If you live in Southie, or come here often for your refills of oxies and heroin, then you’ve come to know three names rather intimately: Patrick Brennan, Nick Collins, and Michael McGee. No, these men aren’t distillers of fine scotch and Irish whiskeys, they are candidates for State Representative in Suffolk County’s 4th District. Now you might ask me, “The Drizzle?! You’re in the toy department. You post about dead celebrities, specials, and alcohol(ic) related issues…not politics. What happened to that fuckthatitude?” Well I’ll tell you, children. I’m posting about politics because I now know what it feels like to be a pork loin at a Bar Mitzvah: Everyone wants a piece of you, but they don’t know how to feel right about it in the morning (“stripper at a bachelor party” and “underage twink at the Tony Awards” are also acceptable analogies).
I now know what it feels like to have a crazy, stalker ex-boyfriend who constantly drops by your house. You get notes like, “Sorry I missed you. -M” and “Drizzle, come down to the bar later. I’ll be there.” I don’t know if these men are trying to talk to me about the state of our local government, or if they just want a booty call for old time’s sake. How did you find my new address? Who gave you my number? Who’s that weird old guy that stands just outside the door while you’re trying to give me a mental hand job?
I’m not exactly versed in the ways of the political machine. I made it that way. I don’t give a shit who spent three hours on a Tuesday debating the “plusses and deltas” of a committee that needs an extended budget to come up with new questions for the state ethics exam. If the money wasn’t spent on that, it would be spent on trying to prevent me from getting my quarterly dime-bag, or trying to kill Camel fuckers (relax…I’m talking about Big Tobacco). The truth is, however, that I have shaken hands with the “big three” candidates, and have had (sometimes painful) conversations with each of them. This makes me an undisputed expert in the ways of all things electoral. Live with it, guy who complained about “Fenway Bark!”
Now I don’t want to get off on rant here, but I would like to take a little time to talk about each candidate. Not because I feel that it would inform you about the best possible choice, but to sarcastically riff on my experiences as a social anxiety riddled, functioning alcoholic that was forced to partake in a heavily rehearsed, eye contact intensive conversation about issues that I choose to avoid through self-medication and activities like resin scraping and decoupage.
I shall start with Mike McGee. Mike stopped by the house about two months ago and had a very friendly chat with Gunner about all things rhetorical. Gunner relayed the pertinent information to me and then we drank the night away. A few weeks later Mike stopped by the house – again. I was busy cooking dinner in my pajamas, because I was so hung-over that the thought of changing my clothes gave me a headache. When the bell rang I thought that maybe I ordered a chicken pizza from Lando’s, but alas, I was incorrect as usual. Mike started the conversation by reminding me that we went to high school together (Thanks, high school, for giving out my government info). He then proceeded to call me by the wrong name. I wasn’t wearing boxers, so I’m pretty sure my cock was hanging out of my pajama pants through at least 30% of the conversation. He said he was all about education reform and fighting the substance abuse issues in Southie (about two decades too late for that one, Mikey). I have to say, however, that Mike was a very charismatic guy and that he spoke passionately about the issues he chooses to focus on. I quizzed him on some of the institutions in Southie that help to combat the drug problem, and he said that he knew about them, but I can’t trust white men, so I’m assuming he was just bullshitting me while making a mental shopping list of clothes he needs to buy at The Gap. All in all, about a 7.5 on the handshake and kudos for not pointing out the enormous rig hanging out of my pants.
Next, we take a look at one Patrick Brennan. Pat is a Republican and I don’t give a shit. A Republican in Massachusetts is like a Hasidic Jewish American at a Matisyahu concert (also, the “catholic stripper at work” and “old bear at the Tony Awards” analogies work). I got home from a tough day at work and found a lovely pamphlet personally autographed by Monsieur Brennan. I threw Pat’s info on top of McGee’s stuff and headed to the bar. Funny, but who do I run into at the bar? It’s Pat Brennan!! He stayed in his corner, but his entourage was so big that we had to yuppy-hover over our boy Denny who graciously fed us our beers from the wonderful FHouse staff. Eventually Brenners went in for the attack and started his, “our generation, blah blah” speech. I was cool, I gave him my, “Yah, dude. Totes feeling it!” retort. I must say that Pat also seemed pretty charismatic, but let me give you candidate-electers a little advice: DO NOT ASK ME WHAT I DO. You don’t care, and I don’t want to be an I-was-talking-to-a-dot-dot-dot anecdote in your debate speech. If this was a high school reunion, I’d punch you in the face and make out with your wife. You’re running for State Rep and I’m an asshole in a bar. Either buy me a beer or have one of your interns brush her tit up against me when she walks by. Overall, Mr. Brennan gets a 7.5 on the handshake, and a blue ribbon for most ambiguous campaign slogan, “Creating Future Opportunnities.”
Finally, we wrap up with Nick Collins. If I wasn’t going to write in “Baba Booey” for the upcoming primary, I would probably vote for Nick. He is actually from Southie and he has seen the crazy shit that makes Yuppy Hoverers think they have street cred when they say, “I’m in a Southie bar…with Southies!!” The Nick Collins for State Representative signs that line Broadway rival only the Hot Pepper wind breaker craze of the late 80’s. But when it comes down to it, there is only one reason why Nick would earn my vote, and that is because he has not asked me to be one of those assholes that stands on the corner of L Street holding his sign. I love civic engagement, but I also love dignity, and standing there with my junk in one hand and a two by four in the other makes me want to cut myself. 7.5 on the handshake, mad props for respecting my Sunday.
So there you have it. My first attempt at political posting and my last attempt at describing any group with the term American at the end of it. I know that this post will piss off a lot of people…mostly people that like to Google their names, but also some others that feel a need to bypass humor and go straight to the bitching. In order to streamline some of the criticism, I ended some sentences with prepositions and I’m not quite sure I used the word “rhetorical” to the best of its abilities. As always, I was comma happy and Dave Zeltserman banged a twink at the Tony Awards. Just know that I write this because of the love and respect that I have for myself, and the blatant disregard that I have for any possible future in anything ever. Now I drink (more).
<3 The Drizzle
PS: The Half-Haitian Dog is torn between writing-in Robin or Fred. Fuck Benjy. Artie, get well soon, buddy.