Despite a fairly broad familiarity with the English language, I cannot think of a better way to express my feelings than this: Fuck you. Remember when you were struggling to find a platform for your third term as mayor of New York—a way to pretend to appease constituents who were already well aware and mighty unhappy with your illegal bid to buy your way into office for another four years?
What you ultimately came up with to reach “the common man” was a promise to disassemble the corrupt MTA subway system’s leadership, along with a vow to maintain service and prevent a third fare increase in as many years.
Well, Mr. Mayor, while you and your lesbian beard sat home tonight in your multi-million dollar fortress watching “Dreamgirls” again, I, for the second consecutive night, was screwed by your false promise—your utter arrogance—in even pretending that there was any credibility behind what we all pretty much knew was a lie from the start.
Last evening, I arrived at the Times Square 2/3 express train (Bloomie: That’s a line on the subway) at 11:40 p.m., which used to be a reliable path home, arriving every 10 or so minutes. Just after midnight, with no prior posting or announcement—20 minutes later, mind you—an invisible voice proclaimed, “No downtown service to Brooklyn on this line. Take the R train.” (Note to Bloomie: There are a number of different ways to navigate the city, characterized by numbers and letters to tell you which trains go where.)
Tonight, same place, at 11:30 p.m. I couldn’t imagine I’d be fucked again; I had 30 minutes before MTA pulled a similar trick, right? But 15 minutes later, when an express 2/3 train finally pulled in, another announcement: “This is the last stop on this train. For downtown service, take the R.” It took another 20 minutes for an R subway to arrive, as more than 100 of your constituents, Mr. Closet Queen Mayor, lined up, in disbelief that—before service cuts have even begun—there is simply no way to get from there to here with expediency.
So Mr. Bloomberg, now, 50 minutes later, once home, I feel pressed to question your vow. Oh, but wait, you’ve already addressed the issue, haven’t you? While you were in Washington last week fighting like a dog against President Obama’s tighter regulations against an increasingly unbridled and corrupt Wall Street (and why wouldn’t you—you’re lobbying on behalf of the biggest clients of your own Bloomberg LP, including Citigroup, Goldman Sachs, JPMorgan Chase and Bank of America, which continues to not only make you the richest man in New York City—but a crook. It's called "conflict of interest"), you had the nerve to tell a reporter who asked you about your lie: “Just say thank you that it isn’t any worse.” Uh, thank you? I can only think of one appropriate response. Fuck you. Too.