My hubcap says “Power Ass.”
What does one say to that?
It just appeared there in shining, bright orange, stenciled lettering one morning. Somebody, it seemed, put a lot of effort into this graffiti. But what could it mean?
A cryptical development, this vandalism has stumped the best and brightest of minds.
“Maybe somebody thinks you have a big ass,” said the guy on the couch.
“But does anybody know that my car is my car? Would anyone have any idea who owned it?”
It was a lead, though. It could be saying that whoever drives that badass hatchback must be some sort of sex machine. Or a slut, if you’re the type to think of lots of sex negatively.
“Do you have rear-wheel drive?” asked a permanent roomie.
“Nope. Nor would it be called ‘Power-Ass’ if it were. It’s kind of small.”
A great man – I think it was George Clinton, but I might be wrong – once said, “Free your mind and your ass will follow.”
The Phish sticker on the bumper might’ve led the perpetrator to believe that the owner is some sort of dirty hippie, and it could be – as Mr. Clinton might make it – some sort of “Ride on, brother!”
Probably not, though.
Chances are it was just some punk and the only real message to be taken from it is, “I have too much time on my hands and not enough brain cells left to know what to do with it.”
This is a severe problem around here: Lots of rich kids with parent/patrons supporting their art of partying and getting C’s highlighted by the occasional B.
“Yeah, but my GPA hasn’t dropped into the bottom half of the two yet. See, with that B- in Introduction to the University, I pulled it back up to a 2.6. Can I have five hundred dollars to finish off midterm week?”
Atta boy. What if everybody had to work to earn the money to get new tires when they get slashed? Or to get a car wash when people have sex on your hood and leave the dirty condom and two piles of vomit from when they finally looked at each other. Or even when you just had a really tough day and you need a pint or four of Guinness.
There might be a little bit more respect, but that’s probably just wishful thinking. At the very least, it would eat up a few hours that the jackasses spend trashing other people’s things.
And even then, it might not be those silver-spoon-sucking lucky monkeys. It could be any drunk or drugged-out degenerate, or maybe just some sort of sociopath.
Regardless of who does this, it creates a truly unique sense of community. And by unique, I mean disgusting. Yeah, a lot of us get utterly deranged somewhere between two and seven nights a week. That doesn’t exempt one from being a decent human being, though.
It is a perfect built-in excuse for the weekend revelries and debauching. Really, it’s just an excuse.
You’re out there on those two or seven nights a week using your general sloshedness to free yourself from responsibility for breaking shit or just straight being a bastard.
You’re probably your own excuse. You’re probably a bastard anyway. You know exactly what you’re doing and you’re trying to justify it with drugs and alcohol. Not quite the stand-up-in-court-in-your-own-defense kind of justification.
But I digress. Just make it livable. Nobody wants to deal with people destroying their property. I’m just glad my hubcap was still there, honestly. Have fun. Lose yourself a little. At least be amusing, though.
If all graffiti were as enigmatic and intriguing as the piece on my hubcap, then people probably wouldn’t mind nearly so much.
Daily Nexus assistant Opinion editor Cory Anthony is currently thinking about naming his column “Power Ass.”