Oh yeah, and this:
It's a car I saw on the way to work one day. The driver was a 50-year-old guy who couldn't have looked less hip or less humorless. So it was easy to believe that the guy behind the wheel made this particular life choice earnestly. I'm not talking about his decision to drive a Honda Accord. And I'm not talking about the color of the car either. I'm talking about this.
Here is the story I imagined as I watched this man slowly turn left off of Barham Road, while I continued on. The story went something like this: Kevin Federline so touched this man, he could not contain his enthusiasm. On his way down to the DMV, it hit him, "Damn it! I should do something cool with my license plate! I'm tired of those old-fangled random numbers and letters. I want something that tells people who I am and what I'm about. What I'm really about!" And then he clicked on the radio, and there it was.
And it was like the planets aligned. Like everything clicked into place. Finally. "Awww, shit! That's it. That. Is. It. Popozao, bitches! Popo motherfucking ZAO! I don't know what it means, but that's me! Fuck yeah, it is!"
The ZOW didn't hit him until he was filling out the paperwork, there at the DMV. "If I spell it correctly, people might misunderstand what I'm getting at. They might mispronounce it. I don't want to say po-po-zay-oh. I want to say po-po-ZOW! As in ZOW-EE!"
There was even a moment of trepidation, after he turned in the paperwork and while he had to wait that nanosecond or two for the computer to tell him whether his choice was approved. Whether someone else had beat him to it. Did they? Was he going to have to choose something else?
No. Popozow is available. It's all yours, guy. And no one else's. Wear it with pride. You will never, ever regret this decision, sir. It will always speak the truth about you. And the truth is like a heartbeat.
Po.
Po.
ZOW!
Fuck yeah.
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