For years I’ve been mystified by Andrew Cuomo.
What made him so mean?
Why did he get such pleasure out of ruining and putting so many New York City restaurants out of business?
Why was he so happy to go along with our idiot Mayor de Blasio as the two of them destroyed New York City, the greatest city in the world?
Why was Cuomo so nasty and vindictive and cruel?
And now we know why Cuomo acted the way he did.
HE WAS HORNY.
The poor baby.
This is not a defense of the thug we call Governor, but he hasn’t done a thing differently than what people used to do in the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s and early 2000s so that men and women got to meet and enjoy each other.
It was called flirting then.
It’s now called sexual harassment.
And it’s just not done anymore. It’s wrong.
Today, people meet online, with over 30 million online dating site users and over 26 million app users in the US alone.
There’s eharmony, Match.com, Tinder, Meetup.
But in our grouchy governor’s case, how is he to meet anyone?
Can you imagine what he would write in his profile:
“Most important politician in the world’s greatest state would like to meet someone with large bazoooms.”
No, that won’t work.
And so perhaps those of you who are screaming to have Cuomo thrown out of office will be doing him a favor.
Get him out fast. In the last picture I saw of him in the New York Post, he seems to be breaking out in zits.
As I said, poor baby.
MY APOLOGY TO WOKE
For the past few years I’ve been nasty to the Woke people, laughing at their trying to change the world
one word at a time.
But now I realize how wrong I’ve been all this time.
Thanks to Woke, my great-granddaughters will be always filled with confidence.
My future gay great-grandchildren will be strong and fearless.
My future trans great-grandchildren will take a back seat to no one.
Too bad Woke wasn’t around 50 years ago.
Too bad my wife, my children and my grandchildren had to live in a world that wasn’t Woke.
Now let me tell you what life was like before Woke decided to run our lives.
Let me tell you the story of my wife, the beautiful Judy Licht.
When I met my wife, the beautiful Judy Licht, she had no confidence. For the first 10 years she would say “Yes, sir” or “No, sir” to me.
Of course, whatever I wanted was the rule.
At one point her confidence was so low she started to refer to me as “master,” as in Yes, master,” “No, master.”
I made it clear that she should refer to me as “Master” when we were alone, but in company we should at least give the pretense of being equal.
I realized that she, like so many women I knew over those years, was suffering from a complete lack of confidence.
Then last week I realized why every woman I have ever known groveled before me and took every word I said as the law and feared ever contradicting me.
It took the brave progressive folks at Hasbro to solve the problem of why every woman has felt inferior to men all these years.
It was, of course, Mr. Potato Head.
MR. POTATO HEAD WAS SUPREME.
THERE WAS NO MISS OR MRS. POTATO HEAD.
As a young boy I felt superior to any female because there was a Mr. Potato Head but there was never a female Potato Head.
How could a woman grow up with any confidence, living in a world without a female Potato Head?
Women looked at Mr. Potato Head and realized men are dominant and they must be treated with respect.
But last week, this greatest sin was rectified. Women, gays and trans are dancing in the streets.
MR. POTATO HEAD IS DEAD.
Hasbro, the owners of Mr. Potato Head, announced that gender-neutral is the way to go.
Their symbol will be known as plain old Potato Head. No Mr., no Mrs.
And it’s not going to stop there. I just heard that Woke is coming after Dr. Seuss.
Doctor Seuss. Wonderful, sweet, magical Dr. Seuss, whom we all grew up with.
Can you see how Woke will handle the takedown of Dr. Seuss:
Seuss has hit the bottom and now we’ve got him.
He’s hit the bottom and now we’ve got him.
Bottom got him. Got him bottom.
Mr. Potato Head, Dr. Seuss…can Barbie and Ken be the next to feel the wrath of Woke? That telltale lump in the front of Ken’s pants has got to go.
NOTE: In retrospect, I think I jumped to too many conclusions and that stuff about my wife was all silly and of course not true.
Don’t tell her I wrote this fantasy.
Christ, if she sees this I’m a dead man.
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