I put Paul’s handsome new Biden sign out on the lawn this morning. I placed it well toward the house, so the Trump vandals will have to come a long way up onto the lawn to attack it.
I remember the night of Halloween 2008, I was awakened at 3 a.m. by angry, drunken shouts from the front of the house. I saw four college guys out there, and one of them was yanking our Obama/Biden yard sign out of the middle of the lawn.
I wasn’t having any.
I chased them down the block and around the corner in my robe and bare feet (cutting my foot).
I was so mad that it took me a moment to realize that the drunkest and nastiest of the bunch was wearing a long blonde wig and a short silver dress.
I had been vandalized by Veronica Lake.
I decided to reason with them.
“Fuck you, you little pieces of shit,” I explained.
They wandered off down the road, shouting “Faggot!” and “Old man!” back at me, as I stuck a hand behind me to flip them off and limped home to look for the sign.
A police patrol car came rolling up, cherries and spotlight blazing, then another one. Paul had called 911, and he joined me outside.
With an officer, we found the sign lying in the yard where one of them had ripped it off the holder. The police headed off after the four college guys, after asking me if I could describe any of them.
“He’s wearing a dress,” I said.
No comments:
Post a Comment