If I were a loving husband and doting father of two I would certainly have these things on the back window of my SUV:
That would be me there with the bowtie, beaming and waving at the world behind my big V8 Expedition/Navigator/Tahoe/Armada. Doing a little jig, too, because I am so happy with my little stick-on family and my 420 cubic inch engine.
Next to me is Mrs. Jones, in a demure calf-length skirt. Mrs. Jones is happy, too, because she just took a whole handful of Prozac. She’s got those telltale Prozac eyebrows, doesn’t she? But, oh-oh, what’s this? Mrs. Jones has no tits at all! No stomach or intestines, heart or lungs, either. Well, I guess that’s how the little vixen keeps her weight down. Good for you, Mrs. Jones!
Then there are the kids. Little Madison with her polka dot skirt and that adorable crooked smile. She’s got her mother’s tits, don’t you think? Somebody’s got ’em, that’s for sure!
And my boy Justin, the apple of my eye, always scaring the pigeons, that dickens. His mother picked that name. I wanted to name him Ken, after Kenny G. “K-Man!” I’d say to him, “whassup?” But Mrs. Jones said it would always remind her of Kenneth Starr. I was happy to let her give him a fairy name. Because I am the loving stick-husband and she gives me stick sex if I don’t ever contradict her. Secretly, though, I call him Ken.
But I would never put these guys on the back window of the big ol’ rockin’ SUV:
Because if a stalker followed me home, or some hoodlums intent on committing a home invasion, I would want them to think that it was just me and Mrs. Jones and our beautiful children. Then, after they tied us all up (but before they fooled around with little Maddy, bless her heart), out would come good old Rex and Fluffy, snarling and hissing, and rip those home invaders some new butt-holes!
That’s the way I think, because I am Stick Man, and I take care of my stick family.