Taking a ride in the Paternity Van, if you know what I mean.

Actually, if you DO know what I mean then you might just live in "Parkside." I love/hate the Dollar vans as much as any "Parkside" resident. (Some call them Gypsy vans, though I don't know why. since I've never seen a person of Roma descent driving one. Come to think of it they haven't been a dollar either, not since the Blackout of '03. Maybe we could just call them Risking-Trip-to-the-Trauma-Center-To-Save-a Quarter vans?).

I love riding in the RTTCSQ vans - the music, the ladies singing along with Mary J. Blige, the thrill of calling out your stop. But...lest you think I'm a terrible father, I would never ever take my daughter in one. And (lest you think I am not a man of honour) I, much like the gentlemen of late 19th century would always walk on the street side of the sidewalk lest a horse come by and splash your lady with mud, I always try to promenade my beloved whilst walking closest to Flatbush, lest a runaway dollar van jumps the curb. Not that I'd be any match for a two-ton over-stuffed Dodge RAM anyway. But at least I'd be first to be decapitated, and that, my friends, is chivalry.

What I really wanted to say here is that I am 100% sure that my baby is my daughter. I've seen pictures of me as a baby, and darned if I didn't look just like her when I was 13 months. And still...when the dollar van comes by (you know the one) that has this ad on the side:

you gotta ask yourself...how much is it worth to be really, really, really, really, REALLY sure?