Me and my car, we gets along real nice and we’ve spent a lot of time together chasing time frames along this country’s asphalt rails. Every time I get behind that wheel we both anticipate the blissful peace of the open road and eagerly await the rotunda of contemplation that it builds before us. The weekend after Thanksgiving (which will soon be upon us), however, is not the ideal weekend for zen roadside ruminations, and there is one reason for this: mini-vans, more specifically mini-vans with “Baby On Board” signs and newly installed DVD players. When the three of these combine the car may as well have a bumper sticker which says, in bold red lettering, “I’m An Unfocused Asshole.” If I had a nickel for every time I was cut off by one of these yesterday night I would have more nickels than the crazy (although I’m sure perfectly lovely) old lady on my block who walks around the neighborhood picking up spare change she finds on the sidewalks, and this is a lot because you know she has nothing else to do with her time. (Which reminds me of a tangent: I always imagine her taking all her treasures home and using them to bedazzle special outfits, much akin to the unnecessarily button-infested suit Dick Van Dyke wore in Mary Poppins. But, anyways…

The Offensive Party to Which I Am Speaking

Where the hell was I…oh yeah: you are an asshole mini-van driver and this is because every time you felt compelled to cut me off and then slow down by AT LEAST 20 mile per hour and I then tried to pass you, YOU insisted on speeding up so vehemently that my American made four cylinder couldn’t muster the chutzpah to rightfully reclaim the space you had taken from me without being an asshole like yourself.

At this point you guys are wondering why I sound so angry (or you’re not because I frequently sound angry), but I’m all red in the face because this drive took me 9 hours and it usually only requires 5 1/2 to 6 hours of my precious time.

But anyhow, back to an explanation of why mini-van drivers are assholes. They’re assholes because I say they are and here is the evidence. These drivers ostensibly place the “Baby On Board” signs on their rear windows to inform me and the other drivers on the road of the dire need for our cautious and attentive peaceful driving: keep your distance everyone, you might bruise the baby and ruin what will probably only be a life of mediocrity anyways. I feel that if you are SO worried about my reckless driving, maybe you shouldn’t swerve all over the road while pushing 80 miles per hour in a vehicle with an agility on par with a small overweight semi just because you’re trying to find the Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer DVD your kid has been screaming about for what seems like an eternity and your wife is passed out from exhaustion in the seat next to you because she spends most of her time caring for the little brats your wayward semen brought into this world.

I will concede that it is hard being a parent: it’s a thankless job and on top of that you’re stuck driving a mini-van due to its practicality when what you really wanted was that red convertible (or Yamaha racing bike, whatever your little mid-life crises want to insert here: I’m no middle aged man, I have no idea what your inner child wants to drive), which is yet another blow to your manhood on top of the daily insults from you wife and your receding hair line. But here’s the thing, my man: don’t inflict misery on other drivers because you ran out of Rogain, which wasn’t working anyways, and you rely on a DVD player to babysit your litter, which has caused visibly ingrained behavioral issues they will fight to overcome for the rest of their lives. My suggestion to you is to get in the right hand lane, do the speed limit, and feed your wife a gallon of Starbucks coffee so she can read to your children or engage them in fun road trip activites such as Slug-Bug or the Out-Of-State-License-Plate game (which, oddly enough, also has a slugging component to it if the kids are of a certain age). Most importantly, stay out of my why next year and leave me alone this Thanksgiving. Deal? Deal.