9.10.2005

Uncharitable observations

All righty, then. We gave money to the Red Cross that was matched by each of our employers, and I've raised $2000 for the Susan G. Komen foundation (e-mail me if you want to know how you can help the Race for the Cure!), so with all that goodness and mercy, there has to be a little balance.... Here, therefore, some observations for my fellow denizens of Southern California:

Hey, "URR 2SLO" navy blue low-rider pickup truck-drivin' guy: it's "YOU'RE", you moron, not "YOUR", in the phrase "If your driving too slow, get out of the way", plastered in huge letters on the back of your tricked-out truck. Listen, my semi-literate compadre, believe me when I say I absolutely agree with the sentiment (although not, perhaps, with your bullshit, no-turn-signal-usin' lameass driving style that endangers people on the toll road who are already going 80, brother), but you'd do yourself a world of good (you and all your fellow poor grammarians and lousy spellers) if you indulged in a little spellcheck before proving to the world that you're an assclown. Thank you.

Hi there, 60-ish woman in the dusty rose bebe tracksuit with "bebe" spelled out in hot pink rhinestones on your non-existent but none-too-toned hindquarters. Listen: I can see that you're clinging with every acrylic nail and capped tooth to your fading youth, what with the bleached hair and the Botox and the painfully collagened lips and the 4 hours at the gym every day, and I feel for you -- hell, I'm a good twenty-five years behind you and already lamenting my lost elasticity and wondering what the hell all those noises are when I'm creaking my way out of bed in the morning (I'm hoping most of them are coming from the 47-year old half of the couple, to be quite frank), but honey, please. PLEASE. Jessica Simpson can have stuff written across her bootay, and that's where it ends. Here are the rules, and, really, they're a matter of public decency: you must be between the ages of 18 and 24, max, and be built like what I believe is called a brick shithouse in order to get away with directing any attention to the posterior, not least asking people to read your ass. This goes quadruple for anyone contemplating emblazoning theirs with "Juicy", although that does get the Jennifer Lopez exception to the 18-24 rule, 'cause sugar, she might be 36, but that Fly Girl is still SUPAH FLY. iAy, mami, caliente!!

Note to the multitudinous vanity-plate owners in California (of whom I am a proud member, sporting SOX 4EVA in a BoSox chrome frame, thank you): please try not to annoy with your choices. Dana and I have weekly calls requesting "permission to ram" such gagsome vessels as bear such affronts as "DR2BME" ("Dare to be me" -- as Diane says, "No thanks.") and "MR HI IQ" (whose plate was on about a thousand-year old Toyota Camry, so apparently his intelligence doesn't extend to a) ways to make money or b) automobile safety considerations). Stick to cleverness like "IML8ML8" on a white Rabbit (please tell me you get that), and "BEYOND" on a blue Horizon, as well as "2TH MOVR" (Cindy's orthodontist has that one) and "52 WK HI" (on a Boxter, in the Silicon Valley boom days, which I thought was cute but Dana wanted to ram). Kindly avoid being a pneumatically-enhanced bleached blonde in a Mercedes convertible with "BARBDOL" spelled with a star for the A and a heart for the O, because, frankly, I'll take the insurance premium hike just for the pleasure of bashing your plate in.

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