Daily Archives: May 11, 2012

While driving on the freeway, I noticed a bumper sticker that read, “If you don’t look around, you’ll miss what’s important.”  I considered the possibility that it was right — maybe in this fast-paced, selfish life of mine, I’m not looking around enough.

And then I got in a car accident.

Indeed, I had looked around, but I still missed what was important: the goddamn road.

* * *

Bumper stickers are useless.  I mean, do we really think they’re going to effect change?  Like the President of the United States will be in his car, saying –

President: “All right, Johnson.  Prepare to drop the atomic…”
{A long silence.}
Johnson: “Mr. President?  Mr. President, are you there?”
President: “Go home, Johnson.”
Johnson: “But Mr. President, do you want us to drop the bomb or –”
President: “I said, ‘Go home!’  Maybe it is time to…give peace a chance.”

You’re not changing minds with these stickers.  There’s no racist going –

Racist: “I am sick of these Negroes and Jews and –” {reading bumper sticker} “Coexist?  Wow.  Looks like I owe the world an apology.”

* * *

Truly, I hate everything about bumper stickers.  I hate when they distract me, I hate when they’re another advertisement thrown in my face, I hate when they simplify complex social issues, I hate when they’re self-congratulatory (i.e., “I don’t eat anything with a face”), and I hate when they don’t match the personality of the person driving (i.e., the most aggressive, middle finger-happy driver has the bumper sticker that reads, “Love one another”).

And yet, I have a ton of them.

See, I’ve been in so many car accidents that I’ve covered my vehicle with bumper stickers, thinking I’m cleverly disguising my inability to drive with my support for breast cancer awareness.  And Obama.  And my honor roll grandson.

But I’ve become so fixated on covering up the scratches and dents that I’ve accidentally applied conflicting bumper stickers.  Now I look like a gun toting, environmental member of the KKK who supports gay rights, wants to save the whales, and loves the band Korn.

Also, apparently I’m an “Orgasm Donor.”

I’ve been in a lot of accidents.

I try to avoid arguments in relationships by texting or e-mailing nonsense.  Instead of dealing with the issue immediately, I save myself some time by letting the woman think too deeply into the meaningless picture I’ve sent her.  For example, if my girlfriend texts me –

“We need to talk…”

– I send her a picture of a Kia sedan.  Then the over-analysis begins…

- Is he saying I’m low class?
- Kias are South Korean cars.  Is he saying he’s more attracted to Asian women?
- Is he saying I’m unreliable?
- Does he want me to buy him a car?
- Is he going to buy me a car?
- Is “Kia sedan” an anagram for something? SIN? SKIN? SKEIN?  Something with KIDS?!  Oh my God!

By the time she’s finished running with whatever ideas have gone through her head, she’s too exhausted to argue with me, and we can deal with the issue rationally.

* * *

I’ve also been told that women become more interested if you treat them poorly; but again, I’ve found that you don’t need to be malicious — you just need to be confusing.  For example, if I can tell that a girl I’m with is losing interest, I’ll send her a text like –

“Looking forward to seeing you. [Sad face.]”

OR:

“I love you.  [Angry face.]”

OR:

“Let’s get together tomorrow.  [Picture of a panda in lingerie hanging itself from a string of Christmas lights.]”

- Is he looking forward to seeing me or not?
- Is he mad that he loves me?
- Is he saying he’s attracted to pandas now?
- WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!

I love when people name their pet something that’s totally incongruous with its character, like a hundred-pound dog named Piddles, a three-pound kitten named Killer, or a tarantula named Cutie.

I know some people pick these names ironically, but when they have to scold the animal, they sound like idiots.  My friend has a Chihuahua, for example, that humps everything.  Whenever he has a party, it’s –

Owner: “Tinkerbell, stop humping that man’s leg!  Stop it, Tink.”

And the dog is vicious.  We try to gently push it away, but it’s like –

Chihuahua: {Hispanic accent} “Hey!  I will tell you when I’m finished, esse.” {Growl.}

Eventually, we’re like –

Party guest: “Oh, Jesus.  Did the dog just –” {shaking off pants} “Agh.  Please tell me that’s pixie dust.”