... So.... How does a real estate agent do it?
Which is the very question that occurred to me after flinging the daily fishwrap up onto the porch of a customer who happened to be a real estate agent who's face and signs were well known locally. I mean... if he wants to move, he has to sell the house. Does he do it through his own agency, or get a professional courtesy through a competitor? And wouldn't it look rather strange to have Mr. ABC with an XYZ sign in his yard.

Oh yaaash.....!

So I co-opted my friends, explained the idea, and every Saturday or so at the end of the evening, we'd prowl the neighborhoods looking for yard signs. I made sure to find no repeats. A pass, a slow return pass, a quick dash, grab, and toss into the back of my mate's pickup and the evening was wrapped up.

By the end of Senior Year, I had 40 of them. A day or so after graduation about 2 AM, I choggied up and down the street with 2 under each arm. I tiled his yard with signs so's that you couldn't walk a straight line from one end to the other without hitting several.

Epic. To the point that it made the local section of the very paper that I had delivered for so many years. I chatted him up a few years later. He loved the prank.... but said it was hell returning them.
(shamblinthru Grasshopper! Next time use the potholders!, Sat 9 Nov 2013, 3:39, 5 replies)

Does the word 'epic' have a different meaning in your universe?
               
(comedy bully grrrr, Sat 9 Nov 2013, 9:02, closed)

Clearly more than
being shambo and having thousands of hours spent being a snide cunt here rather than spent with your family.
(s0ckpuppet logging out to reply to you if you're not careful, Sat 9 Nov 2013, 11:33, closed)

^this

( eXOBeX, Sun 10 Nov 2013, 0:24, closed)

Theoretically? It's possible.
According to theorists like Brian Greene we could be living in a multiverse. Saaaay one like yours maybe(?) where "Epic" consists of every Saturday night going down to the same old pub, with the same old crowd, drinking the same old gutwash, creating the same old roar, and ending up familiarly on one's tits just like the Saturday night before, and the Saturday night before, and the Saturday night before.

Yes, for a 17 y.o. twat like I was, in that particular universe: That goof definitely was "epic". (No alcohol involved as well)
(shamblinthru Grasshopper! Next time use the potholders!, Mon 11 Nov 2013, 4:55, closed)

Awwwww. Poor lump.

(comedy bully grrrr, Mon 11 Nov 2013, 8:18, closed)