not sure if this benighted fellow carries a gun, but we’re not terribly certain it matters. According to our—admittedly quick—estimate, he’s about 5’2” tall and weighs a good 275 pounds.

Under the circumstances, we have the feeling that this fellow couldn’t grab a gun off of his belt without enduring fits of wheezing for an hour-and-a-quarter. The only criminal he could stop is an 11-year-old hardcore asthmatic.

Ah, but our undoubtedly well-paid security guard hasn’t found this out yet. Not, we dare say, because our headquarters is located in a charmingly crime-free Valhalla. Heck no: Our neighborhood is a bit low-rent, which ensures that there is, as the college administrators call it, plenty of “diversity,” and also ensures that no college administrators will live anywhere near it. In short, it is not a stranger to crime.

Yet our morbidly obese rent-a-cop is. And we know why this is the case.

Right around the corner from “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” headquarters, dear reader, resides a charter member of the Subway sandwich franchise. Inveterate bachelors that we are, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” eat there more often than that Jared character. By now, we’ve dropped well over 1,000 pounds—apiece.

And every time we head to the local Subway for a foot-long made by a swarthy guy with a glove, the portly security guard is there. Every time we go. There hasn’t been one time when we haven’t seen him there.

To be sure, this fellow likely has a hearty appetite. So maybe there’s a reason he appears to frequent the Subway 24/7. Sunday afternoon; Wednesday morning; Arbor Day—these are just a few of the times one finds this fat pseudo-cop at the sub shop. Along with all the other times, of course.

How does this portly chap get money for this? Does our landlord pay his salary in Monterey cheddar bread? Do his weekly wages come with chips and a soda?

These are just a few of the questions our fellow tenants can ask themselves whilst criminals freely ransack our unprotected building.