Stop Me Before I Vote Again

Well, erm, everything, right? This anorectic crazyface, Cathie Black, clearly ought to be in a hospital, getting fed through a tube. (I mean the crazyface in the foreground; the one in the background has a different diagnosis, and I'd prescribe a very different treatment, starting perhaps at the other end of the alimentary canal.)

But in our world, the inmates are notoriously running the asylum; so Ms Crazyface, CEO, will soon be putting the already malnourished children of New York on their own extreme-starvation diet, education-wise.

Black's nomination as schools chancellor here in Gotham was understandably greeted with horror and dismay by everybody with any human feeling left in his or her heart. But it was deeply pathetic to see how the critique played out. It was sadly ineffectual and self-defeating, because it focused on La Black's lack of "credentials".

The credentials in question are of course notoriously worthless; "Ed" credits are easily obtained, if you're the sort of person who can sit in a classroom for a few hours every week and let waves of arrant nonsense break over your head without tearing your shirt off, setting your hair on fire, and running bare-tit and flaming down the street.

But managers can always hire subject-matter experts, and that was of course the Solomonic compromise that finally greased Crazyface's way into the Tweed courthouse. She has to have a credentialled person by her side as she grinds the poor kids' faces further into the dirt. The credentialled person will be glad to have the job. The credential fans will feel that they won a round. Baba Yaga will have her mingy yet nourishing diet of ultra-lean human flesh.

Everybody will sleep well at night -- except, of course, the kids and their parents.

But fuck them. If they were any good at all, they'd be at Horace Mann.