Dear F Train...

photo: venusinfurs.net

Ok, so we got a heartfelt letter from FIPS reader Meredith yesterday regarding the fact that her hatred for the F train has reached the "fire of a thousand hot burning suns" level. In Meredith's defense, she had not yet heard that the reason the F was so fucked yesterday, was because a guy had committed suicide by jumping in front of a train at the 7th Ave stop in Park Slope--which was horrible, and tragic. She's not a heartless, NYC asshole...she just didn't have the facts. Though, if you get right down to it, NO ONE on any fucking subway ANYWHERE ever has the facts because:

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@fakeMTA Is Our Fave New Twitter Account

Seriously...if you are on Twitter, follow them now. They just keep dropping little nuggets of hilarity like this one: 

"L line service extended to Portland, Ore. for disillusioned BK hipsters."

Thank you, internet.

Ad-derall: Dunkin Donuts Tuna Sandwiches

Ad-deral is (Amanda's!) new column in which we rant and riff on the ridiculous ads we're subjected to while trapped on the subway.  From the borderline racist local businesses (1-800-MARGARITA Divorce Attorneys) to the condescending national brands that pretend to know what it's like to ride the goddamned F train every day (Snickers, Delta), we'll tackle them all with the same smug outlook that has made us totally (not) famous.

I think we all can agree that a best-case-scenario normal ride on the subway still finds you crammed up against at least two to four people.  And I'm talking C-L-O-S-E. Like so close you're worried you might be pregnant, because you're pretty sure you just had sex with someone as you were trying to get to the motherfucking Jay Street exit.

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The Subway Yearbook

Trust me people: if you attempted anything like this on the Q in the morn you'd be beaten, kicked, pissed on, and then beaten some more.

But those mofos on the 6 train look happy as fuckin clams (sidenote: look at all those empty seats! Send us some more Q trains, MTA bitches!!!).

(via Buzzfeed)

F The V

This advisory appeared like a glowing beacon on the 14th St. platform in Manhattan Friday night: The V train will be running less frequently! Hooray!

Among the select few things commuting Park Slopers can agree on: The V train carries with it a strange waft of piss and KFC, and only barrels into the station when you need an F train most. Get out of work late and need to make it to doggy day care before they board the pooch? A V train arrives. Got shitfaced with coworkers and realized you promised the better half you’d be home—and sober—by 9? Two empty V trains arrive in succession. Then the garbage train.

OK, so this is only for a short time (until Oct. 2), and only during rush hour, but strangely it feels as happy as finding out that FIDO will be spiking the coffee on Saturday morning or that Williamsburg hipsters are all sterile (tight pants will do that).

Fewer V trains is cause for celebration…or at least one more beer after work this week.

Be nice to Eric, and buy his book First Big Crush: The Down and Dirty on Making Great Wine Down Under. You know you wanna.