Grasp on Self-Expression Pried Loose

Now that the war on terror has been won, and the flags of Freedom and Justice waive over the minefields and mass graves of new friends and allies, who once pursued the destruction of all in the world that is pure and chaste, but who now embrace the ideals of the gods and kings of the West with fervor and reverence unbeknownst previously in their breeds, now that that has come to pass, the Champions of Liberation, the Warrior Poets of Free Will and Rational Discourse can, in good conscience, divert their enterprises toward achieving new goals, in which case, for this proponent of Unity, means fixing up my truck.

Not that, mechanically speaking, the truck is unfit for the travails of the modernized streets and highways of this great nation. Rather, the vehicle lacks a certain aesthetic, that ephemeral quality that will vault it from its lowly stations of mere mode of transportation, into loftier reaches of concrete representation of my individuality.

Toward this goal, many modifications must be made to the machine, beginning with the elevation of the frame a full fathom from the firmament, followed by the sticking-on of new wheels, at once monumental and monstrous.

Thereafter it shall become obligatory to attach several chrome accoutrements as symbols of prosperity through honest labor. These, as catalogued in order of importance, begin with a hitch, capped by a faux propeller; next to come, the single step arching from below the driver door, rendered non-functional by the height of its perch, yet a vital tribute to the idea that form must not always follow function; the last adornment must be the chrome-plated depiction of human skulls, roasting in the flames of perdition, which shall serve as the grill of the truck.

While the symbolism underlying this depiction has been so deeply tangled in our collective-consciousness as to make it difficult to unravel its specific portent, it seems safe to assume that it is representative of an apocalyptic warning to those who fail to heed the edicts written long ago in the books of Traffic and Safety.

The final, and no doubt most significant, addition must be the vinyl cutouts destined to transform the rear panes from simple sheets of glass into windows to my innermost self. Here, and only here, are we afforded the opportunity to voice any number of the optional beliefs to which we may safely subscribe.

While tradition suggests these be limited to one’s preferred clothing company, or music corporation, many feel that the limits should be set only by the selection of your local vendor of such stickers.

In this case I shall make use of a cultural icon: a white vinyl Calvin pissing on an inverted Calvin below him, who in turn pisses on the feet of the first, serving as a reminder to all of the importance of community involvement.

Our task now complete, we are free now to unveil the truck, not just as a means of getting to-and-from places, but as a badge of membership to the legions of white working-class citizens, announcing in beautiful brevity that, like you, I worship the ideal of pursuing my individuality unfettered by the tyranny of evil in its many guises, and that, like you, I share a deep appreciation and admiration for the two deathless American Standards: beer and pussy.