I have come to hate Bob Cohen.
I have come to hate George Latimer.
The two men are running for the New York State Senate. At this point, with three weeks until election day, I wouldn’t vote for either man—to clean up the crap my dog leaves besides the road.
I would say, all told, we’ve received between 50 and 60 mailings from either Latimer, Cohen or some awful Super Pac supporting one or the other. To call this shit annoying is to delve into great understatement: It’s fucking maddening. A waste of trees. A waste of money. A waste of time. Worst of all, it’s all nonsense. Upon arriving home this evening, I was greeted by a brochure that says ASSEMBLYMAN GEORGE LATIMER HASN’T DONE ANYTHING ABOUT IT—”IT” being a sexual assault coverup. The pamphlet features no return address, and no mention of Cohen or the Republicans. It was created simply to affix a quick connection into our brains—Latimer=sexual assault. Bullshit.
Not that Latimer’s any better. His mailings come all the time. I even called his office to complain, and a woman told me the campaign had only sent out four or five, and the rest were probably from Super Pacs. As if that makes it OK. In a piece from today’s Patch, Cohen accuses Latimer of smearing him in mailings. Latimer’s response: Well, eh, I wasn’t involved in that.
Seriously, I’m losing my mind here. Both candidates have come off as babyish, immature, sad, pathetic, desperate asswipes. I would rather vote for Axl Rose; for Tiki Barber; for Grover Cleveland, knowing he’s dead. I’d rather vote for Frank Sinatra or all the members of Menudo or, hell, my dog, Norma.
Anyone, but Bob Cohen and George Latimer.
Anyone.
