Look, Jazz Fans, I can’t do this anymore. I mean, I’m the Mayor now. You can’t expect the Mayor to just blog whenever he feels like it. I have responsibilities to the electorate. The people need me. Who else is going to declare every Friday to be Jimmy Rudolph Day? Who else is going to give myself the Key to the City? These couch pillows in the executive office aren’t going to fluff themselves.
For instance, on the agenda this morning I had a meeting with the City Council over a constitutional amendment permitting zombies to eat zombie brains, a confab with the city treasurer over the allocation of funds derived from zombie property rentals, and a photo op with some mangled kid in the hospital who saved her dog from a zombie attack, only to be devoured herself. (This one is time sensitive, because she’s expected to zombify by Saturday morning.) I had all of this on the agenda. Of course, I had to clear them in order to focus on a more valuable task– coming up with my nickname.
“The Boss” has been taken. “The Chief.” “Hizzoner.” “Rudy” would have been good, but… (stop smirking, Giuliani!) Maybe “Madge”? Short for “His Majesty”? How about “High” for “His Highness”? “Prez”? “JR”? God, this is hard! I better clear the afternoon.
Some say there are problems that need solving, and I should stop scribbling on this legal pad and take up some of the city’s business. But that’s putting the horse before the cart, or something. First, you decide what your legacy will be. Then you create the legacy. And it all starts with the nickname.
“Big Daddy”? “Da Pimp”? “Homey”?
“Tube-y”? “Gerkin”? “Hubba Bubba”?