Selling my vote. Spooky charcuterie. Pigeon conspiracy theory
I was reading the first volume of Robert Caro’s book on Lyndon Johnson, when there was a knock at our front door. I didn’t want to answer the door because the early years of LBJ, who was a real piece of work, are as compelling as any novel. But the knocking persisted, and then Mortimer began to bark. I better get it, I thought. So I put down the biography of a power-hungry man and went to the door, where I found a man sent by another power-hungry man named Rick Caruso.
“Hi, my name is Roger, and I’m with the Caruso campaign,” he said as soon I opened the door. “Can we count on your vote for Rick Caruso for mayor?”
I nearly blurted out something like, get the hell off my property, you human paraquat. But then I remembered that I also knock doors for candidates. My, or any, aggression would not stand. So, I decided to channel my inner LBJ and play it crooked.
“Rick Caruso? The guy who built The Grove?”
“That’s him,” Roger said. “Los Angeles needs a business leader to clean up our streets.”
“Does he have a broom, or a mop, or one of Dyson gizmos? Our streets are pretty dirty.”
Roger cracked a nervous smile, then continued with his pitch. On day one, Caruso would put four trillion cops on the street, eradicate traffic forever, build seventy-eight billion housing units, abolish taxes, and bring glory to every Los Angeles sports franchise, except for the Clippers, who are immune to glory. That all sounded fine, but reading about LBJ, I learned that a vote has real value. You can trade it for wonky policy solutions that never quite deliver, or for pie-in-the-sky promises like the ones Roger was repeating on behalf of Rick Caruso. Or, as LBJ understood, you can trade your vote for money, and if things go according to plan, a patronage job down the line.
“Time to shoot your shot, Michael,” the ghost of LBJ whispered in my ear.
“Hey, that all sounds great,” I said. “But I’ve heard some stuff about Caruso that makes me concerned.”
Roger smiled and asked me what was bothering me.
“I heard Caruso is trying to buy this election,” I said.
Roger began to shake his head. Maybe that’s why he missed my outstretched arm, hand open, palm up—ready to receive Caruso’s quid in exchange for my quo.
“Rick Caruso isn’t beholden to the special interests,” Roger said. “He cares about Los Angeles. That’s why he’s running for mayor.”
“Well, I care about me. That’s why I’m voting. How much are you offering?”
“Huh?”
“Rick Caruso is trying to buy this election,” I said again.
Roger shook his head again. He was emphatic.
“Hang on,” I said. “I’m not knocking the guy. I’m asking for a thousand bones, or clams, or whatever you want to call them.”
“Huh?”
“The money! He’s buying votes, and I’m selling mine. Let’s make a deal!”
Suddenly, Roger looked shocked. And annoyed. And maybe a little angry. Instead of buying my vote, or at least making me a reasonable counteroffer, he turned around and walked away.
I could’ve been angry, but I decided to treat this as a teachable moment. Did I ask for too much money? Was I too blunt? Should I have hinted at the deal in a vague, roundabout way, since buying votes is illegal? I wasn’t sure, but as I went back to my book, I knew that LBJ, a man so crooked he could only be followed by Richard Nixon, would have all the answers.
Spooky charcuterie
Last week, we talked about how butter boards are the new charcuterie. But a lot of Situation Normal readers aren’t buying it. Several readers thought butter boards are a hygiene nightmare. A few more readers pointed out that it’s difficult to clean butter off a wood cutting board. Situation Normal remains Team Charcuterie, and to prove it, reader Anna flagged this amazing Halloween charcuterie board that’s making the rounds on Twitter.
A conspiracy theory about pigeons
About a year ago, I read a strange story in The New York Times about a Gen-Z conspiracy theory that was getting a lot of attention. The theory claimed that pigeons aren’t real, and that the things we think are pigeons are actually government drones that spy on us.
Of course, like so many things about Gen-Z there was more to this story than met the eye. Also, folks over a certain just don’t get Gen-Z and it’s shenanigans. Kids today, am I right? But according to The New York Times story, the Gen-Z creators of the conspiracy theory are in on the joke.
“It’s Gen Z’s attempt to upend the rabbit hole with absurdism,” The New York Times concluded before going on to quote a conspiracy theory organizer who said, “My favorite way to describe the organization is fighting lunacy with lunacy.”
I remember thinking that I liked this attempt to fight lunacy with lunacy, but I forgot all about it until reader Bryan wrote in with this overheard conversation.
I was in a coffeeshop a few weeks back when I overheard the following - earnest - conversation between two university students in the queue behind me:
‘Pigeons aren’t really birds, you know.’
‘What?’
‘No - really. They’re not birds.’
‘What the fuck are they, then?’
‘They’re robots - drones. The government created them to spy on us.’
‘No way!’
‘Yes, really. Think about it - they’re fucking everywhere you go. What better way to find out what people are doing than pigeon drones?’
There was a brief pause. Which made me pause, because her companion seemed to be actually considering the merits of this claim.
‘I don't believe it.’
Whew, I thought. But no.
‘There’s proof.’
‘What proof?’
‘Have you ever seen a baby pigeon?’
‘Fuck. You’re right.’
I left the queue.
At first, I wasn’t sure if Bryan was pulling my leg, or if he had actually witnessed the absurdist conspiracy theory in the wild. Truthfully, I’m still not sure. But I dig it, and so I decided to share it. For the record, though, pigeons are real, and let’s be honest, they’re rats with wings! Also, Bryan writes a cool Substack called The Bus. I recommend you get on the Bus and see where it goes.
Comment of the week
Last Sunday, I wrote about taking Christina to her first Raiders game and the madness that is Raider Nation. As usual, the comments were top-notch. It was difficult to select just one comment of the week, but I went with Brenna Mayhew’s comment because, much like the Gen-Z pigeon conspiracy absurdists, Brenna was in on the joke. Also, flattery will get you everywhere. Thanks, Brenna!
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Stick around and chat!
You know the drill. I’ve got questions, you may or may not have answers.
I’m still trying to sell my vote. Should I post it Craigslist? Go through a broker? Have a garage sale? Any tips are appreciated!
Have you read Robert Caro’s books on LBJ? Did they inspire you to sell your vote?
Have you seen any Halloween butter boards, or is Team Charcuterie killing the spooky game?
Do you think Bryan is in on the fake pigeon conspiracy theory, or do you think he’s the victim here?
Do you feed pigeons, or do you consider them a menace? Explain.
Until Sunday when I’ll have another story…
You’re supposed to tag the ears of Caruso supporters in the wild, so that we can find the main nest later. Otherwise flawless.
I have a lot of love for Birds Aren’t Real. It gets my butt moving for my own comic disinformation campaigns.
I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to sell your vote. That said, you’ll probably only make good money if you can sell votes in bulk. Politicians don’t want to buy one vote at a time, especially in a major election. They want chunks! So I would get a bunch of pals together and sell ‘em on the dark web equivalent of eBay.