Well Powerfans, we’ve reached the conclusion of the third season. It felt very much like the second season of the wire to me….the “white” season, which on the surface, the first time around, was a nuisance and a distraction from my beloved towers and corner boys, …
A couple of months ago, I was selected to be one of the “Top Bachelorettes of Chicago” — yeah y’all see it. It was a pretty dope event, but everyone there was much younger than me. There was this one dude in there, fly as hell, playing the back. I slid over, laid my game down quite flat, put the dimples on him and shit. We chitted and chatted. He told me he traveled a lot for his father’s company – was rarely in town. We exchanged numbers and ended up texting a week or so later, but nothing ever materialized. He floated to that place in my brain where people I meet in passing go to be forgotten. I’m quite certain I disappeared to that same exact place in his. Fast Forward a couple months, I’m lying on Frusband’s couch, watching some fair and balanced news, when I see a face on the screen, that I know, but don’t know. It was dude. It was a story about how his wealthy father was a not a dead beat dad, as his half-brother previously described him on that very same news program. I remember the complete story, but I ain’t gonna bore y’all with the details. At this point in the story, the only pertinent information is his daddy was running for mayor of Chicago and is worth 60 MILLION DOLLARS. What follows is where some of you will begin to think less of me and some of you will completely understand.
Found him on The Book. Hit that message button and SLIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDD all up in his inbox. Said some old slick shit, we went back and forth a couple messages. He was still that cool dude I’d spent that evening with. I decided at that point, I would never run my big mouth about his dad on social media, for one day, I may be the First Lady of the Family Business. Today, I learned why people should not ever say never. His father forced my hand today. His father tapped danced all over my last good nerve. His father walked me right up to the edge, and pushed. His father challenged my resolve ….and his father’s name is Willie Wilson.
I met Mr. Wilson when he came by my job to do an interview. When he and his contingency arrived, I thought them to be a church group. Nothing about them screamed politics. Nothing. It wasn’t until I saw him on his way out and he asked if he had my vote that I discovered he was running for mayor. I told him I had to check out his platform and I’d holla back.
Well, check him out I did. In the interview with our political editor. In the infamous Chicago Tribune Questionnaire. On Chicago Tonight. On Hardball. And finally kids….in the Great Mayoral Debate of ’15. JEEZUS.
Let me just say, for those of you who may not be familiar with Mr. Wilson, his is an incredible story. Google “Rags to Riches” and you are gonna see his face. This is a person who has truly picked himself up by his bootstraps and like most of us he wasn’t wearing a halo the entire time. There are skirmishes, accusations, deaths, personal setbacks and still, he rose. Despite only having a 7th grade education, this man has ascended to the heights that many of you can only dream. (SHADE TREE EMOTICON AT YALL) As he likes to remind us, he is two generations from slavery. His manner of speaking won’t let us forget that fact – it can be challenging at times to understand him. But he’s created and run a number of successful companies, so somewhere along the way someone knew exactly what the fuck he was talking about…FUCK MYA.
So this is what made me give up my light weight quest for the throne.
This is an actual tweet sent out by…..somebody in his camp, after the first mayoral debate. I suppose they felt victorious. The much vaunted “gotcha moment” had been achieved, I guess. It helps if you know how to spell your opponent’s name and understand subject verb agreement if you are attempting to feel superior to someone.
He’s not ready to be Mayor. And that’s fine. Many argued Barack wasn’t ready to be President, but he was. Willie don’t seem to give NO FUX about being mayor, and that, is not fine. His platform, or lack thereof, written responses, spoken responses and those he’s chosen to surround himself with, tell me that. If I’m wrong and you do have fux to give, Willie, pick up what I’m bout to lay down.
1. Please understand that Spell Check is your friend. It’s all of our friend, trust me. Please don’t ever again send out another written response nor TWEET without hitting the ol’check. Share this info with your press person too, K?
2. Get a one-way ticket out of Hollywood. Hendon. As in Rickey. He has you running for mayor of Black Chicago and that place does not exist. That nickel slick shit he does works on the west side. It ain’t gonna play all over the city. And another thing, lemme holla at you bout them radio spots Hollywood blessed you with….
3. Stop talking bout Meigs Field. It’s not “hot-button” as they say in politics. No one is sitting out on Northerly Island on a warm summer night thinking about how they wish they weren’t there, but an airport they never went to was. Promise.
4. Hire some political consultants. Let Sister Mary’nem return to the Deaconess Board. I seent you on Election Night up on da stage with Boss Rauner. He bought a campaign, ask him for the homies number.
5. Don’t come back until you do all of the above. You are the shit in so many ways. You could likely teach a class at Harvard School of Business. Hell, a Pursuit of Happyness type of movie could be made. It’s just that, politics, especially Chicago style, ain’t for you.