I Hate Yard Signs

The Lady Friend has a theory regarding politics that a lot of it is just a bunch of people who like to hear the sound of their own voice and are just looking for the perfect slogan to chant. It’s a theory which I hardily subscribe to (and not just because she’s sleeping with me.)

This issue has led to a slogan which just sounds almost perfect: “Our Parks Are Not For Sale!” You can almost hear it being chanted, no? Which, eventually, lead to this:

This is the sign in our neighbor’s front yard.

It’s nearly a fucking billboard.

It angers me, every day, that it’s the first thing I see when I walk out my front door. It angers me even more, every fucking day, when it’s the last thing I see before I walk back in my front door.

(Also, they’re not your fucking parks. And they are for sale. Progress and all that.)

And so, in two weeks, come St Patrick’s Day, I am going to get blackout drunk and run through it, like a sprinter running through a finish line, smashing it into thousands of little self-riotous pieces. I can’t wait.

(And in case you were wondering, no, I truly have nothing to write about this week. It blows.)

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"I'll be dead in the cold, cold ground before I recognize the state of Missouri."