That’s right, dear readers. The ginormously ugly head of the Chicago political machine is callin’ it quits. He’s done. Out.
The last time Chicago saw such expeditious light, names like Doug Dascenzo and Danny Pascua anchored both sides of the Second City’s streets, while far across the globe, the Soviets were just gettin’ out of Afghanistan, after the United States ignited what would later turn into the biggest American tragedy of all time.
In other words, Mayor Daley’s been around a while. Perhaps too long. And we Chicagoans have gotten used to his turbulent tendencies.
So who in the heck is gonna replace him?!?
Don’t worry, folks. The hardworking RSBS interns have put together a shortlist of candidates, all of whom come highly recommended:
month ago none of us knew who he was. But having gone 9-4 in his first
13 games as the Cubs manager, let it be known that no Chicagoan has ever
done more with less than Mike Quade. Believe that.
see… He’s a democrat. He’s a Chicago hardliner. He’s abrasive.
He’s on the take. He’s got “friends” that wouldn’t flinch in breaking
your legs. He primps for the camera. He’s full of himself. He dreams
bigger than he can act. And he thinks the world revolves around him.
If that’s all that’s required of the mayor of Chicago then someone give
this guy the key!
And… one final candidate to consider:
Why not? I live in Chicago. I love Chicago. Hell, I am Chicago (don’t believe me? Ask me to do my super fan
impression sometime). Seriously, why wouldn’t I be a good candidate
for the job? Because I love the Cardinals? Because I might burn down
Wrigley Field? So what, I support the Sox and I’d build a bigger,
better Wrigley (to house the Expos I plan to bring back once I get rid
of the sCrUBS). Okay, so maybe I’m lying about all that — Hey, I’m a
liar! That qualifies me on its own! — but I will say that I, too, hate
paying the highest sales tax in the country. I, too, am tired of
reading gang and gun-related headlines. Let’s make a change, people.
Let’s get deep dish pizza in all the schools and make it mandatory that
baseball theory is taught to every kindergartner, before they find out about basketball or football.
Hate me ‘cuz you don’t believe that ‘yes, we can’… just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Don’t quite understand VORP? UZR? PECOTA?
But the baseball basics? I thought everyone knew them.
I was wrong.
And rightly so. Not everyone’s interests align with mine; I shouldn’t look down on those who eschew the grandest game on earth (feel sorry for them, yes; patronize them? No.). Of course, I know this — NOW — after being way out of the loop on a conversation revolving around physics and something called… AFV.
“What is this curious AFV?” I kept asking myself as the cognoscenti carried on, oblivious to my poorly hidden obliviousness. The conversation dipped and rolled, skipped and scooted… “the air to ground ratio” this and “the hyperbolic arc” that.
Later, when I was all alone, I googled this curious AFV, only to find out that I’m a windmill-chasin’ idiot. Because AFV stands for America’s Funniest Videos.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
The lesson is clear: know your acronyms. And since we live right in the middle of technocracy’s jumbled white noise, we’d all do ourselves a favor by learning the hard ones. So, of course, the RSBS interns got to work on providing you, dear readers, with three of the most up-to-date acronyms you’ll ever find:
(Heterosexual Life Partner)
My HLP is Albert Pujols. He doesn’t know this (yet), but he is. He will know sooner if the GD cops would stop throwing this GD order of protection in my face. Uh… it’s getting in the way of my DESTINY*, Mr. Police MAN.
(Lou Intending to Actually Retire)
Admittedly, this is an odd acronym as it only pertains to people named Lou who hold whoop-dee-doo press conferences with the idea of hanging it up for good. And, considering the nature of our thought processes, it requires us to juxtapose the truth with a LIAR. If you’re confused, it’s okay. You should be. Lou Piniella intends to be in the Bobby Valentine and Buck Showalter retirement camp: waiting for a bigger, better paycheck.
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Determined Effort to Stalk Top Infielders Nightly, Yearly)