Van Wilder is NOT Down by the River

Have you ever gotten that creepy hibbity-jibbity panic kind of feeling, for no discernable reason at all?

This evening, as I walked out of the store, I noticed that a suspiciously creepy black windowless Rape Van with Oregon plates had parked [i]right next to my car[/i] while I was inside shopping…

He could have parked anywhere. The side parking lot was virtually empty.=! Weird that he’d park so close… I assume it was a he. It looked like a Man Van. Ugh. It gave me the creepities. I couldn’t get my ass into my car and the doors locked fast enough.

Honestly, I worry more about bears going through my garbage cans at night than I do about Windowless Wandering Weirdos, but it was not cool. I don’t know why it wasn’t cool, but… You know? I don’t need hugs. I just need the Anti-Van… or an Ativan. Or both. Maybe Ativan is the Antivan.

Have you ever noticed how vintage vans have that van smell? It’s earthier than New Car Smell. Worn, and weathered like vinyl, cigarette smoke, and shag carpeting.

I don’t like vans much. A minivan is only amusing because Wesley Willis wrote a song of praises to the sturdy and staid Ford Windstar. Some vans are good… my grandpa drove a full-on Uncle Rico van. The Orange Majesty was a 1973 Ford Econoline Camper van, complete with a non-functioning sink. Grandpa drove it faithfully until 1993 when he traded it in on a Dodge Dynasty (also known as the Die-Nasty). I guess he was moving up in the world. The Orange Majesty was a large part of my childhood… as were it’s brakes that would pause for a moment and contemplate the concept of stopping when the brake pedal was pressed. “Hmmm… I know I’m supposed to stop, and while I agree with it in principal, I feel morally opposed to it.” That was always fun while riding in the back… with bales of hay… and a dog… or two.

Goddamn fucking country folk… Why hast thou tormentedeth me so? And drenched me in sorrow and Toby Keith-laden woe?

I’m glad I didn’t get grabbed by a van snatcher. I think if it had been local plates I wouldn’t have thought too much about it, you know?

I go with my gut. I’m not the most psychic person out there, but intuitively, when the guts have something to say, they are never wrong. Ever. I was doing myself a favor by getting the fuck out of there.

Vans. Only good for Burners, Uncle Rico, Wesley Willis, and only then if they’re down by the river.