On today’s suburban gas-guzzlers, which are a lot like last decade’s suburban gas guzzlers, a meme-craze has hit the religionists who shuttle themselves and their progeny to and fro, to Applebees and KFC and Tea Party hatefests and and back. On the rear tinted glass, they have applied, or had painted, death panels of themselves and the precise number and relative size of their precious little issuances, and sometimes a dog or two.
These outlines of themselves, as stick figures, fleshless and bent, are prefiguring of a an awful simultaneous death for the family that will be outlined in chalk by the attendant police. Why this ghoulish, horrific presentiment of an immediate death for the entire family, and why advertise this to the commuting world as the number one emblem of today’s nuclear family? Are these literal death panels on today’s mammoth SUVs a Republican automaton’s response to the senior hysteria over Obamacare death panels? Does the empty-brained paterfamilias, or harpshrewy mater dei, of the 12.5mpg Hyundai brood-caravan not realize that these evil scrawny announcements of superior nuclear-family status and size are invitations to immediate cosmic irony?