The van looks like it used to belong to a rapist. Or a work crew. White and windowless, it sits motionless amidst bits of filth that have spilled forth from its recesses. The paint is cracked and flaking off. The chrome is matte and worn. The D on the back looks like it’s hanging by a thread. The F, O, and R don’t look so good, either.

There’s garbage everywhere. Garbage in the front. Garbage in the back. Garbage in place of seats. Garbage in the engine block. There’s even garbage in the wheel wells. The entire van is a monument to one man’s laziness; why bother with disposing of your refuse when you can simply shove it into a derelict van?

Judging by the random bugles in the chassis you’d think it’s pregnant with a litter of disgusting garbage van babies. You’d probably be right, too; no doubt the filthy little monsters will soon spring forth from their mother’s repulsive landfill-like womb.

On the bumper is a sticker that reads “Insanity is hereditary: you can get it from your children.”