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Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Fresh Urban Myth

We've all heard creepy or scary stories that sounded plausible, although verging on BS, like the tourists who wake up in a bathtub full of ice, missing a kidney. There are thousands of them, and snopes has done a really amazing job of sorting out the truth from the crap. Rarely are the absolute sources of these tales ever found out, and so I would like to start a new urban myth.

In the past few years, I have seen pasted on the back of minivans and SUVs, little stick-figures which represent the happy family inside, mommy, daddy, boy, girl, dog, cat, whatever. We've all seen these things.










There are plenty of variations, and for reasons I can't explain, they irritate the hell out of me. There is no good reason for this, as I had a perfectly decent childhood, and am enjoying a fulfilling semi-adulthood. So as I sat behind some giant vehicle one day, I supposed the following, absolutely none of which is true:

There are, as we all secretly suspect, bands of homicidal maniacs are roving the countryside and cities of America, and occasionally they stray into a suburb. The reason they are so homicidal is because they had awful childhoods, which is usually mommy or daddy's fault, as Doctor Phil has taught us.

As they lumber through YOUR TOWN, they cannot help but notice parked in your driveway the vehicle which sits as testament to your family's perfect happiness, and thus reinforces this lunatic's miserable upbringing. They become enraged.

Now, while they are maniacs, they are not the kind who want to go to prison, so they play it cool. Depending on how gruesome you like your urban myths, they either carve your address into their own flesh, or they just punch it into their Newtons to save for later.

They're pretty upset about the Newtons, too. I suppose that helps the story.

OK, after writing down your address, they lumber off again, presumably to get a good dinner, because they will need their strength. Strength to KILL YOUR FAMILY.

At two or three in the morning, they return to your address, armed with rusty knives, dull chainsaws, and, oh, let's say pinking shears. They will break into your home, and trust me, no security system can stop them, because they are so pissed about their childhood.

They then proceed to murder you and your family in the most awful fashion imaginable, and it's painful, because things are rusty and dull, and they make your house look like Hell itself vomited. No one hears your screams, because it's a gated community, and good yuppies know how to mind their own business.

After completing their grisly business, the murderer walks out, right through your front door, out into the yard and down the driveway past your SUV, and checks the rear window he uses for a scorecard:

"OK, Daddy, Mommy, Billy, Susie... Shit, I forgot the cat."

And he walks back in and gruesomely violates and kills your beloved family pet, all because you couldn't resist buying some stupid window stickers that really only serve to impede your view of me flipping you the bird because you're invariably five under the speed limit.

I want this "true story" spread around the interwebs via blog and email until it eventually rockets back into my own email inbox with a subject line reading "IMPORTANT! MUST READ! THIS COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE!!!"

We can all take satisfaction in helping the administration spread fear, and also because we'll know right where it all started. You are a pioneer. Go forth, and spread the word.

Oh, and happy holidays.

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posted at 4:40 PM

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