Baby on Board

The agitation that I feel while viewing the stickers that adorn the vehicles of fellow motorists can only be described as crotch-rending. People on the road are generally passive, courteous citizens with good intentions and a laissez-faire attitude.

The issue here is not the majority of people but the few who are determined to cause blood to shoot from my eyes by advertising the quality of their passengers.

Do I really need to know that you have twins on board? Perhaps the startling revelation that you have an overactive uterus will prompt me to treat you with a greater level of respect, and dare I say, awe?

I grew up playing only the best of gut-busting, psychotically homocidal video games. After I got my driver's licence, I decided it was probably for the best that I no longer played these games, at least where the primary gameplay mode was a driving simulator. Grand Theft Auto and Carmageddon were to be avoided after that point so as to diminish their influence on my actual driving ability. 
Shrieking with glee and delight as those pedestrians pirouhetted of my front windscreen accompanied by a geyser of blood emanating from their freshly-removed limbs may have been the most fun I could have without farm animals, but this type of entertainment tends to be frowned upon in the local school zone.

In any case, your proud declarations of testicular fortitude and lack of knowledge of contraception won't dissuade me from being a selfish jerk on the road. I don't care how nice it is to wait for someone at a T-intersection - right of way is right of way. And you aren't going to convert me to Christianity with your ridiculous fish-magnet either.

You're just making yourself a more appealing target. Not as appealing a target as those guys in pimped-out Ford Lasers with giant rear spoilers, but you're close.