Da Problem Wit Da Mayoral Election Is Dat None Of Da Candidates Cater To Dumb Pigs Like Me

By Mike Slonczewski

Da mayoral race is in full swing, and ya know me—I’m a Chicagoan through and through—I top my Chicago style hot dog with a full order of Italian beef and polish it off wit a full order a pierogi, and don’t skimp on da sour cream. And yet it is wit heavy heart dat I inform you dat none of da candidates are dumb enough to tackle da dumb Chicago hog vote in da upcoming election.

Dat’s not to say dere aren’t promising entrants—dere’s a Daley in da mix and dose guys are always good for reminding everyone dat Chicago is a toilet town fulla just da worst rubes ya ever seen. But dat ain’t enough in dis day and age, and Rahm left some big shoes ta fill, so witout furder ado, I’d like ta break down for ya how I concluded dat dis mayoral election is gonna be da worst one yet for big, thick-necked oafs like me.

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First of all, none of da candidates look like de’ve ever fished a piece of toast out of da toaster with a fork, spoon or other metal implement. Dis is rube culture 101, and it’s disheartening ta see that none of da front runners have ever endangered demselves for a nice hot piece of bread, and we’re less dan two weeks out from da election.

Furdermore, I don’t think none of dese guys has ever gotten smacked on da head by a big cinderblock at a jobsite and den just walked it off ta go into an Al’s Beef. Maybe dat’s unfair of me, but a real Midwestern hamhock knows his people and brother, there ain’t none of dese slick-talkin’ loop dandies wearing silk suits that have ever recovered from a compressed spinal cord wit a big French dip sandwich and you can tell. Not a hog club from Avondale ta Cicero would admit ya witout dose credentials.

Finally, as I have been been monitoring da local news from my 1 and a half bedroom bungalow I share with my wife Josefka and our five darling children in Sauganash, I gotta say I don’t think da candidates in da mayoral race have ever been haunted by da ghost of Casimir Pulaski in da heart of da winter. If you’ve never resisted the pull of a Polish revolutionary war brigadier general askin’ if ya might see fit ta let him come in from da cold, dere’s no way you’re gonna be trusted by da beef boys of da windy city ta have our back.

Plus you couldn’t get a beer after a Bulls game wit none of ‘em neider.

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