Please, Christ, somebody kill me. As if the Americana wasn’t a foot deep over there already, yesterday he piled on even more in the form of….an Uncle Sam windsock. He’s got flags (four) hanging off the posts, another one or two stuck in a container of something or other, bunting on one side of the railing, that stupid plastic eagle, a container of red, white and blue plastic flowers, and now an Uncle Sam windsock. This shit is just beyond all reason, and if it looks like this in May, I’ll be doing the Haldol shuffle in a fucking insane asylum by the time the Fourth of July rolls around. Jeezus, man, get an identity of your OWN–we get that you live in the US and appear to be proud of that, so stop ramming it onto our retinas. Gaaaaahhh!

Later….

Oh my fuckin’ nerves. He wasn’t finished. He replaced the Uncle Sam windsock with some kind of pinwheel looking windsock (red, white and blue, of course), and moved ol’ Unc over to the side. I thought that was bad, but then I peeked out the front door to discover that he’s done the same thing on both sides of the house, so now we have not one, not two, but FOUR windsocks. I truly don’t want to be here; I can’t look out any window or go outside anywhere on the west side of the house without seeing some evidence of this white trash asshat, and it makes me angry just to look. There’s bad taste, and there’s shoving it in everyone else’s face. You are not a patriot, you’re an idiot.

Shot from my bathroom window because dumbfuck was on his front porch (must be getting close to naptime).