I enjoy moving around.

Stretching, yoga, gesticulating unnecessarily while talking. You know where I enjoy doing it? Where it’s acceptable and doesn’t infringe on folk. Usually. You read the room and process the acceptability level. Usually excluded from this list are crowded planes, trains, or automobiles. The reason for this is because when you’re splaying your limbs every which way around close-quarter strangers as you’re all being herded from point A to B like cattle, they don’t like it.

They don’t like it – even if it’s just your arms gesturing into the letter “T” just how much you love that a PinkBerry is going up down the street. So they definitely don’t like it if you’re “V” leg spread-eagling. This goes for whether you’re presenting your moose-knuckle or a beaver-crease like a showdog. (too many animal euphemisms and metaphors? #never)

That’s why “men who take up too much space on trains” is a thing now.

(At least he’s covering his meat with a murse…. No, wait. I take it back. The murse makes it worse.)

(This isn’t that bad. And no, I’m not just saying that ‘cause he looks like a hulk thighed John Mayer.)

(It doesn’t take a Harvard scholar to know that if you just close your legs, you won’t need that coffee to keep your dangle warm.)

(I call bullshit. Homie’s either trollin’ or on some My Own Private Idaho gigolo shiz with those Stuart-from-MAD-TV shorts.)

(Let’s pause to applaud this middle person who’s stood – err sat – their ground despite this gang bang of space-rapery.)

The body offense is mostly what you see above – the whole V for victory that looks like a lower body touchdown dance. As if they’ve just conquered the immediate airspace after some valiant battle in the name of atmospheric manifest destiny. Indeed, as you can see, most of these men are the only ones in the frame, and I tend to believe that it’s because any indigenous peripheral passengers previously standing nearby either caught a whiff of the musky phallic fumes – or just the genital vibes radiating into their energy field. So they got the eff outta dodge before it could suck them in.

Just for funsies, I’d like to hire some actresses to record the reaction for women doing this. Not in skirts or anything lewd. Just chicks in jeans or sweats or workout gear even. They board the subway, have a seat, and assume the position of modern Al Bundy (two to three fingers tucked into waistband with free hand scrolling through smartphone with legs splayed). The actress would be a made-under hottie – so that it’s nothing sexual. Maybe we even put a toothpick in her mouth or direct her to maintain RBF (resting bitchface) throughout the duration. Just to make sure we aren’t adding in the whorey variable. Just a typical chick. Takin’ up space.

In the end, I say the etiquette has to do with how busy the train is. Just be considerate.

If it’s empty-ish, go for it. Eff what people think. But if it’s packed like Asian transit, pack in your package. Unless you’ve been keeping your babymaking equpiment too close to the microwave and subsequently mutated into a creature that looks like a man riding two physioballs speckled with pubes, you’ll be alright for the brief ride in a mild thigh vice.

(To be fair, if you’ve got this going on – who needs public transit anyway?)

And for those still offended, as ever, I’ve a solution:

So let’s start the following trend to end the selfishness of space takers:

If you see one, I want you to do the following: Walk up to him. Make eye contact if possible, and issue a confident nod and purse lipped man smile. Then, remove your pants, hang them on the overhead bar, sit down next to him, go spread eagle yourself in your briefs (don’t be afraid to touch his knees with yours – this is war, mind you), pull out the newspaper, start reading it intensely, and enjoy the ride.

And all the free space you’ll have after homie gets the hint and moves to another seat.