Wednesday, February 23, 2005

May we never link to another bizarre puzzle site, not for another hundred years, or at least until next Tuesday.

Over the weekend I spent a good seven minutes stuck behind a minivan camouflaged in bumper stickers. The experience was similar to having someone plop down in front of you, look you straight in the eye, and passively mumble a dozen witty phrases, the combination of which would illustrate his or her uniquely sassy take on the world.

One or two of these things, that’s fine. If memory serves, a gym teacher from my formative years would set aside a single sticker during each class, wielding it to push his third-graders to ever higher levels of athletic prowess. Rumor has it he later got canned for child molestation–I suppose the freakjob ran out of bumper stickers–but the point remains: these stickers have been unspeakably compelling for me, even though I’ve never actually used one. Oh, and don’t worry. I graduated elementary school untouched.

These tacky blurbs are also compelling for many of our friends on the road, it seems, and for good reason. We all know how utterly persuasive these adhesives can be. You slap a few on the back of your car and whammo! You’re turned into a roving preacher, and you only amplify the reverence when you cut off some bastard.

Now, this driver, the one I mentioned earlier, he had a goddamn album plastered to the back of his van. There were three or four Kerry-Edwards stickers, all of them absolutely necessary because the election obviously hasn’t started yet. So, you know, thanks for the clarification. More importantly, though, I often forget where I’m living. Illinois. The Norshore. I swear, sometimes you’ll see feral donkeys gorging themselves on the entrails of rotting elephants, but you’ve got to tilt your head just right. Optical illusions, most likely.

There were also ones about education, the driver’s spawn, pretty standard stuff. The kicker was a partially torn sticker that proudly proclaimed, “One Less SUV.” You weren’t exactly driving a Civic, my friend, and you may want to spend five of your ten-miles-per-gallon on quiet reflection.

Can’t bumper sticker responsibly? Then put ’em on your forehead.