Picture the scene: hot, Hot, HOT sunny day in the middle of the desert. Polo fields all around – with the exception of the palm trees, the parched grass is the only lush green foliage you see. You’re wearing flip flops; the dust and dirt have already coated your feet with a permanent brown tinge that will later be hard to remove. People around you are selling water for a dollar; you really just want a beer, but have quite a ways to walk before getting one. It’s not yet noon and the shower you just took was rendered pointless the second you stepped outside.
You can tell there was a breeze at some point during the evening; the cars parked around you are covered in a brown coating of sand and dirt. Young n’er-do-wells (read: people just like my friends and I) have personalized many of these vehicles with various takes on phallic symbols. They’ve creatively inserted an "H" in the spelling of a common vulgarity, and you laugh at the juvenility of it all.
And then you see it – to your right, the culmination of all car-dirt poetry now and ever. The words so precisely chosen, the message so very clear even amongst the dust. It nearly brings a tear to your eye with its very perfection…on the back window of one of these dusty, road-wearied vehicles, you see:
"I wish my girlfriend was as dirty as this car."
Sigh. So prolific. You do, after all, don’t you?