When I think of vanity, I think of the movie Se7en. Yeah, I know, Capt. Obvious, I'm not great at word associations. When someone says "pupil," I think of an eyeball, and then I get really grossed out and lose focus for a minimum of forty minutes while picturing a microscopic photo of some weirdo's eyeball. Because really, what kind of normal person would say, "Oh, you want to use a microscopic camera to take photographs of my eyeball? Hmm, that doesn't seem weird at all. What time do you want to come over and do that? 8p? Sure. 8p is fine. I should be done skinning the captured drifters I have in my basement by 8p. See you then."
Anyway. So, yeah, the word vanity reminds me of the movie Se7en, which features a moronic model who kills herself because Kevin Spacey chopped off her nose and then glued a cell phone to one hand, and a bottle of pills to the other. In case you're Amish or you've been locked in a closet for the last fifteen years and have not seen the movie Se7en, the model chooses death. Firstly: hey lady, it's not such a big deal to have your nose cut off. Have you not seen the lady who had her ENTIRE FACE AND HANDS ripped off by a wine drinking, car-stealing domesticated chimpanzee (still not over this story, BTW)? In fact, it's such a non-issue, that the doctor will probably laugh in your face and then tussle your hair and easily reattach your nose just so you can get back up on that runway and do a lot of cocaine and ruin it all over again. But noooooo, Mrs Dramatic over here, she decided to swallow the whole bottle of sleeping pills and die because she was too lazy to sit through a few surgical procedures. Which leads me to believe that the model's mindset is the same mindset of those people who go out and purchase a vanity license plate. Seriously, you have to be shallower than a baby pool to spend extra money just so your license plate can say, BigBalls69 or whatever. It's fucking insane. More insane than killing yourself over a sinus surgery.
I did some research, and I found out that it costs $1,400 to register vanity plates with the DMV. WHAT??? That is insane!
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Okay, maybe that's not how much it costs to get vanity plates for your Toyota Tundra. Maybe I have no fucking clue how much it costs to buy vanity plates. But honestly, would you really be surprised if it did cost $1,400 to have some dumb nickname stenciled to your license plate? Fuck no, you wouldn't. Because it's moronic. And moronic shit costs money. People will spend stupid amounts of money on even dumber shit, like stuffing their dead dog or their dead uncle or something. I bet there is someone in America who has a stuffed family member in their basement. So when the story eventually hits Yahoo's front page, don't act surprised, because I already (hypothetically) broke the story. BOOM, journalism!
My hatred for vanity plates goes back a long way. True story - when I about fifteen-years-old, rocking the sweet bowl-cut and black jorts, a little pill called Viagra hit the market. Long story short, it was a big deal. Lots of old people now had the ability to get it on again, which is so gross and should not be celebrated on TV like it was then, or like it is today. Those Viagra commercials are just disgusting. The people in them just look so...so creepy. Why are they rubbing each other all weird and smiling and walking around a house with all the windows open? Shut your fucking windows already. Anyway, some dude in my town had a Plymouth Prowler. Don't remember the Prowler? Don't worry, it fucking sucked. What a stupid piece-of-shit car it was. And to add insult to injury, this gentleman's Prowler was yellow. Just thinking about how terrible of a car it was makes me wish I could invent time travel so I could go back in time, sit him down, and say, "No. No. No. Not working. No."
But do you want to know what made this Plymouth Prowler even more awful? Mr. Cool had a license plate of the vanity sort, and it cleverly read, "My Viagra".
Wait...what?
Your Viagra is this shitty yellow car? What else gets you going, flannel shirts? A nice stiff glass of lemonade? You should be fucking ashamed of yourself - what's wrong with you? Does your wife even realize you have that license plate? And she is on board with this whole thing? Even now, fifteen years later, it's still just too much stupidity to comprehend.
I don't know why this guy drove around town in his Plymouth Prowler telling everyone his car was his boner medicine. That's horrible. He should have gone to prison. Anyway, my point is, he had a vanity license plate specifically designed to tell everyone about this. And I think this is the reasoning behind all people who have vanity plates: they want to tell the general public things the general public does not care about. I don't care if you have five kids. I don't care if you like the Islanders. I don't care if you love frogs. Who the fuck cares about frogs, anyway? You should have a license plate that says, "I am an asshole who is also full of shit and I want people to talk about me because I am VAIN." Oh that doesn't fit on the license plate? Well, then maybe it will fit on YOUR FACE.
Look, everyone out there reading this (AKA Mom & wife), can we all agree to just do away with these things? They are ALL horrible and unclever. No seriously, you're not clever. At all. You are even more unclever than you think for actually believing that you should go to the DMV, hand over a horribly cliched vanity plate request, and then laugh your way home. You should have instead gone to the food shelter and donated the money you spent to have your Toyota Corolla license plate read HANKSCAR. No shit it's your fucking car, Hank, you're driving it. You could have bought 500 bowls of minestrone for the food pantry, but instead you spent that money on a license plate that states the most obvious thing on the planet (aside from the fact that you are a moron).
I want a license plate that reads: LIS 1999. Why? Because that's what my license plate says right now. End of story. It literally ends right there. I don't need to go to the DMV and change that. I will 100% live a very normal and productive life and never ever ever think about this again. Why? Because I'm not vain, and I'm sure as shit smart enough to know there are a million goddamn doctors out there who would reattach my nose for a fee. Game over, goodbye.
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