Hey, you in the Nissan Murano. I know you think you're cooler than the guy in the lane next to you driving the Dodge Caravan minivan with thirty kids staining the seats with their Yoo-Hoo squeezeboxes and other, more unmentionable things while putting enough fingerprints on the windows to give David Caruso a CSIgasm...
But I have some unfortunate news for you--you're not.
The "crossover" is one of the greatest marketing myths ever to be perpetrated on the American consumer. Yeah, you went ahead and crapped out 4 kids in 6 years and now your wife made you trade in that cool coupe you really liked so you could get a "family car."
What that really means is that your wife told you to buy a minivan.
The minivan is castration via automobile. Women who make their husbands get minivans are the same women who dress their husbands (in the same sweaters that got kids--ironically, probably these exact guys--beat up in middle school) and talk to them like they're live-in help in Orange County.
Real men don't drive minivans. Real men don't let their wives buy minvans.
When you purchase a minivan, you may as well just take your nuts out, slice 'em off with a Wustoff and stick 'em in vinegar. They're pickled and you're done as a man.
And these "crossovers" are just as bad. And don't you dare call your Nissan Murano or Ford Edge a truck. Trucks run shit over and pull things behind them, they aren't loaded to the brim with colorful beach toys and 30 kids hopped up on Yoo-Hoo and SpongeBob.
A crossover is a minivan with slightly bigger wheels. Take a good, long look and tell me I'm not right. In fact, crossovers might actually be worse! What's worse when you're a dude out chick shopping? When you run into a gay guy that you know is gay and it's cool, but you'd also never take him home?
Or when you run into a transsexual who looks like a chick? See, this one is attractive from a distance but you take her home and you realize she has big wheels -- I mean a cock.
And any man who disagrees with these thoughts clearly owns a minivan (crossover) or is going shopping for one over the Christmas break.
That's right, I said Christmas, you cowards. Christmas--you know--December 25th? The day Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ?
But alas, that unbridled harangue must be saved for another day.
The point of this one is, you own the keys to a minivan or a "crossover," you traded your balls, testosterone and self-respect as a man to get one.
Congratulations, pussy.
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