My colleague, Mr. Jack Mondieu, has announced his candidacy for mayor. In response, my employer, the New Toulouse Tattler, is not endorsing a mayoral candidate this year, in order to avoid a conflict of interest. Out of journalistic integrity, I too will avoid endorsing a candidate.
But it is that same integrity that compels me to write this editorial imploring you not to vote for Jack Mondieu.
Lest I be accused of airing a workplace grievance in the guise of politics, I believe Mr. Mondieu is a talented writer, and although I sometimes disagree with his methods, his familiarity with the seedier side of our fair city is frequently an advantage to his investigative skills. Professionally, I have no real quarrel with Jack.
Neither is this a personal matter. After the incident several years ago when the Tattler threw a small holiday dinner for its staff, and he got drunk and attempted to smack me on the backside and I gave him a black eye, we have had a perfectly cordial relationship. In fact, if refraining from chasing Mr. Mondieu off of my bayou property when I find him sleeping in the shed because he got evicted again is any indication, I might go so far as to say we are friends.
No, this is strictly in regard to his qualifications for office. Jack is a disorganized, alcoholic disaster of a human being, in addition to being an utter cad. Unfortunately, Louisiana, unlike some other parts of the nation, does not (yet!) see the wisdom of women’s suffrage, so that alone may not disqualify him, much to my chagrin.
Does anyone really think that Mr. Mondieu believes he will actually “destroy the sun”? Surely it is obvious that this amusing euphemism simply means that he will be far too hungover to keep office hours during the daylight.
Imagine, if you will, next hurricane season, with a city in a state of emergency and (God forbid) a Mayor Mondieu. Will he be organizing rescues? Coordinating shelters? Organizing rations of food and water? Or will he be where he always is—flat on his back and three sheets to the wind?
Ordinarily, I would assume that Jack’s candidacy was a lark conceived over a few too many at Lafitte’s, but I have not found Jack sleeping in my shed in several weeks. This is because he is staying at his new campaign headquarters. Knowing what I know about Mr. Mondieu’s finances, I can only come to the alarming conclusion that his candidacy has supporters.
I understand that Jack has a blunt, crass charm, and the idea of him as mayor is amusing. But the joke will no longer be funny if the punchline is his election.
For the love of the city, for the love of all that’s holy, vote for someone else.
Jane Moreaux keeps all four eyes on New Toulouse.