I live in Buzzards Bay, I have a girl who works off Exit 3 in Plymouth, and I spend time hanging with some buddies who live in the White Cliffs. I end up driving down Long Pond Road in Plymouth a lot.
A nine foot Yeti in someone's yard is going to draw some attention. This is especially true once summer comes and the Yeti pours himself a gallon-of-booze cocktail and starts dressing like Hunter S. Thompson.
The journalist part of me wants to stop and knock on the door, ask the homeowner what made him/her put a Yeti in the yard and a dozen other related questions. The storyteller part of me has no intention of ever asking, because anyone who has written five thousand headlines in their career knows that, more often than not, the Question is better than the Answer.
Besides, media attention might make the Yeti owner become self-conscious. That would be a shame, because it could stifle creativity. Why mess up a part of my day that I enjoy?
Besides, stifled creativity would rob us of the chance to see what the Yeti owner might do next. You never know, he may put a toga on it and use it to let people know the current Olympics medals count
Wait, what?
Note that the Yard Yeti is in no way related to the Yard Ape, who is a jacked-up landscaper named Lappa that I used to work with.
I'm curious as to whether the Yard Yeti chooses a side in November's election.
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