Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, let me be the first to invite you to kiss my ass!
As a lifelong voter in the People’s Republic of New England, I am one in a long line of walking, talking patronage machines. From John F. “Honey Fitz” Fitzgerald, Mayor of Boston and maternal grandfather of John F. Kennedy, to Vincent “Buddy” Cianci, I see it as a solemn obligation and duty to vend jobs and broker insider deals in a fashion that makes all my predecessors seem like a flea market stall run by Amish codgers. Everyone gets a little something in exchange for shameless public adulation of this organization!
Who wants to be the Ambassador to Micronesia? Be our point person with the Chamber of Commerce? Get an official title and letterhead to go to Rotary Club and Elks meetings? Work with the Shriners to develop a bulletproof design for one of those little cars they ride around in at parades? Figure out how we make Little Richard our interior decorator? All this and more could yours if you are willing to pucker up!
Isn’t it refreshing to have a candidate who doesn’t even pretend to give a shit anymore?