I know that bumper stickers aren’t supposed to be the font of any knowledge but I do find the odd one amusing.
Today, I saw on the back of a rusted Telstar, “Hippy Chicks Rule.”
As I was sitting there trying to get a look at the driver (so I could judge them more harshly) it occurred to me that I couldn’t think of a less accurate statement.
Hippy chicks rule, hey? What exactly? I can’t name another group that has so singularly failed to get their hands on the reins of power.
The other sticker holding the car together was, “I believe in unicorns, good men and other mythical creatures.” Oh my sides. How rouge!
When I did get a good look at the driver, he was a late-middle-aged businessman with a wedding ring. He was also hunched down in the seat, not making eye contact with anyone. Maybe this particular hippy chick did rule. She’s obviously got her dad to drive her shitbox to the mechanics and I bet he ends up paying the bill. She wouldn’t be able to afford it what with only doing volunteer work down at the co-op ‘cause no one wants to hire someone with an eyelid piercing.
Remember, urban witches, it’s the dolphin in the tuna that makes it taste good.
