|If this is the face of mental wellness, then call me deranged!|
Howard Graubard, who insists on soiling the moniker of a great blues musician by posting hateful liberal tripe, went off on yet another tirade on me. Can someone say obsessed?
I’ll spare you all the effort of reading Graubard’s latest rambling inaneity (but if you want to read it, I suggest training first on smaller articles and working your way up - getting through his drivel is like some sort of crazy endurance challenge that should require clearance from a doctor or something before attempting. Oh, and get some wading boots, the BS gets thick!) but needless to say, Lew’s numero uno bootlicker brought out his best “blue” material.
It’s all because I suggested that Councilman Lew Fidler should consider his failing health and his family when deciding whether to continue his campaign for State Senate against David Storobin. I don't really care about Lew's health, he claims. This is all politics, and low at that. And apparently, all this means that I suffer from some kind of sick, twisted mental illness
Oh, and he said I’m fat, too. I know, I didn’t know either!
But what Howard doesn’t get is that my intent was never towards scoring political points on some imaginary scorecard. I only point out that there is life outside of the bubble that is Brooklyn politics that should come first. And I point this out because, though I am far from Councilman Fidler’s friend, I have compassion for what he and his family are going through.
Those that know me really well know how my father has been suffering from various serious health issues for some time. They know how my family and I have been living through the 3 AM 911 calls, the sleeping out of exhaustion in an ER waiting area or sitting vigil bedside in an ICU and all that comes with it for more than a year now.
We know all too well the pain and helplessness of watching a loved one suffering – the loss of control, the helplessness, the uncertainty, the depression, the constant second-guessing and “what ifs” that flash through your brain at 1000 mph.
It’s torture. And my heart goes out to anyone that goes through a similar pain. Even to a political adversary. What is politics in the face of such things? Nothing.
Right about now, Graubard, being the predictable little twit that he is, will be planning his next heavy-on-word, light-on-idea worthless posting responding to my “sob story." I can see it now, the “great” Gatemouth exposing me for what I really am! How I’m exploiting my own family’s pain in the name of politics. How I’m using my father’s suffering to gain the sympathy of the chorus. How it’s all a charade, and a disgusting one at that.
It must be. Because there can be no other explanation.
You see, in Graubard’s distorted world view – politicos like him and me are incapable of showing any concern for another. We don’t relate with each other on any levels other than partisan. Friendships are temporary, and of convenience only. Feelings are never involved, unless they're laced with hate and vitriol. Advancement and gaining position are all that matter. No quarter given. No mercy.
We must be this way. There is no other way. Because the other side isn’t human – they’re simply the enemy. A thing to be destroyed at all costs.
In Graubard’s mind (a term, I use very, VERY loosely) I must be only feigning concern for Councilman Fidler and his family. I must be just playing cheap politics. I must be taking a low shot. I must be after something political.
I must be. Because it’s doesn’t make sense otherwise.
Because if given the opportunity, that’s what Howard Graubard would probably do. And then tell you all about it in 25,000 words or more. Proudly.
Yet he says I am the one suffering under some mental derangement.