I figured in addition to the large List of Dumb
columns that run a couple of times a month it’d be good to give folks a
daily dose, since there’s absolutely no shortage of dumb shit out there
in the world. Help keep this thing going by sending your DUMBS to me
through THIS LINK.
Also, please spread the word through your Tweets and Facebook and
MySpace updates. Though CHUD.com’s not for everyone, stuff like this is!
03/05 – Hieroglyphic Dyslexia.
Photo by Nick Nunziata.
My inner Pharaoh reads this as “Horse I Love My Miniature”.
I took the photo because I am obsessed with miniature animals but it’s here on the site because I was blinded by how dumb it was, lost in a sweetened sea of diminutive naysayers. There’s a shrunken animal farm about thirty minutes away that I’ve visited a few times where tiny goats frolic with microsheep. Where shortened horses gaze towards minicows and halved bison. Where infinitesimal is the norm and is only offset by oversized rabbits whose mass is ever-greater when compared to the dinky beasts of burden which surround them.
But this is a dumb plate. For a few reasons above and beyond the placement of the horse.
Of course these people love the random and exclusive beasts they’ve procured. You don’t stumble into owning a lilliputian horse. You plan that shit. It requires love, love that isn’t requited if you simply post a sign. The diminished hoofer is its own reward. The sign is extraneous, a bauble proclaiming that you own a glamour pet. This would be an item with a real message if you had gone through all the trouble to locate a minute brayer and been utterly dissatisfied.
“Surprisingly, I have no emotional response to my miniature horse.” THAT’S A LICENSE PLATE.
Also dumb, IT’S A MIRROR.
Imagine following the owner of the petite prancer on a highway in the middle of the afternoon. You’re squinting at the plate and the sun catches it just right and you’re blinded, careening into a school bus full of impoverished children on their way to the zoo for the very first time as part of a charity event that took a year to arrange the funds for. Your last memory before a tailpipe gives you the rigamarole is that you think you could make out the outline of a horse in the supernova. The kids, their last memory is that the man has fucked them once again, and then they spin into a metal whirlwind and die.
So anyway, it’s kinda cheesy as a license plate.
And just imagine if someone reads that thing and doesn’t notice the horse. They’ll think Tinypenis has a driver’s license.