Fine. I have said any number of times that I would stay away from politics, mainly because you could virtually choke on all the commentary that’s out there. But then it’s altogether in the mindset that what you said yesterday does not have to be considered true today. So in the spirit of the ongoing campaign, allow me to hedge ever so slightly.

I make no secret about being firmly on the president’s side, and since his last campaign back in 2008 I have been computer-linked to the Obama camp ever since. No action for the past three years, naturally, but now in the heat of the battle I get as many as two or three emails a day looking for ever more donations. I mention it because this morning I received a note thanking me for my meager contributions, and wouldn’t I now like to pay a visit to their on-line “store” and buy a couple of items to proclaim my support to the sitting president to much of the known world?

This is where the cojones part comes in.

Given that I live in what must be the most right-wing place in the world this side of Dallas, would I have the cojonoes to order an Obama/Biden sign and stick it in our front yard as close as I could to Chuck’s front yard? And would that be tantamount to a death wish? Keeping in mind that the guy across the street has a Romney/Ryan bumper sticker on his — you guessed it — pickup truck. (Note: Did the Republican party go along with Romney’s VP pick simply because of the alliteration?)

There might be some risk involved, of course, and heightened if I later decided to sneak down to the corner in the middle of the night and put the sign on the front yard of the guy who sets out USC flags and signs on game day.

I know. You think I should do it. Man up and speak for the oppressed minorities, or the 47 percent, or moochers in general. Go ahead and do it on one of the days that Kris is out flying her airplane around and not here to protect me.

I can just see the picture on the front page of the Orange County Register — which does not come to this household — with me in bloated condition on the bottom of our little pool, even as jubilant guys are tearing up my sign and throwing small pieces into the water. And along with that, another shot of an enraged mob beating the bejesus out of my 14-year-old car.

Obviously, the lifesaver will really be my reluctance to part with the 20 bucks — less a ten-percent discount for my loyal checks — that they want for a sign. Being cheap has its rewards.

Being a card-carrying wimp has value as well. The way — in my heart-of-hearts — I see it, everyone has a right to their own views and opinions, even if there’s no question that they’re flat-out wrong. A bogus way to civil behavior and governance simply has a way of clarifying the validity of the right way.

So I really doubt that I will order that sign. Or any sign. Instead, I will tacitly demonstrate my forbearance of the misled, waving with a knowing smile to the neighbor with the pickup truck.

Besides, I already know who will prevail, so further promotion is needless.

Then again, one of the snappy t-shirts on the Obama Web site might be fun. I could wear it around the house. Late at night.