My Dog's Butt Stinks: To Do or Not to Do the Bumper Sticker

When I was in high school, I posted a bumper sticker to the back of my 96 Neon. It read: "My dog's butt stinks."

In my mind's eye, I see myself as a rather mature 17 year old. Never you mind the fact that I felt compelled to post a message onto my vehicle, suggesting that 1) you should consider the possibility of a dog’s ass, and 2) notice that it also smells. Additionally, I think there may have been a pile of poop. I also remember thinking that poop in any context was funny. Wait. Poop is funny and will always be.

As a self-proclaimed, "mature" 28 year old, I can look back upon this experience and ask myself: “why?” Why, at the height of the formation of my teenage identity, did I feel as though I should tell the world that my dog’s butt stinks? If I could tap into the general teenage psyche, I could speculate that I did this because, hey, it’s cool to have a sense of humor. I also believe that bumper stickers do, in fact, illustrate a part of identity; it is a way to “speak your mind” without direct consequence. Unless someone decides to rear end your vehicle. But that’s another story for another day.

I suppose that the “hear my voice” power of the bumper sticker is true for people of any age. Yet part of me wants to believe that the bumper sticker is not as powerful as it, perhaps, aspires to be. A silly bumper sticker was my teenage “meh.” Ten years later, I realize that the craze of bumper sticker politics has gone from innocuous illustrations of smelly dogs to out-right displays of racism, classism, sexism, and general bigotry sometimes in the form of a "JESUS LOVES YOU BUT NOT IF YOU’RE GAY” bumper sticker. When I decided to make a point of my dog’s smelly rear end, was I consciously making a statement about bumper stickers as propaganda? Probably not. Is a bumper sticker meant purely for entertainment or is it an unwarranted imposition? Yes and no. Are bumper stickers merely a part of our culture, our Constitutional right to "Free Speech?" Do you really "honk" if you're horny? Do you really care if "I'd rather be fishing?"

So many questions. So many answers (which I’ll get to), but in the meantime I have to ask myself: What is the point of the bumper sticker? What am I really doing when I tell you, as I drive away from the traffic light, that my dog’s butt stinks?

The point of the bumper sticker is obvious; it is a rhetorical device which serves as a personal advertisement: these are my beliefs. Read them. Consider them. Judge them. Come back later and throw eggs at my windshield. Or not. Keep driving. Whatever. A bumper sticker tells the drivers behind my BMW X3 that I have something to say and apparently I think my car is an appropriate medium (or vehicle if you prefer puns) to display this message. The bumper sticker is the ultimate form of “putting yourself out there,” drawing parallels to talent shows, open mic nights, and online dating. Except the bumper sticker, unlike a debate team rhetor, is considerably more passive than any of these given examples. In fact, the bumper sticker is removed from the individual driving the car and is, instead, attached to the message and not necessarily who is saying it. The person driving the car, then, is a secondary conduit of information—they are simply the operator, not necessarily its direct medium.

Bumper stickers literally and metaphorically let us “get away” with saying things we may not blurt out in class, at a meeting, in the check-out line at the grocery store. I guess some people may be compelled to publicly exclaim their belief that “Under God’s law the only ‘rights’ gays have is the right to die” according to some Biblical verse. But I’m going to venture to say that most people do not prefer to do so.

If I had to attribute a personality/style to the bumper sticker’s delivery, I would say that it’s as passive-aggressive as the co-worker who leaves those special “To the person who is using my barbeque sauce: buy your OWN!” notes in the break room fridge. In other words, the vehicle allows a hostile message like “I’ll keep my freedom, my money and my guns and you can keep the ‘CHANGE’” to be articulated not in spoken word, face à face, but in written text—usually with a color scheme like red, white and blue to imply the statement’s authority in the guises of patriotism. Not only is the message about what you’re saying out-right, it is also a form of doublespeak—to say something that clearly represents the Constitutional value of free speech, yet outwardly undermines the ability of the head of state in colorful (hence, meaningful) patriotic text.

The bumper sticker virtually removes the individual from the message and lets it “hang” on the back of your car, almost as an afterthought, as it resides on the back of the car and not the front. (I am reminded of “kick me” signs in high school.) If you consider the physicality of the bumper sticker as a metaphor, it is a message that resides not in the vanguard of your mind, but somewhere in the posterior of your consciousness. The consequence of its physical presence, then, suggests that while you may have these beliefs and share them with the greater public, you would like to convey them in the most non-threatening way: on the back of your car. In other words, you take the principle of “say it to my face,” and turn it around: “Say what you’re thinking to my face, but while you say it, can you turn around so that your back faces me, too? ” The message just doesn’t have the same effect as if someone is speaking their mind directly to your face, looking you in the eye, demonstrating a respect for your thoughts as well. (But maybe this is a cultural preference, as some cultures do not prefer to show respect with face-to-face communication or eye-contact.) Even so, when you use the medium of your pick-up truck bumper to tell me that you’d rather keep your guns, I’ll only take you half-seriously.

While political and social commentary are common topics of the bumper sticker, I have to ask myself if I can condone a message that intentionally conveys the sentiment of sexism, racism, homophobia, or ethnocentrism? What purpose does it serve to perpetuate ignorance? On one hand, I have to think of the repercussions of the individual who wishes to tell me (via weather treated paper and adhesive) that they feel as though Gays have the right only to die—suggesting that the right to live is not only sinful, it is debatable. The only “good” their bumper sticker will do is encourage people like me to react in disgust, making my beliefs for gay-rights even more apparent in the forefront of my consciousness.

Yet if I am to remain true to my personal feelings about engaging controversial topics for the sake of intellectual cultivation, I will tell you that I am “for” bumper stickers despite those messages in which I personally take offense to (like the aforementioned statement pertaining to homosexuality). At the very least, the bumper sticker may act as a conduit for the “everyman” to voice his or her own opinion or to advocate for individual beliefs. If I don’t have a television show, a newspaper column, a blog, how do I tell you that I am strongly pro-choice? I may do this in casual conversation, but if this belief is so strongly tied to my identity, I may want to make sure you know this about me before you can say “hello.” I’ll put a “Pro-Choice” bumper sticker on my car and instantly associate this belief not only with who I am as an individual; you’ll also see that not only do I value this “right,” but that I also value my ability to voice this belief. And beyond the nod to “free speech” and promotion of individual beliefs, I must add that the bumper sticker at least presents the existence of contemporary ideology. In other words, the argument is there—both in the physical sense, but also in the rhetorical sense: there is a point to be made, argued, supported, or rejected. The sheer presence of the message upon the bumper sticker generates a dialogue about a particular subject of interest. If you never tell me that you would prefer that “if [I’m] going to act like a turd, [I should] go lay in the yard,” I will never be able to tell you that I do, in fact, lay in the yard on a regular basis. But mostly because I want to get a tan and not because I am making an effort to resemble a turd. I also will not be able to mention that even though I am a 28 year-old professional, I still find the word “turd” considerably amusing. All in all, while the bumper sticker allows for an argument to be presented, thus inspiring an exchange of ideas, it does not allow for an exchange between driver and bumper sticker viewer. Except in cases where my middle finger happens to appear in your rear view window. But that is a rare, if not scarce, occasion. I am usually to afraid to flick someone off for fear that I may upset the wrong person—perhaps an angry Scientologist with psychological issues who also happens to be a gun enthusiast. The possibilities are endless.

While a bumper sticker may, at the very least, present to the greater public a diverse selection of controversial talking points, I must elaborate further about my frustration with the bumper sticker as the bearer of popular (and not-so-popular) cultural ideology. The success of the bumper sticker resides in its potential to conjure a theoretical tempest, but it fails because of its inability to allow for proper response. The bumper sticker, instead of a proper platform for discourse to occur between two or more individuals, is but a philosophical dick tease. Allow me to elaborate:

Sure I can see that you believe that “life is all about ass: covering it, kicking it, kissing it, and trying to get it.” But if I were to agree or even disagree, I’m left to spatter my commentary to the inanimate attention of my dashboard. If I were to notice your “Save a Fetus, Stop Abortion” sticker on a random Sunday afternoon, I would resolve to eject my pro-choice opinion in the form of verbal masturbation—to myself, by myself, with myself in the solitary seating of my own vehicle. Where does this get me besides all hot and bothered an no where—or no one?—to relieve myself?

I resolve to believe that perhaps bumper stickers, while they may frustrate or amuse me, at least provide a non-threatening outlet of self-expression. And I could make a silly joke about ramming into the back of your mini van because I’m sick of seeing your honor roll student stickers or those stupid family of stick figures holding hands, and it’s beyond my threshold of tolerance. But I won’t. I am also too passive (and perhaps smart?) to risk the confrontation. Or higher insurance rates.

Clearly a bumper sticker does something. I guess the question remains: should it “do?” There are costs and benefits to the bumper sticker and what it does do. However, if a bumper sticker does do hatred or bigotry or perpetuate ignorance, I will not let it do anything more to me than grind my gears. In the meantime, I resolve to write blogs like this one where I reserve the right to make snide comments about the unnecessary presence of “Soccer Caravan” bumper stickers. My teenage perception of the bumper sticker, I think, was probably the best mindset to have in the first place: to not take a piece of waterproof adhesive too seriously. And as a 28 year old who now owns her own dog, I can tell you there is some truth in the generalization about dog’s butts; they really do stink.