Everywhere the big dog goes, he leaves his little sign
Alerting all the other dogs, “This property is mine!”
“This is mine, and this is mine, and this and this and this!”
He makes a claim of ownership, and seals it with a piss
He roams the streets and alleyways, and all around the town
He leaves his little messages, in yellow or in brown
He’s never paid a mortgage on the land he claims as his
He doesn’t pay the taxes; all he does is take a whizz
There are signs at every crossroads, half a dozen at the mall,
In the yards of private citizens, and one at City Hall—
These little signs are adding up, with more and more each day
But whenever I complain, they tell me “look the other way”
Take a look–Searcy, Arkansas has a dog problem. No, a God problem–I always get those two mixed up. There’s been a big God sniffing around and marking His territory all over town:
Seriously, those little white crosses are aesthetically crap–they must cost the church well under a buck apiece to make, they are not imaginative, nor artistic, nor historical, nor anything but tacky little ways for this God to mark its territory.
Around Cuttletown, there are people who post signs at intersections, advertising goods or services… and there are other folks who mark these signs with large, obscuring stickers that label the signs “LITTER” (which, legally, they are). The little white crosses, if placed on one’s own property, are nothing more than a sign of your tolerance for the tacky, a Christian equivalent of a plastic flamingo or ceramic garden gnome, but cheaper. If they are a sign of your faith, the sign’s message is “I love Jesus, but not enough to spend any money on Him–just enough to put up a tacky cross everyone knows they give out for free.”
No, the crosses serve no function other than that of a dog’s urine: they say “I’m the god (or dog) in charge here.” And the sheriff of Searcy rolls over and exposes his neck to appease the church, instead of picking the litter up off of the lawn and throwing it away.