Caution: Dumbass on Board

I found my target: a four-door sedan, low to the ground, driving the speed limit in the right hand lane. The turn signal tick-tocked while I made my way into the left lane. My foot put pressure on the gas pedal. My bumper was inches away from side swiping the sedan when I saw a small, yellow sign hanging in the rear driver's side window that read Caution: Baby on Board.

Well, shit. Now what to do? I couldn't side swipe the car and force it into a ditch now. There was a baby on board. A baby!

Here's a newsflash, dumbass: you had me at Human Driving on Board. Now that there's a baby on board I'm supposed to, what? Put a spotlight on your car so it shines in a heavenly light? Your baby on board is spitting up all over its Onesie, shitting in its pants, and crying for reasons you can only guess. You have bigger fish frying than worrying if I'm going to come along and t-bone your car because I'm looking for something to fill in my day.

The sign is more about bragging rights, isn't it? You think because you created the "miracle of life"--it's no more a miracle than my having a good hair day--you're entitled over those of us who don't have a baby on board? You want to rub it in? Say, hey world, look what I did? A dick stuffed a vagina, sperm fertilized an egg, and I have a baby on board?

You want to make a statement? Fuck the sign. Tape your baby to the window. Let everyone see your Baby on Board. A sign is just a sign, but when one is faced with a baby drooling down a window, one is going to slow down. I promise.