Another fun thing I do during my walks around the neighborhood is try to guess who owns vehicles based on their bumper stickers. For instance, there is a car with one of those “Abortion no; adoption yes” stickers in front of one of the $800,000 houses (in our region that’s extremely expensive, by the way.)
I was absolutely certain the owner had to be an older rich man because who else would be clueless enough about pregnancy not to figure out that there are women who want to avoid being pregnant because of possible health complications, physical hardship and loss of work productivity? One of those idiots who earnestly say crap like, “Well, if she doesn’t want a baby, why not just give birth and put it up for adoption?” The word “just” is especially endearing in a creature who is physiologically incapable of the state he so carelessly dismisses as trivial.
Today I finally saw the car’s owner, and what do you think? Yes, of course, it’s a sixtyish fellow with a paunch and a handlebar mustache.
Clarissa's Blog 
The only time I ever had any sticker on any car of mine was in 1972, when I was an Internal Medicine resident physician in post-graduate training at a civilian hospital in Southern California. One of the medical students on my service snuck out to the hospital parking lot, and put and put a “McGovern” sticker on the front bumper of my used Chevy II.
At the time, I knew a fellow doctor who put an American flag decal on his car’s rear window. (The decals were being given out free by a certain nation-wide gas station. I don’t remember which one.) One night when he made the mistake of parking his car in the wrong neighborhood, someone smashed his rear window with a brick.
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