As an inhabitant of Colorado, a state renowned for its residents' unshakable faith in the Holy Trinity -- Jesus, Reagan and four-wheel drive -- I expect to see one of these monstrosities kissing my Toyota's tailgate by Valentine's Day, 2002.

"Hey, Eminem! You just won three Grammys ... what's next?" "I'm gonna kill my bitch by running her ass over with this fine Unimog in the Disneyland parking lot, you fuckin' faggot!"

  Based on a German military transport, the 12,500-pound Unimog is 20 feet long -- more than a foot longer than the ponderous Excursion -- and nearly 10 feet tall. A three-step ladder is required to reach the front seat. I am not making this up, though The New York Times may be.

  This preposterous juggernaut weighs 12,500 pounds, more than all four of my Toyota trucks carrying all nine of my bicycles. At 7 feet, 6 inches wide, it hogs even more road than the squatty GM Hummer.

  And with a base price of $84,000, it is certain to fall into the wrong hands -- those pudgy, manicured mitts attached to absurdly rich white people who already think they own everything, including the roads we like to ride our bicycles on.

  No Brain, No Pain. When did ostentatious imbecility become fashionable? Used to be, if you were the sort of mouth-breathing nincompoop who fantasized about driving a Patton tank to the office, you tried to conceal it. Now stupid people flaunt their senselessness, and not just with wheeled battlewagons, either.

  A pair of San Francisco lawyers adopt a middle-aged Aryan Brotherhood jailbird and two of his pony-sized mastiffs, which subsequently shred a neighbor like a bag of kibble, then hold a press conference to blame the victim for her own death.

  The white-trash troubadour Eminem wins three Grammys for a rap CD that in happier times would have won the little Nazi jackoff a stint in a psycho ward for observation.

  A half-dozen researchers lip-locked onto the twin sugar tits of the National Institutes of Health and the Centers for Disease Control collaborate on a study for the Journal of the American Medical Association which concludes that getting hammered and riding a bicycle "is associated with a substantially increased risk of fatal or serious injury."

  Eminem could've reached the same conclusion by drinking a bottle of Jim Beam, stealing a Huffy and playing chicken with a Unimog. Maybe his next of kin would donate the rest of the grant to AIDS research, but somehow I doubt it.

  Gog, Magog And Unimog. And play chicken with the Unimog we will, like it or not. "Even in Scottsdale, Arizona, moms will want to take it to the grocery store," one Unimog marketing drone toldThe Times. "It's a head-turning vehicle." So is a Stealth bomber, but I'd rather not see a Scottsdale mom piloting one to Safeway.

  Still, a man must change with the times. And maybe there's a way for me to capitalize on this notion that bigger and dumber is better. God knows I'm a few hundred thousand short of that first million despite a decade of scribbling stuff only a little less hateful than "The Marshall Mathers LP."

  What about founding my own consumer title? Say, "VeloBooze, The Journal of Cycling While Intoxicated." Latch onto some of that CDC grant money, then have some serious fun with costly single malts and pricey bikes. Pound out a few cutting-edge pieces like "Six Jerseys That Don't Show Vomit Stains," "Water Bottles That Won't Make Your Scotch Taste Funny," and "Twelve Bars Where You Can Steal a Better Bike."

  I bring some experience to bear, after all. Some years back, when I lived in Denver, I had quaffed a few drams and was driving home when a police officer critical of my motoring style suggested that I park the truck and find another way home. I thanked him for his consideration, locked up, then yanked a bike out of the bed and pedaled off.

  Of course, if I'd had a Unimog instead of a Toyota, I could've just run the cop over, fed his remains to my dog and written a Grammy-winning CD about the whole thing. But I've never been smart enough to be stupid.

• The Supremes: High court, low humor.
  
  
• All boogered up in Florida: It's snot funny.
  
  
• The election and the Book of Revelation.
  
  
• A pointlessly obscene screed about the Floridicks.
  
  
• Tool or fool? Our non-choice in Election 2000.
  
  
• Motel Hell: Sweet dream or nightmare?
  
  
• Texas: It's like a whole other country. So why aren't we bombing it?
  
  
• And now for something completely different: People who look like their dogs.