You could argue that I get what I deserve, living as I do in Hollywood, world capital of self-obsession.

But it still turns my stomach to see drivers who stick their resumes onto their personalized license plates.

Like the woman who was blocking traffic yesterday in Century City.  Her license plate didn’t say, as would have been more appropriate, “I desperately need more training in driving and manners, ” (you figure out the clever 7-letter abbreviation for that, I’m too spiritually exhausted).

Instead it said, “Emmy 86.”

Well isn’t that special.  Pity that with an Emmy didn’t come free driving lessons.

Even worse is John Laroquette’s personalized plate, which says, I kid you not, “MNY EMMYS.”

[pause for collective projectile vomit]

Now, I realize that the rash and ungracious among you might insist on pointing out that I, too, indulge in a personalized license plate.  This is true.  But as everyone knows, mine is simply my name, which or course isn’t obnoxious or pretentious, it’s whimsical and adorable.