One of the earliest forms of Car Tats: the personalized license plate.  Look carefully at the image.  This proud USC student is apologizing for their pathetic Infinity SUV by explaining that this car represents their meager existence before graduation and eventual fame and fortune as the owner of a bachelorette degree.  I can tell you from first hand knowledge.  Hang on to that Infinity for a little while  longer before leasing that gold plated Ferrari that your private education warrants.

Ahhh, just a little skull, subtle, tasteful.  This is the Car Tat equivalent of a cute girl with just one tattoo, maybe on her ankle or shoulder blade.  It hints at a hidden fascination with the darker side of life, without going so far as ex oneself out of polite society.  Remember the Scion, these vehicles gather more Car Tats than any other (besides shitty pick up trucks).

     I present to you: the first installement of “SICK CAR TATS BRO!“  Everyone’s favorite exploration of car sticker culture.  We begin our journey in the parking lot of a place called “The Anti-Mall” in Costa Mesa.  Here we have a Plymouth voyager that’s reppin’ the Angels.  At least someone is, thank god for Mexicans.

     Alright God, if that is your real name, let’s talk this shit out.

     Dope carne asada torta from La Sirenna

     So I got to thinking at work today, that binge drinking would be way more acceptable and fun if we all sang funny drunken folksongs when we were shitfaced.  I’m pretty sure that that’s how those Europeans get down.  We used to do it at Rugby socials.  It’s like that Family Guy where Peter  meets his drunken Irish dad.  Americans are always so Puritan about drinking.  It is publically shunned but enjoyed obsessively in private. 

     I thought up these rhymes and pieced them into a vaguely structured celtic chant.  But I do think that these types of things should be thought up in the moment to make fun of the people unfortunate enough to be drinking with you.  Imagine it with a fiddle in the background.  Or a breakbeat, whatever works for you.

Johnny was such a nice youung lad/He drank a forty/And went skateboarding/Then broke every bone in his ass/As he lay crying/He went to decrying his drunken Irish dad.

Dammon was a good old man/Last week he fucked an African/Now his dick is black and tan/Thanks to his drunken Irish dad.

Clint was such a horny boy/He fell in love with an adult toy/It’d do things that the girls wouldn’t do/So now his ass is black and blue/Thanks to his drunken Irish dad.

Josh was such a creepy fellow/He’d sneak up just like Jaws’ cello/Now all the girls have gone away/And all he tastes is pepper spray/Thanks to his drunken Irish dad.

Trevor was such a drunken twat/He drank a beer, then took a shot/He lost his wits and got the shits/All over a pair of tits/Thanks to his drunken Irish dad.

Joe was such an acid head/He thought that Blondies was his bed/He lost his keys and wet his pants/When he woke up in an ambulance/Thanks to his drunken Irish dad.

     Dope Chicken Parmigiana from restaraunt Rumari

     You see, up in SF they came up with this stupid law that Walgreens shouldn’t sell cigarettes.  Some backwards logic about not getting poison from the same place as you get your medicine.  Ha, as if the two weren’t one and the same.  I’m sorry, I thought this was America.  Why take pepto bismol when I can just smoke a bunch of cigarettes to soothe my stomach?  You see the smoke kills the bacteria, it’s simple science.  Anyway, CVS pharmacies not only have a wonderful array of cigarettes but also a diverse booze selection.  Don’t those models look healthy?

Suck it Walgreens.