Welcome to this week’s I Call Bullshit, where we arbitrarily pick a topic to have a crack at. Today, inspired by a Punch thread, we’re going to look at the stickers people choose to put on their cars.
Now I’ve previously expressed my hatred of stickers that pretend to be passionately patriotic when in fact they’re just racist. But this time I’ve undertaken a more in-depth scientific study of the chasm between what a sticker purveys and the actual truth.
You think a sticker will fool people into believing you are more than you are? I Call Bullshit. Here’s a few examples.
BAD GRRRRRRL
Aspirational image: An empowered Lara Croft-style chick with toned abs and a bad attitude, who leaves sapling men quailing with lust in her wake.
Reality: Most commonly spotted in the wastelands of suburbia on the back end of a sputtering Corolla. Eight out of ten owners are flabby around the midriff, likely to spend their days toiling away at a menial job under the direction of a balding middle manager. They tend to consider themselves bad because they spend the weekdays talking about the copious amounts of Bundaberg Rum they drink on the weekends. More likely than the average Australian woman to still have childhood teddy bears inhabiting their bedroom.
Frangipani flowers
Aspirational image: Tropical princess. A dusky-skinned beauty lolling on an island paradise, cocktail in hand, as flowers drift across an azure pool.
Reality: Clusters can be seen in the carpark of the Westfield at Modbury, far from sandy shores. Owner/driver tends to be pallid, with oversized sunglasses and Haviana thongs the only indication of exposure to sunnier climes. The aspirational tropical princess tends to be aged in their mid 20s, and is exponentially more likely to expose the pale flesh between top and low-slung bottoms that is commonly home to the tramp stamp.
Magic happens
Aspirational image: A mystical being clad in seductively human guise; trailed by the haunting smell of patchouli oil. A goddess; a benevolent witch; someone who inhabits a realm above mere mortals.
Reality: In 75 per cent of cases this is an older lady in comfortable shoes whose incense fails to mask the lingering odour of cat pee. The dreamcatcher hanging from the rear-vision mirror has systematically failed to eradicate nightmares of irrelevance, and the crystal deodorant has long since stopped working.
Got a bumper sticker you love to hate?
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