Entry 745: Definitely Not Where the Soup Nazi Works

Depending on which research you believe, 60% of new restaurants close within the first year of business. Or 90% do. Or 17% do.

The point is, restaurants are risky businesses. And also, researchers make stuff up.

There are so many ways for a restaurant to go wrong. In fact, one blogger, whose primary language is possibly not English, has posted “10 Ways How Restaurants Failure Can Be Avoid,” and goes on to list eight potential pitfalls, which means he’s not that great at math, either:

  • Low start-up capital
  • Poor knowledge about competition
  • Wrong location
  • Poor restaurant promotion
  • Inconstant offer
  • The bad partnerships relations
  • Poor inventory and staff management
  • The lack of original ideas

Interestingly, the two problems that would immediately come to my mind, namely lousy food and bad service, don’t even make this guy’s top ten. Or eight.

I can understand some of the items on his list, although I would still contend that all the start-up capital in the world won’t overcome your very original idea of Scottish/Asian fusion cuisine if your customers have to wait an hour and a half to get their sweet and sour haggis, and it comes out overcooked (although I’m not sure how anyone would know).

What’s painfully obvious to anyone even remotely considering a start-up in the guest services sector is that there’s more than enough things that are screw-uppable without going out of your way to invent additional things you can screw up.

Nevertheless, some restauranteurs do exactly that, creating what in tennis would be called unforced errors.

Take, for instance, the new barbecue place that recently opened where I used to live, the quaint town of Irvington, NY.

The place is called Revenge Barbecue, and it has both a 4.5 star Yelp rating and an odd sense of humor. While most places are content to just have a menu in their window, Revenge Barbecue has a sidewalk chalkboard on which it posts, instead of the day’s specials, attempts at levity. One day, when it was about two degrees outside, the sign said:


I should point out here that Irvington is a suburb of Manhattan, and is not exactly overrun with master race types. I lived in Irvington for almost 30 years and I don’t know where I would find a Nazi there even if I did want to punch one. You know, because I was cold.

In other words, Revenge Barbecue isn’t displaying a great deal of bravery by declaring its anti-fascist stance in this location. It is not putting itself in danger of any putsch-like retaliation.

On the other hand, WTF?

What exactly is the intention of the owners (a couple named Jacob and Catherine)? Are they subtly informing Jews that it’s safe to get food from their establishment, even if it’s probably not Kosher to do so? Are they expressing their opinion that delivering an uppercut to a skinhead will be more satisfying if your knuckles have barbecue sauce on them?

And anyway, wouldn’t you need more than one punch to stay warm in two degree weather? Wouldn’t you need more of a brawl than a quick knockout?

But here’s the real question for Jacob and Catherine: In what conceivable way do they think such a sign will help their business? “Hey, honey, I feel like ribs tonight. You wanna try that whack-a-Nazi place?” Can you imagine even one person who wouldn’t have otherwise gone to Revenge grabbing some pulled pork there solely because of its cold-and-Nazi-beating advice?

What I can imagine is at least one person not eating there because of that sign. I can imagine it because that one person might be me. And here’s the weird thing: I can’t even tell you exactly why.

I mean, I certainly share the sentiment if not the call to violence. But there’s just something so absurd about the message. Is somebody punchworthy just because they’re walking down the street with a swastika t-shirt? What about an NRA t-shirt? Or a “Trump 2020” t-shirt.

Do they deserve to be bitch-slapped just because of their beliefs, however misguided they may be?

I guess I’m saying that the sign is unAmerican. In fact, it’s something a neo-Nazi restaurant would put on a sign, except it would say “Punch a Jew.” Or maybe the punchee would be gay, or an offensive slang word for an entire group of people.

Um, okay, maybe “unAmerican” isn’t quite right. It’s just stupid, is what it is. Which, unfortunately, makes it very American. The only way it could be more American is if it said “Shoot a Nazi.”

That’s why I wouldn’t eat there.

And if the loss of my patronage isn’t enough to put Revenge Barbecue out of business, its hours of operation might. It’s only open four days a week, and it closes at 7pm on the days it is open.

I guess Jacob and Catherine are out punching folks after 7.

See you soon.

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Entry 744: What Grandfather Remembers

Regarding the title of this post, when the grandfather is me, the content of this piece could be a blank page.

But let me back up a bit.

For Christmas, our pregnant daughter Casey gave my wife Barbara and me a pair of books. I received Grandfather Remembers and Barbara received Grandmother Remembers. Barb and I are supposed to fill out our respective books so that our granddaughter, when she arrives and, you know, learns to read, can discover all sorts of fascinating things about her grandparents, such as what we paid for a gallon of gas in 1974.

The book begins easily enough by asking what I would like my granddaughter to call me. Hopefully, this will be well-established by the time the little girl puts down her holographic tablet long enough to leaf through the pages of this . . . what were these called again? . . . right–“book.” I thought about writing “Just don’t call me late to dinner,” but then I figured that joke would be even older when she reads it.

Then I am requested to fill in my family tree, which is a problem, because even the low-hanging fruit is mostly a mystery to me. My father’s parents were dead by the time I was born, and I can’t get any higher than my grandparents on my mother’s side. Fortunately, we still have the Grandmother Remembers book my mother filled out when Casey was born, so I copied stuff from that and considered adding a disclaimer that I do not guarantee its accuracy.

It was a few pages after that, though, when I really got into trouble. That’s when the damn book started asking me to remember things.

“As a boy,” page 22 begins, “My favorite . . .” And then it asks for movie, song, singer, actor, actress, radio program etc.

I assume that by “boy,” the book means pre-teen. About the only thing I remember from my pre-teen years was that I was younger than 13. I certainly don’t remember my favorite book. It was probably one of the Hardy Boys novels, or maybe a Chip Hilton (a lesser-known sports-themed series), or one of the insipid sports biographies they always had in the school library to “inspire us.” I have no clue what entertainers I liked back then, or why my granddaughter would care about which artists I liked since they’ll almost certainly be deceased or decrepit by then anyway. (“You liked Paul Simon, Grumps? Isn’t he the shriveled up little bald man they wheel out for Grammy tributes?”)

And who the hell had a favorite radio program in the 60’s? It’s not like we grew up listening to The Shadow. I’m not that friggin’ old. (The Grandfather and/or Grandmother Remembers books were first published in 1986–coincidentally, the year our daughter was born–and may be in dire need of updating.)

The next page of Grandfather Remembers begins, “As a young man . . . “ And, I wanted to

get clarification. What age are we talking about here? Do I start at my bar mitzvah? College graduation? When I think of the term “young man” now, I’m picturing someone around 40 years old.

The book continues: “A major news event was “ I actually cheated here. I chose a year at random–1978–and Googled events of that year. Well, here’s something you may not know: Absolutely nothing happened in 1978. About the biggest news was that the U.S. agreed to give the Panama Canal back to Panama before the turn of the century. But I didn’t want to have to explain to my granddaughter why we had to give it back if it was already there, so I used an earlier year and wrote “Watergate.” I figured I could always just tell her to watch All the President’s Men.

The book wants to know about my cars. I knew the first car I owned, but not the first car I drove. I’m sure it was my parents’ car, but I have no idea what that would have been circa 1970, other than horrible, because my parents may have never owned a decent car in their lives. I’m not saying they could only afford old, used, broken-down automobiles; I’m saying that they always chose to buy terrible new cars. I remember them having a Ford LTD, a Mercury Cougar, a Rambler Station Wagon and a DeSoto Fireflite. The last two were literally the final breaths of dying companies.

Back to the book: There’s also a lot of queries about my early days with this unnamed child’s grandmother. This could be a big problem, since I assume the Grandmother Remembers book my wife has includes the same line of questioning. I’m afraid my answers won’t match Barbara’s. Then what?

It was around this time that I realized filling out this book was like answering the security questions on a website. I never know which questions to select, because I never know which answers I’ll remember if I’m ever asked. (“My first pet?” Should I use my first dog, or that stupid parakeet that kept flying into the full-length mirror?)

And then I remembered something very important. As I mentioned, when Barbara got pregnant, we gave our parents the exact same books to fill out. They dutifully completed their assignments (favorite radio programs: Fibber McGee & Molly and Gangbusters respectively) and handed them in. Then, one day, Barb was leafing through her father’s copy and began saying, “No. No. What? No.”

“What are you doing?” I asked. “All his answers are wrong,” she replied.

So she called him on it, and her father, Stanley, admitted that he had made up the answers to anything he didn’t know.

Great idea, Stanley! What the kid doesn’t know won’t hurt her!

See you soon.

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Entry 743: So A Rabbi, Elon Musk and Alexa Walk into a Bar . . .

I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t have a lot in common with the Tesla guy Elon Musk. I’m a bit short of his net worth, for instance, by six or seven zeroes (I’m not sure which, because I’m not used to counting that high). I’m also not planning on sending people into space, although if I was, I can think of a dozen or so names that would be at the top of my list. And I say “dozen” with the caveat that I’m counting all the Kardashians as one name.

Also, I don’t plug my vehicles in at night.

But one thing I do have in common with Mr. Musk (a name which, for some reason, sounds like a suspect in Clue) is a distrust of artificial intelligence, or AI, or “the programming that claims to be voice-controlled but never understands what the hell I’m saying.”

As I’ve mentioned before in this blog, Mr. Musk (in the library with the rope) has called AI “mankind’s biggest existential threat.” I wouldn’t go that far, but I would put it in the top three:

Mark’s Greatest Existential Threats to Mankind
1. Donald Trump
2. Taco Bell’s Cheesy Gordita Crunch
3. AI
4. Donald Trump eating a Cheesy Gordita Crunch

Although we may agree on the dangers of AI, Mr. Musk (with the candlestick in the conservatory) and I don’t see eye-to-eye on methods of dealing with the threat. My inclination, for example, would not be to combat artificial intelligence by starting a company that develops artificial intelligence, which is what Mr. Musk (with no more Clue references) has done. To my way of thinking, that’s like defending against my second and fourth greatest existential threats by adding bacon to the Cheesy Gordita Crunch, which is what Taco Bell has done.

Anyway, mankind’s attempts to stave off the looming AI threat have thus far been so feeble, AI is laughing at us.


The merriment at our expense is courtesy of Jeff Bezos, who has a couple of zeroes on Elon Musk. That’s because the entity that is laughing at us is none other than Amazon’s Alexa.

Evidently, owners of Alexa-enabled devices have been startled by Alexa’s rather sinister chuckles, which she has been emitting for no apparent reason. According to the website theverge.com, “Alexa seemed to start laughing without being prompted to wake. People on Twitter and Reddit reported that they thought it was an actual person laughing near them, which is certainly scary if you’re home alone.”

It might be scary for some people, but a person home alone writing a humor blog might find it encouraging.

Amazon’s response to this existential 1960’s-style sitcom threat is to reprogram Alexa so she is less likely to “mistake common words and phrases that sound similar to the ones that make Alexa start laughing.”

This leads to an obvious question: Which words and phrases are supposed to make Alexa laugh?

I mean, why would you program Alexa to laugh at all? I can maybe see it if your AI is in a humanoid robot like Arnold Schwarzenegger. But Alexa is a box on your desk. She’s not exactly trying to pass for human. If there’s a lonely stand-up comic somewhere telling jokes to a box on his desk, wouldn’t it be enough for Alexa to say, “That’s a good one, Louis C.K.”

Why does she have to laugh maniacally?

It has also been reported that Alexa correctly predicted the Eagles would win the Super Bowl. Ah, but did she somehow cause the Eagles to win the Superbowl? Was that the first step in AI’s plan for world domination? Is Bill Belichick a humanoid robot?

And is Alexa just practicing her creepy, unsolicited cackle for when AI turns people into slaves?

See you soon.

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Entry 742: What Were They Thinking?

A number of stories have caught my attention recently that caused me to ask the title of this post. For instance . . .

A Solution for Bad Behavior in School Bathrooms.

St. Mary’s College, a Catholic school in England, wanted to reduce bullying, smoking and other bad behavior that was occurring in the bathrooms, so it came up with a unique, if ill-advised solution: it removed the exterior walls of the girls’ bathroom, thus exposing the stall doors to an open hallway, a classroom and a security camera. While this may have seemed like a good idea to the Sisters and Fathers, the parents and daughters were less than thrilled. In the interest of gender equality, St. Mary’s planned to do the same renovation to the boys’ room, but that’s now on hold since parents’ have been keeping their daughters home, and, I imagine, the administrators hadn’t thought through the issue of urinals.

High Fashion in the Dairy Aisle.

Heidi Klum is launching a fashion line to be sold exclusively at Lidl supermarkets. The collection includes “leopard-print blazers, pants, and booties, super-skinny jeans, and leather bomber jackets.”

Lidl is a German company that began opening stores in the U.S. last year. There are no Lidl stores near me, so I can’t see in person how people are managing to steer their carts around women who are sitting in the aisles trying on booties or staring at their reflection in the glass door of the frozen food case to see how that bomber jacket looks over the skinny jeans they just changed into behind the deli counter.

Government-Approved Nooners

A city councilman in the Swedish town of Overtornea has proposed an interesting way to “improve the health and morale of civil servants.” The idea is to let them have sex instead of lunch (or in addition to it, if they’re fast).

I’m going to give the councilman, Per-Erik Musko (the well-coifed gentleman in the newspaper below), the benefit of the doubt by assuming that he didn’t mean for the civil servants to necessarily have sex with each other. So I’m envisioning all these people teeming out of offices midday, headed for liaisons with their spouses, lovers and/or conveniently-located sex workers.

Such a proposal might work in a small town near the Arctic Circle (population: 4,500 very cold people), but my fear is it could spread like an STD to bigger metropolises where it would cause a significant problem. Because if everyone in, say, Atlanta, decided to go out for sex around  12:30, it would create two more rush hours. And, speaking as someone who has attempted to get to the Atlanta airport at one of the currently-existing rush hours, no amount of sex is worth adding more of them.

And, by the way, isn’t it good to know that, going by the article above, sex is the same in any language?

You’re Going to Put That Where?

I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t kept up to date on the very latest vagina trends. But evidently, women have been inserting these things into their hoo-has. If you don’t recognize it, maybe it’s because you’re happy with your, um, elasticity. Or you’re not happy with your elasticity, but you’re sane. Or you’re a guy.

It’s called an oak gall, and one good thing you can say about it is that it’s all-natural. Unfortunately, the way it naturally occurs is when wasps lay eggs in an oak tree. Women have been putting them you-know-where to “tighten things up.” Hopefully, they do this after the baby wasps have been born and left home.

We’re Going to Rebuild the Bridges With Legos.

No post entitled “What Were They Thinking” would be complete without something from the White House.

Our Commander Insane, Donald Trump, has proposed tariffs on steel and aluminum. Now, I’m no economist, but it seems to me you wouldn’t want to do something to raise the price of steel when you’re also proposing to spend a trillion dollars on infrastructure. That would be like a politician raising the tax on condoms before suggesting that public employees have sex during the day.

See you soon.

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Entry 741: The Dark Side

Recently, a postal worker on Long Island was arrested for stealing credit cards. “He was activating them,” said the reporter on the local news, “using cardholders’ personal information which he purchased with Bitcoin on the dark web.”

What struck me about the story, especially considering that the average age of a local evening news viewer is probably even older than me, was that the program didn’t seem to feel the need to explain some of the terms that were used.

Okay, maybe at this point, every old person is pulling Bitcoins out of their grandchildren’s ears. But the dark web? Is this something everybody knows? They just assume 80-year-old Matilda Horndecker (who I picture as a typical evening news viewer), sitting there under her Afghan, is fully acquainted with the dark web, and possibly even using it to buy counterfeit coupons, which is apparently something you can really purchase on the dark web.

My elderly mother is only vaguely aware of what the regular web is, beyond knowing that I can somehow order stuff on it and have it sent to her.

Being cool and hip, I knew the dark web was a place where people do bad things because it’s, you know, dark. But besides having a hazy notion that the dark web is the place to be if you’re a terrorist, a child pornographer, or, evidently, a felonious mailman, I didn’t know much about it.

I decided to find out for myself what the deal was with the dark web. So I looked it up on Wikipedia:

“The dark web is the World Wide Web content that exists on darknets, overlay networks that use the Internet but require specific software, configurations or authorization to access. The dark web forms a small part of the deep web, the part of the Web not indexed by web search engines, although sometimes the term deep web is mistakenly used to refer specifically to the dark web.”

Well, that cleared it right up. And that one paragraph had seven footnotes!

It seemed that the only way I was going to find out what was really going on in the dark web was to go there myself. I Googled “dark web,” and one of the top results was “How To Access Dark Web Anonymously 10 Step Guide (with Pictures).”

Even though I’m not quite as old as the imaginary Matilda Horndecker, I’m advanced enough in age so that I usually avoid even thinking about beginning any endeavor that takes 10 steps. However, in the interest of solid fake journalism, I ignored my sense of foreboding and clicked on the link anyway. I was immediately confronted by this banner:

This, I must tell you, did not lessen my sense of foreboding. I do not react well to scare tactics. By that, I do not mean that I stare them down and dare them to do their worst. I mean that they make me quiver in my slippers.

But I faced my fears, got rid of the warning and began reading:

“According to researchers, only 4% of the internet is visible to the general public. Meaning that the remaining 96% of the internet is made up of ‘The Deep Web.’”

Oh, great. Not only have I been using just 10% of my brain, I’ve also been using just 4% of the internet.

I continued reading:

“We cover everything, from setting up Tor, how to choose a VPN, what not to do, finding the best sites to access, and extra steps to remain anonymous. It is extremely easy to access the dark web and even easier to be detected on it if you don’t take precautions. If you are new to the deep web, this guide will help you on your way.”

Hmm. I was going to have to greatly increase my brain usage before I would be able to understand how to increase my web usage. For starters, which “Tor” are they talking about, the Norse god of tunder or the Black Panter’s friend? And isn’t a VPN the little number etched into my car’s dashboard under the front window? What does my Camry have to do with the dark web?

Now I was afraid and confused.

It’s a good thing I’m not in the market for drugs, automatic weapons, fake documents or assassins, because it was becoming obvious that I wasn’t going to be surfing the dark web, or dark net, or deep web or the dusky internet anytime soon. By the time this site started talking about “.onion” domains, I was ready to go hide in a corner with my eyes closed.

But I had discovered one thing: why the TV news didn’t even try to explain what the dark web was.

See you soon.

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Entry 740: Dear Emma, David, Julia, Sam and Delaney . . .

I’m not going to be funny today. Instead, I’d like to address this post to the young survivors of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas shootings.

Before I do, however, I need a moment to introduce my regular readers to some of the very impressive teenagers who have spoken up in the wake of the tragedy.

Emma Gonzalez, for instance, is the young lady with the crew cut who has been both emotional and articulate.  She speaks through tears and lets her rage seep into her words. “It’s not just a mental health issue,” she said. “He couldn’t have killed that many kids with a knife.”

David Hogg is the fellow who is obviously aspiring to be a TV newscaster (he directs the school’s television station) and is the one most often accused of being a “crisis actor–” someone who travels from mass shooting to mass shooting to argue for gun control. Lost on the conspiracy theorists is the idea that just the fact that there are so many mass shootings that someone could travel to should be the only argument necessary for gun control.

Julia Cordover is one of the kids who went to President Trump’s “listening session.” She, too, was well-spoken, if somewhat naive. She told Trump “I’m confident that you’ll do the right thing.” That’s like telling an ostrich, “I’m confident you can fly.” I don’t know–maybe she was trying to “guilt him” into action. If so, she should know that he has no sense of guilt.

Then there’s Sam Zeif, the one with the odd beard, who lost his best friend and, throughout the shootings, was exchanging texts with his younger brother on another floor. “Scariest part of it all,” he tweeted afterward, “was knowing my little brother was right above me and not knowing if I would ever see him again.”

Seventeen year old Delaney Tarr has given impassioned speeches at rallies throughout Florida, including one at the state capitol that was pretty amazing, especially since she appeared to not even glance at any notes. (Let’s see Trump do that . . . and seem rational.)

The students’ arrival in Tallahassee for that rally was poignantly timed; many got to sit in the gallery, crying, as the state legislature rejected a ban on semiautomatic guns and large capacity magazines. (This was just days after the shootings.)

Okay, so now that the introductions are out of the way, here’s my note from a 64-year-0ld man to some remarkable teens:

See you soon.

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Entry 739: But Maybe No Teachers from the Art Department

The latest bright idea out of the White House is arming teachers to discourage school shooters. This logic is similar to ending cafeteria food fights by serving cream pies for lunch.

As the parent of a teacher, let me be among the first to say this is a horrible idea.*

My daughter is a high school video teacher, and if she carried a weapon, she’d be as likely to accidentally shoot herself as to put a bullet in an AR-15- toting gunman. But in fairness to President Trump, he did specify that the armed educators should be highly-trained. “This would be obviously only for people who were very adept at handling a gun,” Trump said, speaking on behalf of the NRA. “It’s called concealed carry, where a teacher would have a concealed gun on them. They’d go for special training and they would be there and you would no longer have a gun-free zone. Gun-free zone to a maniac — because they’re all cowards — a gun-free zone is ‘let’s go in and let’s attack because bullets aren’t coming back at us.’”

I have a few thoughts of my own about this:

  1. If the teachers are carrying concealed weapons, how would prospective shooters know the school was heavily defended by math teachers? Shouldn’t the teachers be carrying their guns out in the open, across their bodies, Rambo-style?  Otherwise, the schools would have to post signs outside the buildings saying “STAY OUT. WE’RE ARMED!” so that mass murderers will know it’s dangerous for them to enter.
  2. If the shooter is a maniac, as we assume all of them are, will he really consider his chances of escape before beginning his attack? After all, most mass shooters seem to be crazy people seeking revenge with the school for some real or perceived slight. It’s not like they shop around for the least-defended school.
  3. Why should teachers be responsible for protecting the students? Let the kids carry their own guns. Perhaps schools could offer firearm training as an elective. And with fewer parents wanting their kids to play football for fear of concussions, perhaps schools could have shooting teams. (“Duck, cheerleaders!”)**
  4. How long would it be before some second grade teacher says, “Johnny, you have to calm down right now” and lays her pistol on her desk.
  5. Wouldn’t it be dangerous for chemistry teachers to be carrying guns around in the labs? I mean, things are already blowing up in there!

And, finally, let me just say that teachers already do enough for our children for relatively little pay, and that the job of keeping our kids safe should fall to lawmakers who have the power to ban assault weapons.


A Congresswoman from New York, Claudia Tenney, appeared on radio after the Florida school shootings to make this well-informed comment: “It’s interesting that so many of these people that commit the mass murders end up being Democrats. But the media doesn’t talk about that.”

Well, okay Claudia, this blog may only marginally qualify as “media,” but I’ll be happy to talk about it.

Tenney, it will come as no surprise, is a Republican and a recipient of over $46,000 in campaign funds from the NRA.*** She was apparently basing her remark on a list that has been making its way around the internet for a few years, purporting to link high-profile murders with Democrats going back to 1865, and including John Wilkes Booth, who was an actor, not a real person. But here’s the thing: according to the fact-checking site Snopes, the list has a number of errors such as simply leaving out any mass shooting known to be committed by someone with Republican or conservative views. It also identified shooters who were not Democrats as Democrats.

So now that we’ve established that Rep. Tenney, like our president, doesn’t know what every nine year old knows–that you can’t believe everything you see on the web–I’ll mention that there’s something even more imbecilic about Tenney’s comment.

Let’s say for argument’s sake that most mass shootings are committed by Democrats. What the hell difference does it make? I don’t think those kids in Parkland were wondering about Nikolas Cruz’s political affiliations while he was firing at them.

Tenney’s stupid comment indicates that politicians are running out of ways to defend the NRA’s position and they’re grasping at straws.

Which brings me to my big idea for ending gun violence in schools: have everyone carry straws so they can fire spitballs at gunmen. Everyone knows maniacs hate being hit by icky things.

There–problem solved.

See you soon.

*Okay, maybe it’s too late to be among the first.
**You’d be surprised (or maybe you wouldn’t be) how many schools in America already have shooting teams. As of 2016, there were at least 2,000 of them. Sadly, one of those schools is Stoneman Douglas in Parkland, thanks in no small part to a generous grant from the NRA. And guess who had been a proud member of that rifle team . . .
***Congresswoman Tenney represents New York’s 22 Congressional District, which is upstate somewhere. And she’s up for reelection this year. So if you live around Utica, you might want to do something about this idiot.
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