It was the perfect moment. I was in traffic today when suddenly a truck pulled in front of me on the off ramp of the interstate. It was my Big Daddy. The elusive fish that every fisherman sees once in his or her life, but can never catch. Or, has caught and it got away, with no proof of its existence.
My Big Daddy happens to be the most obnoxious truck in town. This is saying quite a bit, as I live in a town resplendent with large quad-cab, V-8, dualie trucks. Bumper stickers in the form of boys peeing on things, or instructing me to continue honking, as they're reloading their firearms abound. I am reminded that these drivers do not like Fat Chicks, and that their buddies should "Ditch the Bitch and Go Huntin.'" Because huntin' is far more virile a sport than simply hunting, you know.
I have often observed to my husband that men drive these things to compensate for various (ahem) shortcomings. He argues differently. He explains that we live in the mountains, people have livestock out here, you can't haul hay in a Saab, Jen. Uh, huh.
But today, God was smiling down at me, because I happened to have a camera in my car and was able to access it while behind the evidence of a certain species I would like to call phallus tinius automotivi. Yes, God was smiling, and boy does she have a great sense of humor.
Notice, if you will, the appendages hanging below the bumper. Do you see them? The scrotum? Perhaps the website, affixed to the window of the truck, might aid you some more. It is http://www.bullsballs.com/
Ladies, I am taking up a collection. I would like to manufacture a resyn or latex prototype for a set of mudflaps I would like to sell. They come in the shape of labia, and are excellent at keeping debris from your tires. If you act now and are one of the first twenty buyers? I will throw in a bush floor mat for free.