A Stars Hollow Gazette
Recently I’ve had a lot of people ask me what course of action I would take.
Most of them are hopelessly compromised sellouts looking to justify craven capitulation because, frankly, they can’t stand to look at their own cowardly face in the morning mirror.
You do what you need to do to eat and provide for your family. Please don’t bother trying to convince me your shit sandwich is anything but two slices of bread wrapped around a turd.
I’m not Navin Johnson. I know a hole in the ground when I see one.
“But that’s not constructive criticism ek”, you whine.
Why do you care for my approval anyway?
Oh, I get it. You want something from me. My money. My vote. The ability to walk among decent people without having them spit on you like the soul-whore liar you are.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being an honest sex worker. Most of them are decent people who provide the service they sell. They should have a union.
But there is something different about being a confidence man, a professional betrayer.
One of the reasons I got out of journalism at a young age is professors at J-school telling me that any lie was acceptable to get a source to talk.
Yet I am a proud and successful politician because I deliver what I promise and I’m not afraid of fights because I know what’s right and have the people behind me.
In a local way of course, but it’s all the Village Number Six.
Are you a Number or a Free Man?