EDITORIAL : Democratic state Assemblywoman Valerie Vainieri Huttle is big enough to take care of herself. But I’ve got a message for the Notorious G.O.V.: When you mess with a fellow North Bergenite, you mess with us all. Insult MY state representative? Call MY high school pal a “jerk”? How ‘bout you put down that donut and c’mere? I’ll take you for a ride myself.
N.J. State Assemblywoman Valerie Vainieri Huttle, the Notorious G.O.V.
Sorry, man, but you don’t talk about people that way, no matter their gender, not when you’re the chief executive of one this great Republic’s 50 states. When they call you on something, you don’t respond by calling them names. This isn’t fifth grade — although I could just imagine what being 10 years old was like for you: an endless series of wedgies.
Gov. Christie (I have to include his actual name to generate web traffic) has so little regard for the real people in this state that he indignantly took out his checkbook to pay for the helicopter ride to his son’s baseball game on Tuesday and whined about it the entire time.
He didn’t, by the way, pay the gas or tolls for the car that had to be driven up to Montvale to shuttle him and his wife all of 100 yards from where the New Jersey State Police chopper landed to the diamond where their son was catching. God forbid he tried to hoof it.
After making a public display of his repayment, the Notorious G.O.V. took a swipe at Val, calling her a “jerk” and anyone else who dared question him “hacks.”Jerry DeMarco Publisher/Editor
He also ridiculed the media covering “Choppergate” in that condescending tone of his that makes you just want to smack him in the face.
I’m sorry, but all I can think of is the Joe Pesci character in “Raging Bull,” asking “Jake LaMotta” DeNiro a question we used a lot back in North Bergen: “Where do you get your balls?”
Here’s a guy who’s been pounding home the concept of sacrifice, that we have to tighten our belts (so to speak) and cut funding to education, take health insurance away from poor families and treat public servants like second-class citizens — and then behaves like a trust fund baby with bodyguards.
Big Boy, as Dubya likes to call him, literally hopped the last flight out of Newark when that holiday-week blizzard hit (you can look it up), knowing that his lieutenant governor was already out of pocket, then essentially said that anyone who blamed him for spending vacation time with his family at a Florida resort while people were stuck in snowdrifts on the Turnpike was a moron.
What does it say about this hump that he literally has to rub his arrogance in people’s faces — landing in the brand-new $12.5 million NJSP chopper, intended for homeland security and moving critically injured patients, on a field where a local blog photog just happened to be in perfect position to snap some shots? Or that he was outta there barely halfway through the game, so that he could meet with a group of donors from Iowa who want him to run for national office?
That’s not what any of us who grew up in North Bergen call going to your son’s game, Homer. That’s what’s known as a photo op. You’ve stayed longer at Mets games in Flushing. I’ve seen you.
(Imagine this: Your dad — already not the most popular dude in this part o’ the state — pulls a deus ex machina at your game, then splits after you’ve been up a couple of times.)
Here’s the unhappy recap: We have (a) personal business, followed by (b) political business, all on the state’s dime. And the only reason he agreed to pick up the tab, he declares, is so people would stop bothering him about it.
This guy will never, ever, take responsibility for anything, will he? He’s like the little porker who stands there with chocolate all over his face and says, “What candy?”
And when playing Whiney the Pooh doesn’t work, his comeback is always the same: “You don’t like it? Tough.”
It’s not my fault, he says: EVERYTHING’S official business when you’re the governor and security detail troopers stick by your side — even when you walk down the drive to get the morning paper.
Wait a second: If he personally walks down the drive, bends over, picks up the paper and walks back to the house every morning, I’ll write my own check for this year’s subscription of whatever pulp he’s reading (Clever move there, Chris: Courting the papers).
And while I’m at it: After hearing him talk about this supposed morning ritual, who DIDN’T think of Tony Soprano in his bathrobe, its tie-rope dragging along the ground, as he fetched The Ledger?
Political opponents and pundits said Big Boy’s personal joyride Tuesday contradicted his message of fiscal austerity. Christie essentially told them to piss off.
Then Assemblywoman Annette Quijano earlier today wondered aloud if a hearing was necessary to determine whether anyone in need was denied critical care while Air Farce One was being pressed into taxi service. Sure enough, Christie suddenly agreed to ante up — but not before pointing out that he actually did a FAVOR for the NJSP pilots who must log a certain number of air hours each week. And not before calling VVH a “jerk” and others “hacks.”
Not for nothin’, as we used to say in NB, but we expect our leaders to be better than all that — otherwise, a wrestler, say, or an immigrant on steroids could run for office. You’re supposed to be a statesman, not Cartman. Instead, you talk smack about a woman with impeccable business and public service credentials, one who is respected on both sides of the aisle for her unswerving dedication to human rights — and who comes from a family known for charity and loyalty to others.
I swear: If her old man, Tony, were here in his prime, he’d have ripped you a new one already.
So instead of driving a stake through “Choppergate” and moving on, you’ve guaranteed this one will stick in people’s throats a good long time.
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