I want to start this month by answering a question that has vexed the most sophisticated thinkers in our great nation: if you are black, female and gay, how bad at your political job do you have to be to get fired?
You might suspect that this is a trick question, because such a thing can never happen. Especially if you are thinking of a certain elfin White House spokesperson who is constantly breaking glass ceilings in the field of “worst presidential spokesperson ever in the history of our galaxy.”
And if you took that position before this past week, I would have had to agree with you.
But now a glorious new age has dawned! Because on Tuesday, the struggling, once-great city of Chicago had a mayoral primary, and when the dust had cleared, neither of the top two vote-getters — who will face each other in a run-off next month – was Lori Lightfoot!
Ah, Lightfoot. She may have an alliterative, whimsical name, but everything else about her is terrible.
She is a walking amalgam of the worst aspects of many rotten leaders: the intellectual vacuity of Que Mala; the destructive political ideology of Stalin; the personal charm of, well, Stalin; the hateful race-hustling of Al Sharpton; and the stubborn resistance to disastrous feedback of most big-city Dem mayors.
Not to mention the worst case of “resting river-carp face” this side of Maxine Waters.
Add all that together, and she has presided over the worst years in Chicago’s history. And I’m including the year of the great Chicago fire, along with the year when a horrific pop song (“The Night Chicago Died”) was made about that disaster. Plus the year when Walter Payton died (peace be upon him).
It’s hard to even pick out which lowlights should make the anti-sizzler reel of Lightfoot’s (mercifully) only term as mayor. But one bottom-five pick has to be the way that her decisions to hamstring the police and release every violent thug she could find touched off a crime wave that made the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre look like a St. Valentine’s Day speed dating event that produced many happy marriages, and not a single murder or carjacking.
But my personal favorite is still the time when she recorded a PSA ordering all the little people not to be selfish and get their hair done during the needless and destructive Covid lockdown, and then went straight to a hairstylist herself. That has to make the bottom 5 list, if only because she paid good taxpayers’ money to a professional barber, and still came out looking like THAT!
(By the way, rumors that her instructions to the hairstylist were, “Give me the Bug-Eyed, Lesbian George Jefferson cut,” have not been confirmed.)
Anyway, when I first heard that Lightfoot had lost on Tuesday night, I fired up my traditional go-to celebration song: Ray Charles (I miss him!) and the Voices of Jubilation (that many dashikis, including a few on white folks, always cracks me up) doing, “Oh Happy Day.”
And it is a happy day for Chicago, especially if the remaining “defund the cops” far-lefty doesn’t win in April. There’s only so much progress they can make with that many Dem voters, but any step away from Lori Lightfoot is a step up!
In other good news, Ron DeSantis received two political attacks which turned out to be amazing endorsements, as they came from exactly the type of people you would NOT want to approve of you.
First up was convicted murderer Donald Dillbeck, who I’m going to call Dillweed, as a childish insult to an a-hole who doesn’t deserve to have his actual name spoken.
So Dillweed was a teenaged carjacker from Indiana who fled to Florida in 1979. When a cop rousted him as he was sleeping in a stolen car, he fought with the cop, and shot him to death with his own pistol. If he had been executed about six weeks later, the taxpayers would have saved millions of dollars taking care of him for another 44 years.
But because so many Americans are too “compassionate” for that, he got life in prison. “Life” meaning “you’ll be out on work release catering jobs in 10 years.”
Sure enough, 10 years later he stole a knife while catering and ran off. He tried to carjack a mother of two, and when she didn’t cooperate as quickly as he liked, he repeatedly stabbed her and then slit her throat.
So in addition to millions of taxpayer dollars, the “compassion” of our justice system also cost the life of a mother and devastated her two children. But Dillweed was finally sentenced to death.
And just like that, the feds got right on it and carried out the sentence … 33 years later.
In his last SCOTUS appeal, Dillweed said that he shouldn’t be executed because his mom drank when she was pregnant with him, which caused him “neurological impairment.” SCOTUS denied the appeal, and his death warrant went to DeSantis’ desk.
And because our wise governor knows that nothing treats neurological impairment more effectively than a lethal injection, he signed the warrant immediately!
Every convict is allowed some last words, and Dillweed went out like he had lived: whining like a little wuss. He said, “I know I hurt people when I was young. I really messed up. But I know Ron DeSantis has done a lot worse. He’s taken a lot from a lot of people. I speak for all men, women and children. He’s put his foot on our necks. He and other people like him can suck our [Durbins].”
It was big of you to admit that you “messed up,” Donnie. But you know what feels good after mean old Ron DeSantis has had his foot on your neck? No, not a tube of Icy Hot or a couple of Motrin.
A lethal injection! Buh-bye, Dillweed.
The second, and only slightly less effective political attack on DeSantis came from Jennifer Rubin, who used to be a quasi-conservative commentator, but was never the sharpest corkscrew in the Swiss Army knife. Trump’s election was too much for her, and she began a downward spiral into leftism.
While she never took to meth and prostitution, she did get hired to write opinion pieces at the Washington Post and appear occasionally on MSNBC.
And who’s to say which is worse?
Anyway, on Tuesday Rubin published a column damning everything DeSantis has been doing, with a tag line that she meant to be scary to voters: “Imagine if DeSantis did to America what he’s done to Florida.”
Yes! That’s exactly what we’ve been imagining, Jennifer! And the only downside is that the priapism is making things awkward in the office.
I can just imagine the tension in the DeSantis camp: “If we’ve lost serial killers and MSNBC talking heads, we’ll never get above 90% in the electoral college!”
Since I’ve already mentioned one happy-ending crime story, I’ll conclude with two more.
First is the tale of Lance Storz, a Kentucky man of many hobbies, one of which was wife beating. Last June three cops responded to a domestic violence call, and a shootout ensued. Storz shot three of the cops to death, and he also killed a police dog. (Which alone would be reason enough to give him a syringe full of “Florida neurological impairment cure,” according to Cassie the Wonder Dog. And me.)
A bunch of other cops must have been on scene at the end of the shootout, because in his booking photo Storz’s face was mostly cuts, dried blood, swelling and black eyes. (His body wasn’t shown, but I can only hope that it had a lot of deep dog bites in it, too.)
He’s been in jail since then with a raft of charges, but damn the luck, he turned up dead in the Pike County Detention Center on Tuesday. Police say that Storz “is believed to have died by his own hand.”
I only wish that back in 1979, Donnie Dillweed would’ve had the same good judgment as Lance Storz.
Also, if some local newspaper writer in Kentucky didn’t headline this story, “Storz Closed,” I don’t know what they’re teaching them in J-school anymore.
And finally, I’ve mentioned the videos done by a funny ex-cop named Donut Operator before, and I can now recommend one more. This one is titled, “Drunk Driver Turns Warning into Beat Down,” and it tells the classic tale of an imbecilic criminal making a bad situation worse through his ongoing imbecility.
The featured bonehead in this video has what might be the greatest name of all time: Winzo Tilman!
(With a name like that, he only had three occupational options: shutdown corner for a top-tier college football team, mixed martial arts fighter, or career criminal.)
So Winzo runs a red light right in front of a cop. Instead of pulling over when the cop lights him up, he drives like a maniac on miles of wet roads, nearly hitting a huge number of pedestrians and other cars. By the time he finally slides into another car and the cops catch him, they’re thinking he’s probably got lots of warrants or a dead body in the trunk.
After the first cop orders him down on the ground and he complies, the cop walks toward him to put on the cuffs, and Winzo makes the saddest, slowest attempt to leap up and sprint away that I’ve ever seen. The cop is on him within his first three steps. (Which is why you’ve never heard the name “Winzo Tillman” during a Heisman trophy ceremony.)
As Tilman is being taken away, the arresting cop shows the others what he had in the car: a tiny bit of weed and a bottle of booze.
Of course it later turned out that he was out on bond for battery and disorderly conduct. But you know, Winzo’s gotta Winzo, man!
The theme for today is that even though bad judgment carries with it terrible costs for others, idiots tend to reap what they sow.
Lori is lightfooting it out of Chicago, DeSantis is undefeated against death row inmates, no one will ever take Jennifer Rubin seriously again, Kentucky is safer without Lance Storz in it, and Winzo is on ice.
Have a good weekend, everybody!
“Dr.” Jill Biden/Donnie Dillweed’s Ghost, 2024!
Martin Simpson 