Stick Figure Family Car Stickers: Another Reason I’m Stupid

Yet another mind-blowingly easy way to trick stupid people out of their money, and here I sit holding my dick getting pissed about it. 100-Me Zero. I’ve detailed similar missed riches in a previous post regarding Joel Osteen (though I’ve since been fact-checked and realized I incorrectly attributed “The Purpose Driven Life” to him–wrong, some other asshole entirely). Now I sit on the sideline with a backward cap and a clipboard merely watching as a scumbag with more balls than me rakes in Pet Rock cash and sips champagne from the cleavage of only the cleanest strippers. These decals do serve an important societal function, that of clearly marking for the general public exactly who the fucking nerds are so that no one has to waste valuable free time socializing with the decal bearing family before arriving at the fact they are in fact fucking nerds. Outside of this one Scarlet Letter function, they are unequivocally and without defense, awful. Oh look at our zany little family. We have a dad (love how the dad is always shown first, he being the head of the family, the MAN), a mom, three kids of decreasing size, and check this out: we also have a dog AND a cat! We need everyone to know exactly what is in our family, including all stalkers, child molesters, perverts and the busy-body public at large. And even better if we’re being marked by criminals for theft or abduction they don’t even have to sort through our garbage! We tell them everything they need to know on the back of our Odyssey! They can quickly pick out which child they want to abduct, or easily plan a burglary. They know exactly which and how many animals they need to account for when they break in! Bring one raw steak to throw at Dexter when they crowbar the backdoor, kick Mittens in the face once and BAM, it is open season on the electronics and maybe even a panty-raid in mom’s room! Take one cell phone pic of the back of the mini van to remind yourself the oldest girl is a cheerleader and the next oldest child, a son, is clearly trapping a soccer ball underfoot, therefore you can count on weekday afternoons when dad and mom are at work, the eldest two children are at their athletic practices and, wait….there is another kid? No worry, as you can see this kid has only one little squiggly line hair coming out of its head, so clearly a baby. In kinder care so come right on in, throw Dexter a t-bone, punt Mittens in the face, and you’re the king of the castle until almost dinner time, easy breezy Japaneezy. Now all they need is to make a sticker with a hovering “E=MC2″ over one of the kid’s heads and then all the insufferable people who have self-diagnosed their kid as “gifted” will be able to notify the driving public at large via mini van window. Wait, there’s my million; a self-diagnosed gifted kid decal for car windows! Does calling “DIBS!” on my own Internet blog count as legally trademarking something?

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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