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Please spay and neuter your vehicles
This afternoon I was driving to class during rush hour and, naturally, ran into some heavy traffic for a while. This was to be expected, I'd planned for it, and I wasn't in a big hurry. However, while I was idling in place, I couldn't help noticing that the vehicle in front of me (a burgundy Chevy pickup) was equipped with Truck-Nutz (TM).
Truck-Nutz (TM), for those of you unfortunate enough to have missed such an important cultural phenomenon, are large, fairly realistic metal testicles you can attach to the underside of your vehicle under the license plate. The idea, as conceived by some redneck in a fit of black-hearted misanthropy, is to make your car appear to have balls dangling down between its rear "legs." Because apparently a rude bumper sticker just wasn't obnoxious enough. Did I mention that these are fairly realistic? They sag in their metal scrotum, and appear to have little dots on them to mark the truck's (thankfully not-productive) pubic follicles.
So, as I stood still in heavy traffic, transfixed by the gleaming magnificence of this mystery man's dangling chrome ball-sack bobbing back and forth with every incremental move forward, many startling insights came to me: are all trucks male? Do female rednecks have big, shiny metal vulvas they glue to their tailgates instead? Is an "intact" car more prone to aggression, mounting other vehicles and marking its territory with sprays of oil a la Michael Bay? If so, do drivers try to use this to their advantage ("I'm sorry, officer, but as you can plainly see, Fred is intact, and the Porsche in front of me was plainly in her season, so poor Fred just couldn't help hisself...")?
However, after a while all these thoughts fled away, and I was left with but one thought: BALLS. Big, saggy balls, bobbing away in their scrotum a few feet away from my face, dragging out the minutes. I tried to distract myself, skipping through my MP3s, but even Robert Plant's most soulful wailing could not keep me from the reality of the resplendent steely gonads before me. We inched forward and...BALLS! We stopped again...BALLS! Balls, hanging real loose with all the conditions that state implies: hot days, sweat, getting "stuck," stinking, itching...BALLS. Riiiiight in front of me, for about ten minutes straight.
Anyway, roughly how long do you feel I would have to wait under those conditions before I would be morally and legally justified in taking a large-caliber firearm, leaning out of my window and performing veterinary/vehicular surgery from a distance? What if the Nutz in question were of the fleshy, rubbery kind, which I am told exist but thankfully have never seen? If I tailed that burgundy truck home, snuck into its garage to cut its brake line, and told the jury I was giving it a "circumcision," do you think they would convict me? Or would it be a...hung jury (HAR HAR HAR)?
In conclusion: BALLS. Thank you.
Truck-Nutz (TM), for those of you unfortunate enough to have missed such an important cultural phenomenon, are large, fairly realistic metal testicles you can attach to the underside of your vehicle under the license plate. The idea, as conceived by some redneck in a fit of black-hearted misanthropy, is to make your car appear to have balls dangling down between its rear "legs." Because apparently a rude bumper sticker just wasn't obnoxious enough. Did I mention that these are fairly realistic? They sag in their metal scrotum, and appear to have little dots on them to mark the truck's (thankfully not-productive) pubic follicles.
So, as I stood still in heavy traffic, transfixed by the gleaming magnificence of this mystery man's dangling chrome ball-sack bobbing back and forth with every incremental move forward, many startling insights came to me: are all trucks male? Do female rednecks have big, shiny metal vulvas they glue to their tailgates instead? Is an "intact" car more prone to aggression, mounting other vehicles and marking its territory with sprays of oil a la Michael Bay? If so, do drivers try to use this to their advantage ("I'm sorry, officer, but as you can plainly see, Fred is intact, and the Porsche in front of me was plainly in her season, so poor Fred just couldn't help hisself...")?
However, after a while all these thoughts fled away, and I was left with but one thought: BALLS. Big, saggy balls, bobbing away in their scrotum a few feet away from my face, dragging out the minutes. I tried to distract myself, skipping through my MP3s, but even Robert Plant's most soulful wailing could not keep me from the reality of the resplendent steely gonads before me. We inched forward and...BALLS! We stopped again...BALLS! Balls, hanging real loose with all the conditions that state implies: hot days, sweat, getting "stuck," stinking, itching...BALLS. Riiiiight in front of me, for about ten minutes straight.
Anyway, roughly how long do you feel I would have to wait under those conditions before I would be morally and legally justified in taking a large-caliber firearm, leaning out of my window and performing veterinary/vehicular surgery from a distance? What if the Nutz in question were of the fleshy, rubbery kind, which I am told exist but thankfully have never seen? If I tailed that burgundy truck home, snuck into its garage to cut its brake line, and told the jury I was giving it a "circumcision," do you think they would convict me? Or would it be a...hung jury (HAR HAR HAR)?
In conclusion: BALLS. Thank you.
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