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SF Magazine Editor Half-Ass Scott Is Running for Mayor

It's not just about asking you for money. But mostly it is.

 

Let’s put a rest to the speculation. It’s true. I’m running for mayor of San Francisco. Vote for Half-Ass Scott in 2015.

For too long, this city has suffered under mayors who weren’t up to the job. Ed Lee, Gavin Newsom, Willie Brown, Frank Jordan, Art Agnos, Dianne Feinstein: Each of them suffers from a single but fatal flaw—they aren’t Half-Ass. You deserve the best. Which is what I am. The best. Me. Me. Me.

Some critics are going to say, Half-Ass, isn’t this an obvious publicity stunt to whore yourself out for page views and sell tickets to the party you’re throwing yourself in celebration of the 28th anniversary of your bris? I have only one thing to say to them: The page views aren’t that good here.

Protest candidates have a long and storied history in San Francisco, and one of the jobs—callings, really—of a writer of conscience like myself is to thrust important ideas into the public conversation. We must force voters through the sheer cleverness of our wordplay to pay attention to that which they may not have considered. In 1965, William F. Buckley, Jr ran for mayor of New York City to call attention to his conservative ideas. In 1969, the novelist Norman Mailer did the same thing to agitate for his liberal ones. In 1987, radical journalist Warren Hinckle did it here in San Francisco

Well, look, I’m a much better writer than Buckley, Mailer, or Hinckle. Way better. Ergo, I’d be a better mayor that they would have.

My campaign will have one key issue: Me. It’s what is nearest to my heart—and it should be to yours too. Think about it. A city is supposed to work for all of its residents. And if San Francisco isn’t perfectly perfect for me right now, can we really say that it’s good for anyone else? No, of course we can not. If San Francisco isn’t my own personal Never Never Land, then it’s City Hall’s fault.

Let’s be clear: Do you think Dick Costolo is the greatest threat to democracy since Mao? That supply and demand don’t set housing prices, because because because reasons? That San Francisco won't reclaim its status as the Cool, Grey City of Love until all the Doggie Diner heads are re-installed and all the Grateful Dead squats enshrined in ultra-pure LSD? Well, then, you, like me, are a real San Franciscan. (Even though I was born up in Berkeley and grew up in Moraga.) If you don't passionately hate the present incarnation of the city that you live in, well then, I feel sorry for you. Because this place sucks now. Go vote for the other guy, techie scum. 

By the way, tickets to the after-party in honor of the 10th anniversary of my senior prom are going fast. $100 gets you a Smash Mouth cover band, unlimited turmeric and lemon juice shots, and a fog machine. Also, I have a Kickstarter. Please, give me money so I can keep writing articles like this one. For local journalism. And freedom. And me.

Now, you may be asking yourself, do I have anything substantive to add to the mayoral debate? Any even remotely compelling ideas about displacement? Police violence? The Twitter tax break? Why you can’t ever find a seat on BART anymore?

Yes I do. And I’d love to share them with you at the party in honor of the second anniversary of the time I landed two seats at State Bird Provisions. Just $900 a ticket.

What's that? Yes, it’s true. I am a goddamned poet. Picasso had his paint. Frank Lloyd Wright his sketchbook. I am the Picasso of a website hawking concert tickets sweepstakes. A Frank Lloyd Wright of listicles about how to kill cockroaches. Don't forget my magnum opus: a story about why you should have sex with me

(For the record—you should have sex with me. I am so great in bed, you all. Just so, so great.)

Just remember, this November, a vote for Half-Assed Scott is a vote for the best that San Francisco has to offer: Me

Also, please consider buying tickets to the 16th anniversary of my graduation from Joaquin Moraga Intermediate School. They’re just $650 dollars each, but that includes unlimited trips to the Build-a-Bear-in-the-Likeness-of-Scott station. Go Marauders. 

In conclusion, God bless you. And God bless me. And God bless San Franfuckincisco. 

 

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