I Forgot What Kind of Car I Have, Good Thing I Bought a Sticker to Tell Me
I don’t understand decals on cars. I mean decals saying what kind of car it is. Really? You need that? Your memory is so bad that you need the make of your car in six inch letters on your windshield? There’s nothing cool about that. That doesn’t make your car look badass, and it doesn’t turn you into some kind of awesome car guy.
But I’m really proud of you, honestly I am. You bought a Corvette and now, thanks to that super classy decal, everyone knows it’s a Corvette. Now they know how cool you are. Because we didn’t know before. That it was a Corvette. By looking at the car.
Funny thing about cars—most of them already have their names on them. They’ve at least gone so far as to put the make on them. You can tell that its a Ford, a Chevy, anything at all. Chances are the model is there, too. Shit, you probably have a license plate frame on it advertising where you bought the car. From the car maker to the car seller, these people love to put their names on things. You’re paying them thousands of dollars to advertise for them. Its taken care of, ok? These things are covered, you’re good. We know what kind of car it is.
Why do you need the name of your car blasted on the windshield? And why would someone need their stupid nickname there either? I don’t care what your dad called you when you were five and even if I listened any of the thousand times you told me, I still wouldn’t see the point in putting it on your friggin car. The only thing worse than paying to make a decal of your nickname is giving the car itself a nickname and having a decal made with that.
Oh really, you named the station wagon you drove in high school the Shaggin Wagon? You’re so original. Why don’t you write a song about it, I bet it’ll be hilarious? No one cares.
In high school I saw a kid get hit by a car. It was right outside of the school too, a freshman got nailed by a senior in this piece of shit maroon Buick. He had a decal on his windshield that read, “Headhunter.” See? Windshield decals are a bad idea.
Even the smaller window decals are getting out of hand. Calvin pissing on things? It’s done. Stop. Now he’s pissing on himself pissing on things. I don’t even know what that means. Does that mean you like Chevy? Do you not like Calvin? Are you simply against using toilets?
You want to put your school name on the back window? Fine—that’s good, but let’s draw the line there. Its getting out hand. Your family? You want those little family decals so everybody knows how great you are? Look at that, you even have your little dog on there, too. Congratulations, you just gave a scorecard to a drunk driver.
Why would you put a giant decal on your window asking other drivers a question? Don’t I have more important things to be concentrating on than satisfying your curiosity about my preference in hot dogs or whether I miss George Bush yet?
What’s the point of asking—there’s no way I can answer you. And don’t say you put that sticker on there so that I might consider the answer and in that contemplation grow or learn something or whatever. I’ve never read a window sticker that made me slam on the brakes as I suddenly realized I’ve been wasting my life all these years.
What makes me happy? Wait a minute—what does make me happy? Why hasn’t anyone ever asked me that before? If only I’d seen your sticker sooner! Thank you car decal, you’ve saved me!