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A few months ago I was driving through scenic Louisa, Virginia and I saw a van for sale on the side of the road. It was truly amazing, and the second I saw it, I knew it was going to be mine.

It was a 1985 Dodge B-250, painted flat black, and the two small windows in the back were also painted black. As I knocked on the door of what I assumed was the owner’s house, I kept repeating to myself, “Play it cool, Codajoy. Play it cool.”

I knew I was going to buy it regardless of price, but the seller didn’t need to know that.

After what seemed like an eternity, a very nice old lady opened the door, and she explained that her son was the van’s original owner, but he “moved away,” and she wanted to get rid of it. I knew she was lying, and the owner of the quintessential rape van doesn’t simply move away. He must have gotten a fairly long prison sentence, but none of that was my concern.

I ended up buying it for 500 bucks, and for the first few weeks, I got a lot of pleasure cruising local neighborhoods and watching mothers gather up their children like little ducks whenever I passed. Unfortunately, my wife gave me an ultimatum, and I either had to put it to a better use or get rid of it.

I thought I hit on a brilliant idea the other night when I heard there are only about a dozen abortion clinics in my entire state. I could transform my rape van into a scrape van and provide on-site mobile abortion services. Hell, I already own a shop vac and tools, so I could be up and running in a few days.

Unfortunately, according to the state of Virginia, you have to be a doctor to perform an abortion, but this makes no sense. It’s not like I’m trying to prescribe medicine or heal someone; I just want to jam a large suction device up their cooch and suck out a few things. Seems like over-kill to use a doctor for that.