| Who Took My Fuzzy Dice? |
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I'm Looking For That Warm Fuzzy Feeling
I know that it sounds silly, but without that pair of fuzzy dice dangling in my face while I drive, the interior of my vehicle isn't quite the same. Like a church without an altar, a concert without a stage, or a home aquarium without a sunken ceramic treasure chest, I am somehow incomplete. As much as I try to ignore the feeling, I am haunted by the thought that someone else is driving around with that one chic car interior component that made me who I was, an archetypal auto accessory that truly represented me and my unique personality. It was an accessory with just the right amount of retro style and dignity--oh how I miss that pair of plush oversized dice.While other mirrors are decorated with lacy garters, Hawaiian leis, and sparkling new age crystals to fill the void, I am left with a pathetic paper printed cut-out, because I haven't been able to find out who took my pair of velvety fuzzy dice. I've tried to fill that hole in my life with novelty pine-scented air fresheners, nodding bobblehead dogs, and dancing hula girls, but without success. I want my fuzzy dice back. I've plastered my car windows with Tasmanian Devil decals, and I've mounted Playboy Bunny mudflaps. I've even riddled my side panels with novelty bullet hole stickers--but still I am left questioning my existence. I need my fuzzy dice back. The cow-spot seat covers offer little comfort, and the chain-link steering wheel is cool to the touch. Not even the 8-Ball billiard stick shift knob can bring me any comfort. Can I please have my fuzzy dice back? To say that I can be fulfilled with smarmy college bumper stickers is a lie. And I'm only fooling myself with Yosemite Sam floor mats, mock plastic car-phones, and those "Mother-In-Law In Trunk" yellow road-warning signs with the suction cup fasteners. Where the hell are my fuzzy dice!! The space below my rearview mirror mocks me. A thin cardboard plaque hangs there quietly, like a reservation sign at a posh restaurant table I can never sit at. It swings and it twirls, taunting me like some cruel taunting thing. If I don't get back my fuzzy dice, I'm going to hurt someone! Will somebody please give me back my fucking pair of FUCKING fuzzy dice??!!! No, this is no longer just a novelty, my longing for those flashy acrylic-fur decorations. It is a fucking obsession. I need to get them back immediately. It's not even funny anymore! SERIOUSLY! I will rip off your balls, wrap them in pool table felt, glue your nipples to the outsides, and hang them from my mirror if you don't give back my fuzzy dice this instant!!! Oh wait...I remember now. Heh heh. I left the fuzzy dice hanging in the laundry room to dry. I had to wash them after I spilled mustard on them the last time I went through the Burger King drive-thru. Never mind.
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