How do you like my fake name byline? I’m sure Kass won’t like it. But he’s a conservative. Look, ah, look at the thing for the joy: I like it. Yes we can!

It brings me back to long-ago in Chicago, where I’m building my presidential temple of love and fealty. Back in those days I walked on water as far as the media was concerned. They especially kissed up to me when they learned that years before, the Daley women found me as an infant floating in a reed basket on the south branch of the Chicago River. And since then I decreed that this was official history. So let it be written.

I’m looking at that selfie of us. We call it “The Big Guy and Me” selfie. Poor stupid Joe. All capped teeth and weak eyes. He always wanted to be called “The Big Guy” but he really wasn’t big was he? He was a littlFe venal crook sticking his head out of the pocket of the credit card kings from Delaware.  How many Big Guys use their own crackhead son as a bagman?  His wife Jill hates me. Oh, she really hates me now. She sees me across the room and gives me that hard smile with those hate-filled crinkly eyes.

Back then things weren’t really good between us, but at least I could live with it. He had his title. She had all of Joe’s mansions, all on a government salary (as if), and she knew that I knew he was grifting and using his kid as a cutout with the Chinese. How did I know he was grifting? That was China Joe for God’s sake. He’s been a grifter since his brother was the family bagman.

But I kept my mouth shut about Jill and let her live like a princess. Live and let live was my motto since the Chicago Way days. But really, she’s such a bitch.