Friday, August 18, 2006

For Those About to Van...


Alright, enough of the bullshit. Respect this goddammed van, because this Dutch creator knew way more than he (or she - yeah right) led on.

This is an onion van, and it's time to take off all the vantastic layers.

First: The window. Yes, I know it's only a single window, and here at Vandemonium we live by the moniker "More Windows, More Victims." But this one is different, notably because it sports both the identity-concealing purple window tint AND a set of awesome curtains. It's not enough that you can recognize the face of that child trapped inside, this professional doesn't want to take the chance of you even knowing anyone is inside.

Second: Mismatching tires - nothing says (with a low, gravelly voice) "You need a ride?" like a set of loner Bridgestones.

Third: Three-tone background paint. I can't stress this enough - if you want to come to the party, you better bring your A-game. Two-tone is so 1989 Ford Econoline, but three-tone paint tells all your fellow van enthusiasts that your mullet is for rockin, your fists are for sockin', and you're wanted for kidnapping in 5 states...

Also notice the rust on the wheel-wells. Perfect amount - not spotless, but not showing off.

Fourth: The mural. What can I say? Really, what the fuck would you say to this guy if you saw him get into this van? I guess, after my initially pang of fear subsided and I realized there were no children within 500 yards of this thing, I'd probably have the following conversation:

"Dude, sweet van - I dig that mural? Is that a viking ship?"
"You a cop?"
"Nahhh man, just a fellow van enthusiast like yourself. Good, upstanding American folk."
"My cousin painted the mural - he fucked it up though."
"Let me guess, you wanted that horse to be a unicorn?"
"Nah, wanted a bigger rack on the chick."
"Good point, good point. The purple does a great job in bringing out the wings of the horse. Where are they going, anyway?"
"To a special place..."
"Oh yeah, like the Neverending Story or some shit?"
"No, my brother's house in Red Fork, Idaho."
"Awesome, awesome. What's in Red Fork?"
"You sure you ain't a cop?"

At this point, he'd open the side door, and I'd see either a blood-stained tan shag carpet coating the interior of the van OR it'd just be bare metal, with some My Little Ponies piled in the corner. And he'd have a dog, probably named "Buford" or "Enis" or something...

"My daughter's..." he'd say, nodding towards the pile of toys and trailing off.
"Take care bud, stay strong and keep vanning."
By this time, he's already peeled out of the parking lot, Thin Lizzy blaring on the speakers and a fresh Pall Mall hangin from his lip.

I'd then go home and wash my hands like 200 times and say a prayer.


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