Weenie Bandit

There is a weenie bandit alive and kicking in Kings Mountain.  We have experienced this bandit here at our house. [I promise I am telling the truth.] 

Back in May, Short and I had the entire family over for Mother's Day.  [When I say entire family then I mean aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.  You know how rednecks are about Momma.]  Before everyone came over we worked like dogs to clean up our yard. We bought and put out about 10 scoops of mulch. [This was one of the days where  we were especially thankful that Coop is a manchild.  We expected big things from him - he delivered.  We feed him...A LOT so he owed us.]  

As we were moving mulch near the side of the house, we saw it.  

A weenie. A cooked hotdog sitting precariously on our AC unit.  

Craig saw it first...."Why is there a hotdog on our AC?" My answer? [Sarcasm inserted.]  "Hmmmm...well Craig, we were going to have hotdogs for dinner but then I decided to leave them on the AC."  Why in the heck would I know why a wayward, ant-covered Ball Park frank would be laying on our air conditioner? 

Yesterday, the bandit struck again.  

Molly, Emma, and I were leaving the house [at an obscene hour on a Saturday morning after a really late Friday night] to head to SC for a little fastpitch softball when we saw it.

The weenie was mocking us, sitting by our mailbox [which, incidentally, is still being help up by duct tape after some ding dong decided to plow it over a few weeks ago...we choose not to hide our brand of redneck] as we pulled out of the driveway.  This one did not appear to be the mild Ball Park we happened upon back in May.  

This one was red. A red hot dog, sitting at the end of my driveway.  

I am not sure if someone is trying to drop us a hint [or perhaps a snack] but what are the chances that a person finds not one but two cooked weenies outside of their home unless they are having a cookout? 

Our grill doesn't even work.  

We had BBQ at our last cookout.  

I mean, back in my day [that is a classic old person line], we used toilet paper in people's yards but I don't ever remember going to "weenie" a yard. [I do remember some weenies that deserved to have their yards rolled but that is whole 'nother post.]  I guess times have changed. [Or perhaps there are weird folks that think dropping hotdogs in my yard is cool.  You never know these days.  I teach 8th grade.  I know weirdos.]  

As always, life as a Short [even after being hit by the elusive Weenie Bandit] is awesome.