The perfect sick van--much like the perfect outfit or the perfect tax return--is made in the details. You'll notice that sick vans come in many different models and makes and production years. It's not the body style that makes it sick--it's in the little layers, details, and nuances that make a van go from simply "junky" or "ugly" to truly "sick."

The kind of sick that makes you point and laugh.

The kind of sick that makes you not want to walk next to it in a parking lot for fear the sliding door will bolt open to reveal some toothless pervert ready to pull you inside.

And hopefully, the kind of sick that makes you do a U-turn and pull out your camera so you can snap a few pics to send to me (thanks, you know who you are).

Specifically, it's the body damage that has the ability to catapult a van from decent to divine, from so-so to so, so effing sweet.



Take this specimen. It has all the fundamentals--the weird paint job, the curtains, the luggage rack, the rust, the sliding windows. But it still needs something more.

But wait...what is this?


...a windshield that looks like it got pounded by some trailer park skank with a tire iron. Hell yes, that's exactly what it needed.

How about two mysterious red scratches that run the entire length of the van that, for some reason, give it the perfect touch of ickiness? Perfect!

A duct taped piece of cardboard in lieu of a back windshield. Fo' show.

A crinkled door that against all expectations--and probably surprising to even the savviest of structural engineer--they actually got to close. Right-O.



An aborted attempt at repair. Why didn't they finish it? It makes you wonder--what did they run out of?

Time?
Money?
Expertise?
Earwax Gold paint?
Tequila?

How did Tony get a babe like Judith Light rolling a whack ass, rusted-out piece like that?

First off, I'd like to give a big shout out to all the fans of this blog. I appreciate both of you.

I do.

I really do.

Now, before I delve into this latest parking-garage-lurking specimen, I feel I need to answer a van question that I hear all the time (well, that's not technically true...actually I've never heard this question asked. Ever). But it's a good question nevertheless.

Question: Is a "sick van" the same thing as a "creepy van"?

Answer: No. As a point of logic, ALL creepy vans are, in fact, sick vans. BUT, not all sick vans are creepy vans.

For example, let's consider the 1990 Mazda MPV minivan:
Without a doubt, this is a sick van. Even without customization, or running boards, or a bad paint job, this is, objectively, sick.

But I don't think anyone would call it creepy.

Or, probably a better example: I submit to you the ultimate non-creepy sick van, the Nissan Vanette:
This van is perfect. Perfect. It just is.

But again, it's not what you'd call creepy. This van could probably lurk slowly past a playground full of kids without upsetting anyone. It's too goofy to be creepy. And it's too goofy not to be sick.

If that makes sense.

On the other extreme, consider Jame Gumb.
You probably know him as Buffalo Bill, the skin-suit-making tranny psychopath from The Silence of the Lambs. But what you might not know or remember--though probably not surprised by either--is that Mr. Gumb is the owner of a sick van.

Throughout the first 3 minutes of the clip, you get pretty good glimpses of it. And at the 2:37 mark, you can see it doing what it was born to do--lurking creepily through a parking lot with a victim in tow.



Weird paint job, no windows, weird dude driving. Now this is a classic creepy van. It's also a sick van.

Remember:
(1.) ALL creepy vans are sick vans.
(2.) Not all sick vans are creepy vans.

I'd draw a Venn diagram for you, but I think you get it.

Which brings us to this:
At first glance, you might think this looks innocuous enough. But let me ask you a question, ladies. If you were looking for a spot in your parking garage, and the first one you found was right next to this, you'd keep driving, wouldn't you?

Yes.

Why?

Because it's creepy as all hell.

There's only two types of people who need a van like this: (1.) the wheelchair-bound handicapped and their caregivers, and (2.) serial rapists.

And I'm not seeing a handicapped parking tag on this.

Special thanks to Ali for the picture.

Basically, everything you hope to find in a van all wrapped up in one sick, sick specimen: a grotesque paint job, a 4-rung ladder, a luggage rack, a back door-mounted spare tire cover, running boards, about 30 or 40 unnecessary and over sized windows...

AND!!!

the ultimate, the sickest bell-and-whistle amenity, the holy grail of sick van aficionados, the piece de resitance...


MINI BLINDS!!!!

Despite its lack of a few desirable characteristics normally found in upper echelon sick vans--mismatched paint/mild-to-moderate body damage on at least one (1) panel; a creepy, older dude in the driver's seat; any instance of duct tape--this looks to have at least a puncher's chance at Van of the Month.

Though it's still early, this is your leader in the clubhouse.

Found this one, serendipitously, in the neighborhood. While we appreciate the refined wit of swinging a hairy beanbag off the van to illustrate its manliness, we think it's redundant. It'd be like if Lindsay Lohan wore a t-shirt that read "Coke-sniffing gutter whore".

Yeah, no shit.

We know the van is B.A.--with or without the dangling man-satchel.

Also, bonus point for a pristine 3-rung ladder. Because how else are you gonna get way, way up there to that luggage rack?

At the 34 second mark.

The full-sized conversion van is not only filled with sickness, but apparently it's filled with a couple pounds of C-4 as well.

The back half of this van leaves you wanting more. It's sexy--in a way. We like how the owner decided to customize this. You can't get this kind of sickness directly from the factory.

Special order sick.