My “Biden Harris 2024” yard sign

Swiped. Purloined. Snatched.

Sunday afternoon I noticed my “Biden Harris 2024” yard sign had vanished, stolen in the middle of the night among the tumbleweeds.

Like the virginity of the knuckle dragging sign thief’s feral mother. I really can’t blame her. What can a feral creature do?

I imagine the dastardly defender of Trump had parked his fossil fuel guzzling behemoth in the street in front of our home. You know it wasn’t an E-bike. Or a hybrid. It definitely had a gun rack, a Christian fish, and a TRUMP bumper sticker on it.

Unless it was a neighbor who came by stealth from somewhere in the depths of Barrio Volvo where a Trump flag may have flapped in the breeze when the nation appeared to be in greatest peril of turning to reason.

Was he walking, skipping or stomping past my home? Was he goosestepping back home from a strategy meeting where Trump’s Second Reich was discussed before the banjos, checkers, Yoo-Hoos and Moonpies came out? Was he prancing like a Lippizaner Stallion? Was he out walking his rabid Pit Bull and was it named “Billy Barr” or was it a chihuahua named “Rudy”?

One way or another the Red Hat arrived in front of my all-American hacienda.

Our MAGA-naut steeled himself for his mission thinking to himself, ”I go silence this tool of Satan now. I go steal every Biden Harris 2024 yard sign I see. I go make every one think nobody like Brandon.”

And then he guffawed so hard a rogue tooth fell out of his head and he snuffled and a beetle flew up his nose and he snarfed it into the back of his throat like a woodland ogre and downed it with a bolus of mucous and shook it off like a wildebeest shakes off a swarm of flies.

He pulled up his pants, tightened his rope belt, rubbed his forepaws together with glee, turned his MAGA cap around so he looked fashionably even more “Hillbilly Elegy” asinine and sauntered like a chimp into my yard.

To be trespassed and robbed by a supporter of Trump is to be trespassed and robbed by a dumbbell who believes he believes in law and order and blonde Jesus. I imagine the devout believer in Presidential sovereignty tiptoed over the rail fence of my modest estate, my castle, where I should post BEWARE OF CATS signs but I don’t, and he, tiny testes dangling, his mushroom doppelganger of manhood retracted up below his gut, stood in front of my political expression of free speech, my voice, and my choice. And then he did it. The sow farted and snickered and whispered “shush” to his corpulent behind. And in the dark he sniffed the thick pungent air and was pleased with the aroma of MAGA-methane, roadkill, fox news, donuts and sauerkraut.

And then he did it.

He uprooted my property.

And it was a handsome sign, too. Dammit.

He yanked it up with his furry forepaws and silenced my speech, muzzled my voice, and denied me my declaration of choice.

The felonious weasel posed a question that still troubles me. Where’s an edgy pissy hissing rattlesnake when you need one?

And then I imagine the headline would have read “VENOMOUS VARMINT SLAIN BY VENOMOUS REPTILE IN RETIREE’S YARD UNDER MYSTEERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES” with MYSTERIOUS spelled incorrectly.

The son (illegitimate) of a bitch (poor feral woman), purloined my progressive propaganda which simply encouraged my fellow citizens to preserve democracy, renounce a bullshit peddling predatory pig and back a decent candidate with a record of achievement. Who knows what Q-Anon blather our klepto-magnon man was thinking. “Biden bad. Biden big bad crime boss man. Hates Israel. Brandon loves Hummus or whatever they’re called. Biden’s woke lie-barry books made all my sons and daughters queers and Jesus haters. How come nobody come over for dinner no more to watch FOX with me?”

And then he farted a second time, killing a nearby saguaro, which keeled over and crushed him. I can dream can’t I? Dream aside the chimp sauntered back to his giant truck carrying my sign in his paws.

“I burn sign. Har. Har. Then celebrate owning libtard. Mongo put on Beetlejuice soundtrack, find udder balm, look at Lauren Boebert YouTube video over and over while search for retracted mushroom penis to slap around like Pelosi’s husband. Har. Har. Har..”

And then I imagine my thieving MAGA-pie tossed it onto the seat next to him, on top of the stack of his prized “Guns ’n’ Ammo ’n’ Knives” back issues, cranked up his Ted Nugent CD, gunned his guzzler and meandered off into the night. I imagine my gap-toothed neanderthal got back to his midden decorated in redneck rustic, suckled on the teat of Fox News until he fell asleep in the warm pool of his chaw-steeped drool while I began painting my own “BIDEN HARRIS 2024” sign on my back porch, three times as big and nailed it to the tree in my front yard where I scattered tiny mice tethered to tiny stakes at its base to attract rattlers.