The Big Guy and Me
By Tony Rezko’s Groundskeeper
Sunday Oct. 20, 2024
How do you like my fake name byline? I’m sure Kass won’t like it. But he’s a conservative. Look, ah, look at the thing for the joy: I like it. Yes we can!
It brings me back to long-ago in Chicago, where I’m building my presidential temple of love and fealty. Back in those days I walked on water as far as the media was concerned. They especially kissed up to me when they learned that years before, the Daley women found me as an infant floating in a reed basket on the south branch of the Chicago River. And since then I decreed that this was official history. So let it be written.
I’m looking at that selfie of us. We call it “The Big Guy and Me” selfie. Poor stupid Joe. All capped teeth and weak eyes. He always wanted to be called “The Big Guy” but he really wasn’t big was he? He was a littlFe venal crook sticking his head out of the pocket of the credit card kings from Delaware. How many Big Guys use their own crackhead son as a bagman? His wife Jill hates me. Oh, she really hates me now. She sees me across the room and gives me that hard smile with those hate-filled crinkly eyes.
Back then things weren’t really good between us, but at least I could live with it. He had his title. She had all of Joe’s mansions, all on a government salary (as if), and she knew that I knew he was grifting and using his kid as a cutout with the Chinese. How did I know he was grifting? That was China Joe for God’s sake. He’s been a grifter since his brother was the family bagman.
But I kept my mouth shut about Jill and let her live like a princess. Live and let live was my motto since the Chicago Way days. But really, she’s such a bitch.
Now I’ve got another real f-ing dilemma on my hands: Kamala’s blowing up and that disaster of an interview with Bair on Fox didn’t help. And now Donald Trump gets a standing ovation at the Al Smith Dinner and laughs at Schumer’s expense?
Kamala blows off the Al Smith dinner and instead sends a cringe video starring a pit sniffer. You kidding me girl? What am I gonna do with this dolt? Do you hear yourself Kamala? Do you hear yourself?
I can’t believe I said once that she was the hottest prosecutor in America.
And it gets worse. We lost another Democrat talking point. Crime really didn’t go down like we’ve been saying. Crime went up like Trump was saying. Oh boy David Muir.
If this doesn’t stop Nicole Wallace will pluck out more of her hair, and nothing says dilemma like an anxious bald Deep State Republican commie on MSNBC spreading hysteria among all the other hysterical snowflakes. They’ve already got Joy Reed as the blonde, black revolutionary from Harvard. Do they really need another crazy bald commie chick?
And don’t get me started about Joy Behar.
Now Van Jones is turning into Black Jonathan Livingston Seagull saying Kamala is now Mamala, buying black men votes because she wants to give out free loans and legalize weed. When I first came to Chicago and black aldermen said I wasn’t black enough, they were passing out watermelons and hams and turkeys from trucks for votes.
Now it’s a 25-k loan? Can you spell Reparations Kamala? Do you hear yourself.
It got worse at church the other day at that funeral service for Ethel Kennedy.
With all the Kennedys there and the media, Joe comes up to me, whining like a bitch, echoing the panic of the true believers that you’re seeing all over social media these days, Joe saying Kamala is done.
He’s whispering loud using his crazy old man voice. In church!
“She’s not as strong as me,” he says and of course he’s loudly bitching about Kamala and I’m looking at him thinking I will never again underestimate Joe Biden’s ability to f – things up.
But I didn’t say anything, and he goes and says it again. So, I say “I know, that’s true” to shush him and because it is true. “We have time,” I said.
That’s a lie. Joe has no time. Joe’s time is running out. And so is the time for his crackhead son.
I meant I have lots of time. And I do.
I can walk up and down the beaches of Hawaii wistfully and barefoot for my Netflix specials—in my white skinny jeans and white shirt—like some f-ing designer Pegasus out of the sea foam. And I’ve got time to race-shame the brothers about how they’ve gotta vote for Kamala to prove to themselves they’re as black as me.
Part of it makes me think that, well, you just aren’t feeling the idea of having a woman as president, and you’re coming up with other alternatives and other reasons for that, but the thing is I really don’t need independent thoughts just now. Can’t they go back on the plantation where they belong?
And after race-shaming the brothers, I still have time to hang out in my new mansion where the rich white leftists live. My neighbors don’t want brothers hanging out.
But Joe? The Kennedys have ears and they heard everything he said in church. He should’ve covered his mouth with his hand. Hasn’t he ever watched NFL football? The coaches on the sidelines cover their mouths. The Wise Guys cover their mouths. But Joe loves flapping his lips. I should tell Plouffe to put a covid mask on the old fool the next time they let him out.
To make things worse the f-ing New York Post hired a lip reader, Jeremy Freeman who was born deaf and hustles extra cash as an expert witness in court cases. Now its a story, like the fleet of drones flying over American air bases. Who’ll have to bite it? Kamala. That’s what happens in politics.
Where was I about Joe? “Yeah, we’ll get it in time,” said Biden. We almost put him on Mt. Rushmore for relinquishing the party’s nomination in favor of Harris on July 21 that the New York Post called “a mutiny that Obama was believed to support.”
No bleeping s—! I not only supported it, I directed it. And my media did what they were supposed to do, including the useful idiots at MSNBC and New York Times. Joe still hasn’t gotten over how I pulled that coup on him and Pelosi and I forced him to quit. Of course, Nancy has her fingerprints all over it. Me? They can’t finger me for it. They’re well trained.
I really didn’t want Kamala but no one else was fool enough to risk running and destroying their careers. Dammit. They didn’t want to take one for the team. Maybe Shapiro would have tried. He’s sharp and tough, but he’s a Jew. And I was kinda hoping that they’d set up somebody without me having to micromanage everything. What? I gotta do everything now.
And that’s when, in church for Ethel Kennedy and the Kennedys craning their Irish necks hoping to hear with rabbit ears, I whispered to Joe “it’s important that we have some time together” even though I don’t want to see him again.
I never want to spend time with that jamoke now. I might send a car to pick him up for midnight spaghetti dinner in Chinatown and then you’ll never see him again. Maybe that’s too urgently tragic but still…
YES WE CAN but I really don’t want to see him.
So, look, uh, I knew Joe would drag Senate Democrats down in November and the House, too. So Joe had to go. But man is Kamala a bad candidate. Joe screwed the whole thing up with all the criminal migrants. She’ll lose the Senate and the House. Bob Casey is sucking up to Trump so much he’s like a beagle humping Trump’s leg.
And she made it worse with her idiotic answers in the Brett Bair interview. I bet Willie Brown is laughing if he ain’t dead.
I knew she was a bad candidate; Pelosi knew, you knew. Bair knew. Trump knew that Xi Jinping and Putin would carve her up like Tren de Aragua on meth.
She wouldn’t stand a chance.
I bet even my old pastor Rev. Jeremiah Wright knew she was a bad candidate. Some called him an American hating commie and a stone anti-white racist, but he understood the politics of the street.
Pastor Wright was always warning that the chickens were coming home to roost. And now as Kamala implodes, as the brothers turn their backs, they’re all coming home.
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