The Cocaine Chronicles: Stop Hurting Mommy, Daddy!
This is tearing me to shreds.
Chris Daly, you know I love you. I even taped up your re-election poster on my bedroom window, which is clearly viewable to all Bay Bridge traffic. (Free show of me in my briefs watching the 6 p.m.-7 p.m. block of King of Queens every afternoon, folks!) But this is a low blow. Understandably, you're concerned about Newsom cutting substance-abuse treatment funding -- in addition to fat lines, it seems -- but trying to dent his armor by attacking his (alleged) love of the Peruvian flake could backfire.
My first thought after hearing this was, "Fuck, I wonder where he gets his shit?” I totally, like, kid. But my second thought was that you, Daly, should be more concerned if you think he's tearing into a baggie of magic mushrooms, suspect he’s about to ask you to join him for a life-changing experience on the Playa, or about your own strikes against any San Franciscan for their pick of (alleged) poisons. For Christ’s sake, someone ran the country on stuff with more wattage. Let it lie. --Brock Keeling