In the summer of 1973, Larry Harvey, Jaime Perez, and I jumped into Larry’s brand new Buick Apollo and took off on a 5,000-mile journey through all the states west of the Mississippi. I think our goal was to visit every National Forest, National Monument, National Park, and city with more than 250,000 people. I think we did it! (but I’ll have to check my log, which I still have, to be sure).
When we were at Mount Rushmore, the parking lot attendants were putting bumper stickers on all the car. Larry told them, “No, thanks.” Of course, the guy on the other side of the car didn’t hear Larry and proceeded to put a bumper on that brand new Buick Apollo. Larry was furious.
That was my first experience with bumper stickers. My wise old grandmother didn’t have them, and neither do it.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t like to read them as they mess up someone else’s car.
For example, this car in front of me a few years ago obviously has a fascinating with men, preferably rich:
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