Well, kids, the shiny-headed mullah, Adrian Fenty, has basically wrapped up the Mayorship, trouncing his competition in a primary race that ended up not being close at all. Hide your forties, DC, because if there's one thing Adrian Fenty knows, deep in his bones--it's what's best for you. And he's not afraid to tell you what he thinks, of that, be sure.
What's inescapably interesting about the political life of Adrian Fenty, it's the fact that at the exact moment you became aware of his very existence, you were made exactingly and simultaneously aware that the man wanted to be Mayor of DC very badly. The rap on Fenty--and it's not ill-founded--is that there has to be a morning after. Fenty has demonstrated tremendous acumen as a candidate, but almost nothing in his portfolio directly translates into anything that indicates he'd be effective at actually governing. Plus, he's not going to get any free rides from the DC Council--the man has burned so many bridges that he probably gave the dude who blew up the Wilson span some pointers, and that's compounded by the fact that the DC Council traditionally attracts an array of preening, small-minded nimrods to fill its seats.
Still, Fenty is a guy who arrived on the scene declaring his mayoral ambitions boldly. He's had a target painted on his back from jump, and yet no one, in all this time (except perhaps Anthony Williams, who kept Fenty out of the race the last time by running again--though if he'd known in advance that Williams would cock-up his nomination petitions and have to run as a write in, who knows what might have transpired), was really able to lay a glove on him. That's pretty impressive.
Or...it would be, if anyone of any appreciable merit had chosen to run against him. The closest thing Fenty had to an actual opponent was Linda Cropp, and boy, if you take her twenty-five year career and add four dollars, you maybe can get yourself some eggrolls somewhere. Cropp is one of those last vestiges of the Council that was in place when I moved back to the area from Richmond, and she always bore a real resemblance to those two grinning jackasses, Harold Brazil and Kevin Chavous, except she got by a little bit longer and a little bit better with a similar record of non-accomplishment than those two dweebs did.
Cropp's campaign basically boiled down to this: "I was, at times, tangentially involved, or at the very least alive, when a certain number of good things happened to DC." You know, like, the sun managing to rise every day and stuff. She couldn't have been surprised when the newspapers that had her whole career on record examined her political career and found sod all worth endorsing. And too late did she receive the endorsement from Anthony Williams. If you saw the commercial they made together, you couldn't help but notice that Williams sat next to Cropp in visible discomfort, as if she were covered with seagull droppings or something. Cropp, of course, was too stupid to realize that her desperate, eleventh-hour need to obtain Williams blessing more or less undercut the entire premise of her campaign.
After Cropp, of course, the pickings got appreciably weaker. Marie Johns captivated the minds of some for a time--we knew several people who were happy to give Johns a full and attentive hearing--but let's face it: the woman worked for Verizon--after Comcast, the second worst corporation on the face of the Earth--so, in the end, most voters realized that a Johns win would inevitably lead to the Rise of the Machines or some such disaster. And the less said about Vincent Orange, the better. Orange is like DC's version of Wesley Willis--addled in that adorable way that might make you want to give the guy a bright shiny half-dollar to wash your car or something, but there's no way in hell you'd ever let him DRIVE the thing.
So, barring some sort of localized electoral apocalypse, it's going to be the Lamprey from Lamont Street as DC Mayor. Let the purification rituals begin.
- In the end, the A. Scott Bolden campaign wins the award for the most misplaced overconfidence. He got trounced by Phil Mendelson--I mean just beaten up and down the street. Thank God. After Jonathan Rees and his many alter-egos, the Bolden crowd were easily the most detestable people you'd encounter on the message boards, the viscous ichor of their smugness sticking to your existence like foul ooze. Saints be praised that DC chose not to inflict this K Street zombie upon itself.
- There was a Tony Williams running as a Republican in Ward 6! Damn! Where was this guy when Mayor Williams was running his write-in campaign years ago? I would have totally advised him to stand up after that primary and lay claim to the win, asserting that he was the Tony Williams that DC had written in.
- Michael Browns went one for two in this years primary, with Michael D. Brown coasting to victory in the Shadow Senator race. The other Michael Brown--the one whose head looks like it's trying to gradually swallow his face, dropped out of the Mayoral election at the last minute, finishing with one percent of the votes.
- If we're going to have elections for people who get to have this cool name, "Shadow" attached to their office, shouldn't they have to become, like, CRIMEFIGHTERS or something? They could don costumes, beat up muggers and leave calling cards that read: "You just got lobbied by the SHADOW SENATOR, motherfucker! Excelsior!"
- In Maryland, Ben Cardin looks to be the winner of the Democratic Primary for Paul Sarbanes seat. In the Republican Primary, some guy named "The Wig Man" got four thousand votes. Imagine how well he would have done centuries ago, though, back when there was an actual Whig party!
- Futurama fans take note: "Puny human Jack Johnson" looks poised to return as the PG County Executive.
- In Maryland, they have this office called "Judge of the Orphans' Court", which we imagine metes out punishments to unwanted children for not finishing their oatmeal and stuff. Kinda scary.
- In the Maryland Comptroller race, it looks like someone new will be trolling that comp come next year, as William Donald Schaeffer--who trashed his long and storied political career in recent years by metamorphosizing into some sort of addled, social graces-spurning SuperCoot--is trailing not one but BOTH of his primary opponents.
- In DC's Ward 3, unabashed and vitriol spewing psychopath Jonathan Rees garnered, at last count, all of 28 votes. We're frankly ass-over-teakettle ASTONISHED that he even received that many votes, given that his campaign strategy boiled down to slandering critics, frightening voters, and spreading outright LITTER disguised as campaign literature throughout the ward. It's pretty funny, though, that Rees had more fictional online aliases than he did votes, and we're guessing that the fact that his ersatz nemesis, politically tone-dead dickwad Sam Brooks, got a cool 999 votes than him, burns him greatly. At least we hope he does.
- And, just to remind you, in Virginia, it's all about Macaca.