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The International Writers Magazine: From our New York Correspondent

Gas Attack
• Dean Borok
There was a very sympathetic, not to say puff piece, article in last week’s New Yorker about Mayor Bloomberg, in which he is reported to lament, “What’s New York going to do without me?

Well, Boo-Hoo-Hoo! Nixon is recorded on his secret Watergate tapes to have complained, “Without me, who is going to be left to negotiate with Brezhnev?” As though nobody else was clever enough to perform the miracles of diplomacy that he and his Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Kissinger, had achieved. Never mind that the world is still suffering the results of that duo’s delusionary psychosis!

Bloomberg is an honorable man, as are they all honorable men. I don’t fear for the consequences of his administration as I did Nixon’s. In fact, he has got the Midas Touch. Christine Quinn, for all her blustering, willful behavior, became Bloomberg’s household pet. Al Sharpton, far from his nasty origins in the Tawana Brawley spectacle of 1989, where his vicious, unfounded rape allegations against Dutchess County DA Steven Pagannis led to him having to pay a civil penalty for slander, went from being a community agitator in Bed-Stuy to a Park Avenue condo and his wife shopping at Armani. I wouldn’t be caught dead implying that Bloomberg’s money had anything to do with the taming of these shrews, except to estimate that their attitude adjustment happened right around the time of Bloomberg assuming the mayoralty.

Hey, it’s all sour grapes. Nobody has ever considering co-opting me because my opinion don’t count for shit! If Bloomberg paid me off, these words would disappear off the page double-quick, to be replaced by greetings from Bora Bora.

The more I think, the unhappier I become. I needs a drink. Whomever the Democrats put up for mayor is going to receive my vote, except for Quinn, who, in addition to possessing every other undesirable quality that can be mentioned, is deep, deep in the pocket of New York’s mega-rich real estate interests, because a Republican mayor would combine with the idiot Republican state legislature in Albany to end rent stabilization in the City, which would compel me to move to a perfectly awful ex-urban community so far out of town that you would need the Hubble Space Telescope to locate it, where the natives, wielding torches and pitchforks, would make short work of me indeed! Let me put it to the reader this way – I don’t even own a driver’s license, because driving interferes with my drinking.

It appears that Quinn, who was the longtime frontrunner, will not receive the nomination, which appears to be swinging in the direction of Bill De Blasio, who never quits vaunting the fact that his mother was a history teacher in Brooklyn. If that’s the case, it’s the old story of the cobbler’s child who had no shoes. De Blasio’s an idiot running against imbeciles. Ain’t None Of Them Any Good! When the candidates addressed a meeting of ethnic Russian voters in Brighton Beach, somebody had to teach them to say “Da”. Or maybe it was “Duh!”. De Blasio allowed as how he had only recently learned about Russian participation in World War II. Anthony Weiner told the audience that he deserved their vote because he had a distant Russian great grandmother (what’s Russian for wiener, kielbasa? Ha-ha, a little sausage humor for the Peanut Gallery!). The rest of the candidates dummied up because it’s better to be considered a fool than to open your mouth and erase all doubt.

If even one of them had flattered the Russian audience with an allusion to Peter the Great’s construction of St. Petersburg, the Bolshoi Ballet, the Russian space program, Tchaikovsky or Tolstoy, he could have won them over. One reference to Pushkin would have been rewarded by 20,000 primary votes. The Russians, who have intellectual pretensions even if they are working as tailors, left the meeting shaking their heads. They shouldn’t have a disdainful attitude: why else do they think they are getting so rich so fast?

Check out my walking tour of Brooklyn’s Brighton Beach Russian Quarter at

Weiner Rules
Dean Borok

I’m still inspired by the classic arts of seduction, if I only could meet some women who could appreciate that sort of attention

Latin Dancing Across 110th Street
Dean Borok

I have asserted all along that New Yorkers should be compelled to attend charm school, so I decided to take my own advice. The place I chose, the Lorenz Latin Dance Studio, is located in Spanish Harlem

Still Dancin'
Dean Borok

Anybody who wants to get a thumbnail of the changing demographic of American society would do well to take a ride uptown to the Lorenz Latin Dance Studio on 110th Street

El Watusi
Dean Borok

I finally figured out a system for keeping my feet moving at Lorenz Latin Dance Studio’s Friday night dance party. I stuff live M-80 firecrackers into my shoes and light the fuse.

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