F the Suits and the Mayor

Tonight I went to a fundraiser for a friend’s company, a nice gesture stemming from assorted top notch volunteer work I did.
Pitifully, outside the celebratory ballroom sat the three unhappiest guitar players I’ve ever seen in my life.
I tried to lift their spirits, until I realized that razor-sharp humor couldn’t penetrate the desolate nature they carried inside, like this was a sorrowful funeral or something.
A bunch of haphazard halfwits from L.A. City Hall, disguised as intellectuals, attended the function and were void of actual personality while confining themselves to messages only dumb people nod to. I find venues such as this depressing, brings down my normally chipper mood drastically, the only conscious recovery coming from endless pours of champagne and fine wine.
The smarmy guy on the left arrived late, stumbled through a comically pointless speech and scurried off after stuttering utter nonsense. He was an undisputed fool.

To think of his renowned status in a position of power, knowing from this appearance alone that he’s completely incompetent. Who do you blame, the voters or the system? Then the Mayor of Los Angeles, the distinguished Antonio Villaraigosa, took the stage to expound upon vaguely challenging positions he’s taken. Yes, these people are real.
The Mayor seemingly got heckled, especially when he left the stage in haste backdoor style, giving way to an obvious political opponent named Herb Wesson, the kind of idiot that brazenly wears treachery on his sleeve, stepping in to try and score cheap points at the podium.

Admittedly, being a political junky at heart isn’t something to brag about. The eloquence of such common public betrayals can never be justified by cause, and it constantly occurs without remorse or regret.
To lessen the blow, I chatted up a couple nice girls at the Novartis display, got a stack of Post-Its and their business cards. I think they were mutually pleased to be diverted from the widespread business-speak that usually goes with these sorts of drab events, and my drunken stupor must’ve been mildly amusing.
A few awards were given out, the reasons of which were never fully explained. I believe the awards were retribution for deep pockets that eventually resulted in glittery paper doubling as an honor handed out. The most entertaining part of the night was Royce Park, a Korean crooner with a golden voice that sweetly harmonized on songs like “Moonlight Serenade” and “Danke Schoen.”
The crowd erupted with applause after each of his show-stopping numbers. He was truly talented, deserves to be heard and signed to a long-term recording contract.