Signs Of Liberal Guilt
Tell the stick figure family to "stick it." Creation Date Sunday, 27 May 2012. Hits 1986
Even I couldn't have a bone to pick with such a harmless and innocent gesture as the stick figure families that are adorning the back of vehicles across the country, right? Wrong. Yes, these cute little characters seem to spread a happy little message of love, joy, and family. They should bring hope and happiness to all who see them. They should fill the heart with warmth like a tiny little ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. But not so fast. I don't know exactly what it was the first time I laid eyes on these anorexic heathens, but I knew that something was amiss and I was determined to figure it out. Want to hate these poorly illustrated representations? Read on!
At first glance, the message sent by these figures seems to be quite clear. Mom was once attractive and happy, and the world was at her fingertips. But one day she got a little to drunk and decided to marry a guy with a head that was way to big for his body. This resulted in them giving birth to a girl with curly hair that stands straight up in the air, and a boy who looks like an alien, complete with 3 fingers and a skateboard. He is mildly retarded and waves at everyone he sees. One of these biological disasters wanted a pet so the family purchased an over-sized rat with no tail. See? I get it. But is that the last of the message, or is their more that they are trying to tell me?
After these things started showing up, I noticed that they were appearing almost exclusively on the back of mini vans and suv's. Why would this be? Are you telling me that no family purchases a car anymore? Does every single person who breeds immediately follow the act with the purchase of a Suburban or a Grand Caravan? Certainly somewhere there is a family with a Grand Prix or a Camary. Then I started noticing them in another place. On Prius'. Or Priui? Whatever the plural may be for an idiotic battery powered death trap aside, there is no way possible that these vehicles are transporting the number of quasi human entities that are being depicted on the piece of low grade plastic right below the brake light and just above the emblem that shows the world that you are a liberal idiot with no taste in cars.
And that is when it hit me. It's liberal guilt. You know the deal. It's 11am on a Saturday and your little alien and his nappy headed sister are watching cartoons. You try to wake your wife up but she's been dealing with the little brats all week and she's taking this opportunity to catch up on the sleep she missed out on while simultaneously dreaming of you with a head that is better proportioned to your body. So you stumble out to your Lincoln Navigator to run to Burger King for a sausage egg and pasteurized processed cheese food biscuit.
You're in the middle lane at the traffic light when a smart car pulls up beside you with two vegans on their way to a "I don't eat anything that tastes good" convention. They take one look at you riding alone in your planet killing monstrosity and promptly shoot you the look. Yea, the "I saw you murder that cute little baby polar bear look." And that's when it hits you. It's too late for these two, but what if there were a way to inform everyone who approached your vehicle that you didn't always ride alone in it. What if Paul Harvey could sit on the roof with a megaphone telling "The Rest Of The Story." Ladies and Gentlemen, meet the Stick Figure Family.
This isn't a ray of sunshine, or a happy happy joy joy moment at all. This is a cheap and flimsy attempt to pacify liberal guilt. When you see these creepy people hanging out on the back windshield of a Range Rover they aren't there to tell the tale of a happy family. Not at all. They are there to say "I have a reason for driving this boat. I have to tote the freak show around." Well guess what? Be sure your sins will find you out. Prius dude ain't buying it. He loaded up his traveling band of gypsy rejects into a cat kennel powered by a Duracell. It's the check mate of liberal elitism. It's the "I see your clan and raise you dozen mpg." This creep is willing to strap his side show into the hybrid chair and sentence them to a minimum of sympathetic stares and a maximum of fiery death under the wheels of a W900 Kenworth. He's toting his posse and still saving the planet.
Well shame on you, SUV driver. That's what you get for thinking you could one up these clowns. That's what you get for not embracing your inner polar bear killer. I, on the other hand, drive a semi truck by day and a Suburban by night. I beg the family to stay home, or to hide in the back if they come along. Why? Because I have an Environmental Napoleonic Complex. I might be 5' 8" tall, but I have a carbon footprint that would make Goliath look like a midget. Some day an archeological team will unearth my my carbon steps and swear up and down they found Yeti. It should be small consolation that they think they found proof of the missing link when they find your Astro Van window. So I ask you... "What's on your window?"