Personalized License Plates Don't Give You Personality.
It just so happens that someone sent me a Best Buy gift card for Christmas this year (pointless, completely, but an entirely different story). I remembered that I had to run some errands in Brookfield, about 30 miles southwest of where I live. I also remembered that there was a Best Buy full of overpriced media nearby that I could waste my gift card on. In actuality, I needed to replace Pink Floyd’s The Wall since my ex-girlfriend still has my original copy, and I would rather have stuck my head in a revolving door than put up with her at that moment, so I opted to just use that gift card to buy a new one, since I couldn’t think of anything else I needed.
Best Buy was a story in itself, but I will not touch upon it because it is almost identical to Charlie’s spiel. What really pissed me off happened on my way to Best Buy. In order to get to Brookfield, one must take 41 south, which merges after about 15 miles with I-45 south. I-45 south is full of the following people; Asian men going someplace where they can race their Civics, old men that drive so stereotypically that I gouge my eyes out in fits of rage, neo-hippies driving twatmobiles, country club fat girls, health nuts, and white guys blaring the new 50 Cent obnoxiously loud, making their Probe rattle and seriously pissing me off. All of them have 0 personality. Which wouldn’t even be so bad if they weren’t completely fucking retarded looking because they think the next trend in looking cool in a hunk of shit car is driving with your right foot out the window, one eye closed, and their left thumbs resting nicely in their asses.
People are bland, big surprise, huh? It’s gotten to the point that I’ve come up with a foolproof plan for spotting a boring, yeast-infected chucklehead. It has only one step: check their license plate. Chances are if you have a personalized license plate you are supplementing some shitty template personality that you bought at Aeropostale. These yawn-inducing, ridiculous plates were screwed on the back of seemingly every other car as I drove down the freeway ramming school buses full of children and cars with handicap stickers off the road. I saw a few that haunted me. The first one I saw said PWR WLKR. Nothing pisses me off like power walkers. People love it because it’s “a healthy alternative to running.” What, so you’re too good to run like normal people, so instead you obnoxiously pump your arms when you walk? I see how it is, bitch. What people seldom realize is that it’s not the power walking that keeps you in shape, it’s the ass beatings you get for looking so stupid. I can’t stand power walking. Power walkers remind me of that commercial for some estrogen supplement with the daughter that always said, “Sure, I’ve thought about menopause, but I never thought I was that old!” and the next scene has a voice that usually explains that there is no way to stop it, but there is help. Then the old hag is power walking next to stupid trimmed bushes with some other old hag, and there is undoubtedly two super huge fake smiles on their contorted faces, giggling and playing grabass like a two middle aged retards fighting over the last Jello jiggler. What the fuck is menopause anyways? I don’t care for these new-fangled female problems that pop up every two years. If it’s not menopause, it’s menstruation, or miscarriages and other propaganda bullshit. Getting way off track here, as I sped up to this asshole I bet that he would be some skinny 50-year-old guy with gray skin and a windbreaker. 5 seconds later I realized that I won that bet. Congratulations, you’re a stereotype.
Not 5 minutes later, as I take my exit, I see another one, a yellow Pontiac Sunfire with the Illinois license plate BIG GRLZ. As I passed her, I observed that it was one of those wenches with their “proud to be fat” mantras AND she was listening to Nickelback (an offense in itself, Nickelback blows ass) and wearing about $200 worth of clothes that she obviously spent way too much on, because she’s still ugly. Once again, I notice that she is wearing ENTIRELY too much make-up. What features are you trying to accentuate with that much make-up? Your pig nose, or maybe the buck teeth? Girls, please, if you can’t see your cheekbones through your flab, don’t wear make-up. Yet another pretentious, stupid license plate read BALLER with some number after it that I forgot. I actually saw this one about 4 years ago, but nevertheless it stuck with me. Can you guess what kind of car it was on? Escalade, with tinted windows and some shitty hip-hop rattling through the speakers. Nothing illustrates how much of “baller” you are than dropping obnoxious amounts of money on an ugly car solely to get laid. Now I’m no expert at ghetto-fly buzz words and catch phrases, but a true “baller” wouldn’t really need a car to convey that message, would he?
In reality, the whole personalized license plate thing is just a way for someone to make up for being boring in real life. How interesting can a person be if they can sum themselves up by 8 characters banged into steel by some prison inmate? It’s quite ironic that these people actually have little to no personality but feel compelled to fork over the money for personalized license plates, Nickelback CDs, and 30 “sassy” key chains. If you’re a woman, the key chains are always about men, pms, or being a bitch/princess/. If you’re a man, they’re about beer, vomiting, or sluts. I put it into equation form here:
P((m,f)U b)=(#kc(b/m))^(#kc) / 3125
In word form, the function states that the probability that a male or female will be boring is equal to the number of key chains about beer or men, which increases exponentially as number of key chains is increased, and then divided by 3125 because after 5 key chains (to the fifth power) your personality is undoubtedly on par with a cadaver. And if you own t-shirt that says somewhere on it, “Why bananas are better than men” you deserve to be shot.
I have found that people should learn from what I do (no shit). Take the last 3 letters of my license plate, FTL. With a little creativity you get FATAL, which is infinitely better than PWR WLKR, and I didn’t pay one cent extra. In short, no one cares what you’re god damn personal license plate says, because in reality you bore me so much that I become temporarily catatonic and my tunnel vision kicks in. Knock it off already.
Despite everything I say, people still buy stupid key chains.