First of all, I know that former Mayor Michael Bloomberg doesn't give a shit about what I think. I assume that if he knew me, he would think of me as fat, lazy and dumb, simply because I am not anorexic (anymore), I believe in having a life outside of the office, and making money is not my primary goal. Statistically speaking I am much thinner, smarter, and harder working than average, but I doubt those things would matter to Michael Bloomberg, since (unlike New York City society women) I am a freakishly large Size 8, my intelligence leads me to question money, and I work hard at being a mother full-time.

From my perspective, Mr. Bloomberg is a sad little man. He is not little because he is small, though I tower over him in height by at least three inches; he is small because he is pusillanimous, i.e. tiny-souled. Success in business trumps every other virtue in our generally pusillanimous hyper-capitalist society. This is the reason why Bloomberg, a geriatric has-been stands any chance of winning the 2020 presidential race against Donald John Trump, in the minds of my liberal democrat compatriots, including my father and my best friend. Bloomberg is perhaps no better than Trump in any way, except for his undeniable business success.

Success in business is in fact highly desirable, but only at the service of other human-centered goals. To me, this is blatantly obvious, and almost pathetic to need to remind people of. Just like your cocaine-fueled euphoria, business success without a well-groomed soul to back it up, soon withers and shrivels like your cocaine-addled penis performance; the starlet of your dollar-green pornographic fantasies, opens her mouth to sing her solo on center stage, and promptly chokes. Building a legacy for your family, your love, your community, and your freedom...these are the pursuits to which business success is subordinate.

Did Mayor Bloomberg even know his wife? Or know his children? Or did he forfeit these priceless years of his life in slavery to tacky ideals borne only of the most impotent imagination? Perhaps he would not have been such a success, you say, had he taken the time to raise his children or love his wife. Perhaps. Or perhaps success is in large measure being in the right place at the right time, and his success would have continued unabated, had he merely delegated some of his tasks for the three years that it takes to raise children during the height of their brain plasticity and, by extension, the most formative years of their development.

Like any other form of ignorance, and frankly, evil, Mr. Bloomberg doesn't know what he doesn't know. How should he know that he cast his priceless pearls before swine? And how do I know that this is what he did? After all, I don't know Mr. Bloomberg, do I? How do I know? I know in his extensively reported words and deeds. I know that the shit that came spewing out of his mouth like baby poop blowing out of the back of a loaded diaper, are not the words that emerge from a the soul of a healthy, happy human being. They are, in fact, the words that emerge from the mere shell of a person. A person who thinks its supremely funny to live in a world in which nothing is sacred, the little people are humorless dolts, and cruelty is the height of fashion.

Cruelty is and can be funny, amongst friends and equals. Cruelty is suicide-inducing when you're sleep deprived, have limited access to capital, are invisible to society, shoulder the massive responsibility of creating other human lives, and your boss thinks its funny to joke about aborting your baby or your very worthlessness as a mother, and the general worthlessness of childcare workers. Am I mad at the little monster? This stunted baby-man? No. Not really. I actually feel deep pity for him. The kind of pity I feel for the deaf when I hear a piece of music that brings me to tears. The kind of pity I feel for the dad who picks cocaine and rubbing his penis into cracks in space-time instead of witnessing the miracle of creation.

Mr. Mayor, I am truly sorry for you. Death-adjacent as you are, the realm in which all truths are revealed is much closer to you than it is to me, god help me. May the lord have mercy on your tiny impotent soul.