Personalized license plates are NOTSOGR8 in my book. In fact, IH8EM. The vehicular equivalent of the tattoo, what sort of 6 or 8-letter phrase are you going to slap on your SUV’s ass to define yourself? Seinfeld’s ASSMAN is ASSIN9, in my humble opinion. A lot of the plates are pretentious and blowhardian in nature (0-60IN4 or WISHURME), some—clearly owned by Stifler’s peeps—are downright grody (8 ER OUT? Really, Illinois? Really?). There’s a ginormous motor home sporting “GLBL WMR” which should really say “I M PRBLM”. Some unoriginal chuckleheads are using online acronyms—if you are ROTFL, who’s driving the car? I’m not rolling on the floor, dude. I’m right behind you, willing myself not to rear-end you in hopes of denting your metal tramp stamp.
My friends in Delaware will pay upwards of five figures for one of the rare black low-numbered plates. They view it as an investment and a status symbol. This sort of boggles my mind, especially when they tell me how much the single digit plates go for (the number “6” plate went for $675,000 in 2008). What kind of vehicle deserves to host that sort of marquee plate? Is there a place for it on Air Force 1’s vertical stabilizer?
I suppose a vanity plate is a way to show off without shelling out buttloads of clams. There is one plate that I can get behind, both on and off the road. A hearse’s plate that reads “U R NEXT.” Yep, buddy, you are. Because I M GUNIN 4U.
If you were forced to get a vanity plate, what would it be?