Today I was in the front yard, doing Homeowner Stuff, when I saw my mail carrier approaching. I ducked inside to grab a sawbuck with which to thank her for braving the rain and sleet and locusts and rivers of blood. Maybe she’s Jewish. I don’t know. But when I handed her the cash and wished her a merry Christmas, she seemed happy. And then she gave me my mail, which made me happy, because in it was a Christmas card from my mayor. Sorry, holiday card. Whatever the case, I was pumped to get it. “So he won’t do an interview with D Magazine,” I thought. “Or even return my texts or calls, like he once did, before he became our mayor. But at least he sent me a Christmas card — sorry, holiday card — showing his beautiful family at White Rock Lake, which I’m sure he knows needs to be dredged. That’s really sweet.”
But, yo, then I saw that the return address was the P.O. box of his mayoral campaign. “This ain’t no Christmas card — sorry, holiday card,” I thought. “This is a dang campaign mailer.”
Once again, you win, Mayor Eric Johnson, Esq. Well played.
