The bumper of the Explorer had three stickers, all of which -- and I'm not being dramatic -- shook me to not only my inner and outer cores but also my lithosphere:

1. It's not road rage. I'm just excited to get to [name of local elementary school].
   
2. Everyone is somebody at [name of local elementary school].
   
3. Support the kids. Pass the budget.

Above: I went to the elementary school mentioned in the bumper stickers, and trust me, this face (and the IQ that goes with it) was par for the course. Somebody? Sure, somebody to run away from, in case ugly and stupid are contagious.

The first sticker exemplifies why mothers should not be allowed to drive vehicles larger than a Geo Metro. In roughly 90 percent of the near misses I've had since getting my license four years ago, a mother was behind the wheel.

And without fail, the middle child is jumping on the backseat while the eldest dangles the youngest out of the window. If the mother is particularly talented, she's attached to a milking device that's plugged into the lighter -- happily oblivious to the noise surrounding her as the whirring sound of the pump drowns it out.

While this circus on wheels plays out, Mom has crossed the yellow line several times, changed lanes without glancing in her mirrors (with optional turn signals, of course) and nearly sideswiped an ambulance.

But Hallelujah, children! For she and her progeny are safe from Mama Bear's bad driving.

That's my main objection to SUVs. Fuck the environment. The majority of SUV owners are trying to protect themselves from people who drive like them.

Their kids are more likely to die in a car accident caused by Mom or Dad taking a curve too quickly and flipping the SUV into a ditch. Naturally, the kids will be ejected as none of them was wearing a seatbelt.

Darwinism at action, sure, but it brings me to the next bumper sticker.

You think your kid's school gives too much homework. You think your kid's teacher picks on him. You think standardized tests marginalize kids. You let your kids watch television instead of reading a book. You drive your kid to the bus stop. You wait for the bus to pick up your kid. You put placards around town urging residents to pass the bloated school budget.

Your kid can't read. Your kid can't make change. Your kid still wears velcro sneakers. Your kid has asthma. Your kid is on dialysis. Your kid has two heads and no anus. Your kid needs leg braces. Your kid lives in a bubble. Your kid is afraid of germs. Your kid is one big germ.

But he's somebody, and so I am. That's why I vote down your bloated school budget.

Your kid doesn't need a school with freshly painted walls. What's wrong with the old paint? No one ever died from exposure to lead paint! And if someone has -- good, natural fucking selection. If your kid can't ingest and digest lead, he deserves what he gets.

And, you see, for once, I'm going to use my soapbox for good.

No, no, I'm not encouraging you to forcefeed paint chips to children.

What I'm telling you to do is to register to vote for no other reason than to take a stand against school budgets. Side with the old fucks who think a one-cent property tax increase will cut into their cat food budget.

If you don't, mothers in Ford Explorers will own your ass.

Providing jack-off material for white misogynists since 1997.

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