Metrosexuals of the Apocalypse
Ten years after Princeton, most of my hetero classmates have spouses and children, most of my homo classmates have partners and cats (as if "children" wasn't already a hetero cliché), and metrosexuals like me have helicopters. Call us selfish, but we didn't bequeath the world with overpopulation and HIV, so our non-gender preference for thrills, drugs, money, music, games, and toys has an upside, too.
The internet and every non-Christian bookstore on the planet is teeming with moist and gooey sagas about hetero- and homo- sexual awakening, but for metros it's more like pure white light. Are you worried about "catching something" from those $750 per-hour part-time NYU party-girls your former freshman-roomate Bryan invited up to his small but shiny apartment in the Trump World Tower? Don't be. By the time they arrive his unlimited supply of _______ will have thrown so much light through your brain that all of you will float in a beam of it all the way to 1 Oak NYC (for milk and cookies) and back up the Tower before sex ever even occurs to you, and it won't occur.
So that's who we are, and it only gets weirder when one of us invests in immediate one-way transit to somewhere safe if it ever ALL FALLS DOWN, as in incoming missiles, and survival requires an immediate take-off. The bad news is that this service IS NOT AVAILABLE in New York, but in Bel Air there's always room for an adequate heliport, if you don't have to bring along a partner, toddler, spouse, or cat.











