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I had just gotten my stickers from unamerican.com and was dying to get them on my little Festiva, but it just kept raining and raining. I had waited almost two months to get them, and things like this that are long anticipated make me giggle like a school girl and annoy my co-workers to no end.

I pulled my car under the wash bay's overhang and went to work at my windows with a cloth towel and then paper towels. I am still hoping to get an overall paint job for free from the painters I work with, sometime when I'm out of town, so I didn't want to put these new stickers on sheet metal because they would all have to come off when the car gets painted. Besides, people could see them better on the windows.

On the rear windshield I had:

Die MTV Die
Fuck yeah, I'm Weird
Jesus Was Way Cool
Go Beyond Comfort
Focus Dammit

I wanted the driver's side rear window to have something for people I deal with in the drive thru windows of banks and fast food joints to read:

McDonald's Is Not Food
Tip You Bastards
Stop Living Like Veal
Go Back To Your Suburbs

Since the right side of my car is usually facing the sidewalk when I park, and I live in a primarily black neighborhood, I displayed the stickers that had the most questionable meanings:

Whitey Will Pay
Combat the Racist Infrastructure
Avoid The Stupid
Be Not Half-Assed

I kept my stickers that used the work "fuck" in them to a minimum, since around here Napoleonic Code applies, so that a cop can make up the rules about whether that will get you pulled over and/or a ticket, right on the spot. So I put this one inside my car on my glove box door, to remind me: Fuck Cigarettes

Gleeful at my now well-stickered car and the raised eyebrows of passersby, I set out for home at the end of that day. Traffic was typical, so I was weaving in an out of lanes to avoid the bovines. A green Accord seemed to be following my lead. At the last stop light before I hit I-10, the man in the Accord gets out of his car, walks up to my driver's side door, gives me the thumbs up and says, "You are cool." He was middle aged, with graying hair and wire framed glasses in a polo shirt. I was so surprised that I couldn't even say anything, I just grinned. I had been bopping around to some Rage Against the Machine song anyway, and barely heard him. He had been following my car so he could read my stickers. And in that one moment, I indeed felt cool.

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