Opinions need not be feared nor suppressed.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The Scranton speech

So, President Soreto brought the fleet of jets, the fleet of vehicles, the mobile hospital and the division-strength compliment of Secret Service types in to Scranton and spoke to the adoring government employees and hard-core union wastes for a whopping 25 minutes. That's it?

Wow! What did that briefest of brief campaign stops cost the treasury?

Here's the text of his speech as I heard it on WILK...

People are hurting. And it's the fault of the GOP and the rich. I wanted to create jobs. But the GOP and the rich are blocking me. I want to cut your taxes. But the GOP and the rich won't let me. I can deliver you to utopia by tonight, but some people are not paying their fair share.

Okay, I was paraphrasing, but only a bit.

My favorite chortle came when he said, "We don't give up, we get back up!" to a roar from the crowd.

What I would say to him is, Barry, give it up so that America can climb back up.

With no record of achievement to run on, expect a steady of dose of the obfuscation and the class warfare until he's trounced next November.

What a pretender. What a charlatan.


Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Iran not backing down

Get ready, this is just the beginning of a much wider, much more encompassing conflict.

Iranian Students Storm British Embassy in Tehran

Student protesters loyal to the Iranian government stormed the British Embassy in Tehran and its residential compound on Tuesday, in a coordinated attack that underscored the volatile and unpredictable nature of Iran's politics both at home and abroad.
The raid, which Britain said caused significant damage to its property, was the most serious security breach of a diplomatic site in Iran since the takeover of the U.S. embassy in 1979.
Live television footage from Iran's state broadcaster showed angry mobs climbing on a wall of the British Embassy building in downtown Tehran and two young men attempting to break the lock on the iron gate of the compound. Demonstrators took down the Union Jack flag and raised Iran's, Iranian news media reported.

NEPA Blogs: Worth the ether they are printed on

First off, I finally relented by dumping dial-up in favor of the latest high-speed, 21 billion jigg-a-watt techno muckity muck.

Secondly, I went to PAHomePage.com (WBRE) and watched every available episode of NEPA Blogs’ “Blog of the Week”. And that’s when it occurred to me that, despite what some local radio talk show host might be saying to the contrary, we’ve got some pretty talented people occupying an electronic booth in the local blog scene. We really, really do.

Somehow, Gort, Michele and D.B. Harold have built NEPA Blogs into a weekly television show. A brief television show, but a television show nonetheless. Plus, there’s some sort of radio tie-in I know nothing about.

Speaking of Gort, he just snaps his magic fingers and politicians of practically every stripe are flying in to town to hang out at the BlogFest events.

He and The Yonk once made an appearance on WILK’s Sunday morning Pennsylvania affairs show (the name escapes me) with Rusty Steele. And they were once both regulars on WILK’s election day coverage until one of it’s self-important hosts decided that bloggers that were invited to appear needed to be berated and belittled on the air.

The Yonk stills makes occasional appearances on WILK, as well as appearing on Hazleton’s WYLN TV political shows.

Joe Valenti’s blog is mentioned every now and again on WILK, as well as in local print stories.

Fireman Dan proved beyond doubt that the Hotel Sterling is beyond repair.

Kayak Dude went toe-to-toe with our long-entrenched congressman over the debatable deflatable dam and defeated him. Nicest guy I know, but a motivated hard-ass when annoyed. Oh, and he proved that the quickest route from Point A to GasFest was a 14-mile meandering line.

Christ! Even a single-issue local blogger scored wall-to-wall television and print coverage by objecting to a manger.

If I’m forgetting someone, some movement or some event, please report to the back of the long line of mostly cowardly folks that want a piece of me.

Anyway, after repeatedly hearing on WILK that blogs are not worth the ether they are printed on, I see things quite differently. As in, it’s undeniable that we’ve got some talent out here in the vast electronic wastelands.


Gov Christie unloads on the do-nothing prez


The truth hurts, Barry.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Syria: Libya Part II?

While the U.S, Israel, France, England and other NATO countries are conducting joint air force maneuvers in advance of an attack on Iran's hardened nuclear facilities, there is another lingering fire about to be doused with gasoline.

Israel, Jordan and Turkey all have their forces on a state of very high alert because of some serious saber-rattling on the part of Syria. Israel has already forward-deployed some of it's armor. Syria has been systematically killing it's own citizens who want a change of direction for their country. Oh, and Syria, as well as Russia rightly suspects that the U.S., NATO and Turkey are contemplating an Arab Spring sequel to the Libyan intervention.

The Russians, Syria's biggest military ally, have anchored three warships off the coast of Libya as a show of support. In addition, Russia's one and only aircraft carrier, the Admiral Kuznetsov is currently in route to Syrian waters.

Within days, the super carrier USS George H.W. Bush, 5 guided missile destroyers and 3 guided missile cruisers will all be posted just outside Syria's territorial borders at sea.

Folks, this one is a very problematic powder keg.

Many Americans freaked over Dubya's nation building. But this Arab Spring meddling at Oblahblah's behest is going to backfire on us in the worst of ways, and for decades to come. Egypt is coming unglued after our meddling. Libya will quickly follow suit. And if we push this short-sighted meddling as foreign policy into Syria, we're going to have high-velocity ordnance flying in every which direction with Russian warships sitting right in the middle of the sh*tstorm.

President Barry Soreto does not know what the hell he's doing, and Vladimir Putin is not a man he should be playing brinkmanship with. Anyway, this fast-developing showdown should worry you.


Reminds me of the Eagles' season

Then again, it reminds me of the big, bad insurgency to topple Mayor Leighton.

LiveLeak.com - Escalator was not created for all!


Sunday, November 27, 2011

NFL factoid #1

Football factoid time...

The much-maligned, oft-mocked and always belittled Bible-thumping Denver Broncos' QB Tim Tebow now has more NFL wins under his belt than does that flailing "Dream Team" from Philthydumpia.

I love it.

Bye, Andy. Buh-bye.


Friday, November 25, 2011

Turkey Day 2004

Turns out, thanks to a heads-up from a family member, I do have a Thanksgiving scribbling to share (or re-share) with all of you unsuspecting victims.

From Wilkes-Barre Online, November 25, 2004:

Road trip!

My brother and I took a ride to Connecticut yesterday. Well, for the purposes of this exercise, let's identify him as being my step-brother. Us step-siblings have never used that "step" word. We grew up together and suffered through all sorts of struggles together, so we never thought of each other as "step" anything.

Anywhooey, my step-dad is getting on in years and can no longer handle his pick-up truck that he described as being "very, very high." He told my brother he'd sign it over to him for one dollar if we'd make the trip to Ansonia, where he now resides. So we loaded up the car, and we headed to Ansonia.

Step-dad, Leo, and my mom separated so many times, I could navigate the trip from Connecticut to Wilkes-Barre, or vice versa, around the time I was eight years-old. And that was before Route 84 was anywhere near being completed. My job was to get us from Thompson Street to Woodlawn Street, and point out the nifty landmarks of historical importance that had anything to do with our family way back when. It was a fun trip for the both of us.

It was a straight shot other than one bathroom/gasoline stop in Newburgh, New York. I stopped there on purpose so that Ray could take a gander at Stewart Air Force base. He was amazed. He had never seen a C-130 before, or a fighter jet screaming overhead, for that matter. We hit some miniatured "gas 'n' go" type mini-mart so popular in that neck of the woods. Ray pumped the gas, and I headed inside to visit the inattentive Pakistani f**k behind the counter. I quickly realized that TastyKakes were not on these shelves and grabbed two boxes of "Mike 'n' Ikes" for Gage Andrew. I approached the counter and it started. I remember this circle-jerk, foreigner bullspit all too well from my trucking days.

F**k: "You pay for gaz."
MC: "No, he's (pointing outside) paying for the gas."
F**k: "Gaz hass be paid."
MC: (Pointing again) "He's paying for the gas. I'm paying for the candy."
F**k: "Gaz. Who pay gaz?"
MC: "HE IS!"
F**k: "Gaz separit?"
MC: "Yeah. Gas separate. He's got the gas."
F**k: "He pay gaz?"
MC: "He's paying for the f**king gas, you f**king idiot!!! Do you see how f**king big he is? Do you want me to tell him you don't f**king trust him? Do you? You f**kin' f**k?"
F**k: "Tree dollah plez."

And with that, the guy waiting patiently behind me started laughing.

And the moral of this very brief story? Sometimes you just gotta go "Serpico" on these immigrant numbnuts. Sez me.

Ray paid for the gas and we bid numbnuts adieu. We motored across the Newburgh Bridge, and before you know it, we were being welcomed to Connecticut by a sign. I did notice that the weigh station at Danbury was closed. Where in the hell was that when I was truckin' through here every week? You'll never run across a more overzealous bunch that the Connecticut DOT. Whatever, man.

Traffic in the Danbury area was slowed to a crawl, but we eventually came across our exit and shot down Route 34 towards the old stomping grounds. With each passing mile, another near forgotten memory came eeking back into my mind from somewhere. We passed Zoar Beach, which was the site of my first ever serious injury requiring immediate medical attention. And we rolled past Indian Wells State Park on the opposite shore where my sister learned to swim one sunny afternoon circa 1968, or so.

This is a very weird story.

She was deathly afraid of large bodies of water, and no matter how they tried; Leo and my mom could not teach her to swim. At the time, this kinda twerked me off. I remember all too well when I first learned how to swim. Leo took me to the farthest point of the dock at Sandy Beach and tossed me into Harveys Lake. Swim or drown, boy! Step-dad's tend to go much easier on their "real" kids. Trust me on this.

So we were swimming and cooking out at Indian Wells some 35 years ago, and my sister would not even get her foot wet without carrying on like she had been repeatedly stabbed. Out of nowhere came this twenty-something guy, he somehow befriended her, and then took her in his arms and headed out into the river. Both Leo and my mom looked on intently, but they were not concerned in the least. Back in the sixties, pedophilia hadn't been invented just yet. It took the muscle-bound guy a couple of hours, but he stuck to it and had my sister swimming on her own. Her proud parents were more than appreciative and buried the guy in gooey verbal niceties. As dusk neared, we packed up the car, waved goodbye to the kind stranger and headed home.

Two days later, or thereabouts, I wandered into the house looking for a drink of water and found my mom crying while staring at a copy of the local newspaper, The Evening Sentinel. In a weird twist of fate, the kindest of strangers that finally taught Suzie to swim that day had drowned in those very same waters after we had gone home. That's not the kind of thing one ever forgets.

Finally, we arrived in downtown Derby. Ya'll remember going to a thriving downtown Wilkes-Barre with mom, or grandma, and so do I. But being that my boyhood years were split between two cities, I also remember what a bustling place downtown Derby was years ago. To say that it is a shell of it's former self would be giving it way too much credit. It's devastated. It's delapidated. It is beyond any possible repair. It's depressing. It's depressing to pass all of those crumbling buildings and remember all of the good times we had there so many years ago. Downtown Derby needs to be bulldozed, while the Home Depots and the Wal-Marts of the world have sprung up within spitting distance.

If you think downtown Wilkes-Barre has problems, you really need to see what has happened to Derby's downtown. Is anybody up for a road trip? I'll be your navigator. Well, for a nominal fee. Seriously. We didn't stop for pics, but to put things in perspective, consider the difference between a burned-out Yugo and a brand new Hummer. That's what we're talking about here. It's awful. And after seeing that wreckage, trust me, Wilkes-Barre's downtown offers much to build upon. We're in better shape than we knew.

I just had to drop by the old homestead and take a picture. While my mom was doing battle with Leo for years on end, we moved all over the place. But there was one adobe where we settled in for a few years, and during that relative time of tranquility, I was never happier as a boy. Whenever I harken back to my days at 124 Direnzio Heights, I remember how great that feeling of normality felt like. And it was good to know that Godzilla had spared the place after I escaped to Pennsylvania under the cover of darkness.

So we made this trip to Ansonia to pick up my brother's free truck. But the one thing Ray has learned over the years is that his dad is a bit goofy at times. I knew as much long before Ray was even born. And I've got the scars to prove it. Ray's biggest fear was that we'd drive all the way to Ansonia only to learn that the truck was in need of being crushed. And soon. His dad promised him that this truck was a keeper, but Ray had his doubts.

And as we pulled up in front of the senior high-rise where Leo now resides, we were confronted by a thoroughly beaten pick-up truck that looked as if Iraqi insurgents wouldn't waste an IED on it. It was a bondo-bomb for sure and it was leaning to one side.

Ray gave me that look that I know all too well that signals that someone was about to get hurt. And as always, when he is just about ready to explode and end someone's life, his neck begins to twitch. I reassured him. I told him that couldn't possibly be the truck Leo was talking about, and I crossed my fingers. If it was the truck in question, there was no doubt in my mind we were only minutes away from meeting most of the Ansonia police department.

Ray parked the car, we crossed the street and Leo appeared at the front door. I swallowed hard as I climbed the steps. As we neared the front door, Leo swung it open, pointed to a monster truck down the street a ways, and said, "What do you think?" Whew! No skirmishes with the cops on this monsoon of a day. Whew!

Turns out, the truck is a gem. A 1982 Ford F-250 with a four-barrel carburetor, and a newly rebuilt engine. It's got tires bigger than John Goodman, gigantic orange springs and metal steps leading up to the nosebleed seats in the cab. It's got a new cap, a Radio Shack CB and a narly car stereo. Leo had the keys in hand and gave us a quick tour. Ray looked as much relieved as he did happy.

 I, of course, was really happy for Ray, but equally happy for Leo. I didn't travel back to Connecticut (back in time if you will) just to live through yet another ugly family incident after all of these years had passed. Ray more than approved of the monster truck and we headed indoors for a bit of paperwork.

And believe it or not, Leo pissed me off as soon as we entered the building. We encountered a rowdy bunch of senior chickies and Leo set about introducing us to them. He referred to Ray as being his son, and he referred to me as his step-son. I really didn't understand the need to make that distinction at this late stage of the game.

Wouldn't it have been much cooler on his part to just refer to the both of us as being his sons? Nah, many years ago, he made it crystal clear to me by the way he treated me that I was not his son. I guess some people can't turn it off no matter how much they are mellowed out by the aging process. Always the idiot, bastard step-kid. No matter what.

The strange thing is, I lived with the guy for a decade, and his son never did. I was thirteen years-old when they finally divorced, and his son was a newborn baby. The closest thing he ever had to an actual son was me. Yet, he pretends that the son he never knew at all is his proudest accomplishment in life.

He never watched this kid open a single Christmas present. He never sang "Happy Birthday" to him. He never accompanied him to the emergency room when he scraped himself up. Early on, he contested the obvious fact that this kid was even his. This is my son? Spare me. A free truck doesn't make up for a kid having to grow up without a father.

Luckily, with the onslaught of old age comes the ability to bite one's normally flapping lips. They took care of their paperwork exchange and I spied the scene from afar. Right where Leo always made me feel I belonged.

It was abject stupidity on my part to even think that seeing the rapidly aging step-dad again would be neat. I don't know what I was thinking, but it doesn't matter in the least. I see this weary old man, the man that used to terrorize me and my mom, as a failed man. He wasn't there for his "real" two children much younger than me when they needed him the most, and now, years later, he tries to make things right by passing out a few goodies.

But way back when, forty years ago, he had the chance to do right by someone who called him "Dad," and he failed miserably.

We eventually said our goodbyes and we rolled that bitchin' monster truck all the way back to Pennsylvania.

And today just happens to be Thanksgiving '04. This is not a holiday I normally get too excited about. I don't eat turkey, and I could do with a little less Dallas Cowboys, thank you very much.

But I am feeling pretty good about myself this year after visiting the old homestead for the very last time. Wifey's got all sorts of tantalizing foodstuffs in and on top of the stove. She's got the pumpkin pies ready to roll. Cheesecake up the wazoo. And the makings of a lot of mixed drinks to boot. I've got wifey here at the adobe. I've got the kids on the way to the adobe. And I've got the grandkids on the way to the adobe.

And Leo?

He'll spend Thanksgiving alone with his Lucky Strikes.

He has no idea how bad he screwed up.

Have a good one.



Somebody objected to my brief recounting of the 1980 Thanksgiving day beating I inflicted upon my brother-in-law.

First of all, know that it was pretty savage. Real ugly. I had one knee on his chest, one knee on the turf and I was flailing away on his head. I had to be dragged off of him.

But also know that after what I went through as a kid, I saw myself as my equally orphaned little brother's one and only protector. And being 5' 11' when I blew out 14 candles certainly didn't work to temper my auto-hostility issues.

When Ray was small, if you messed with him in any way, you then had to deal with me. And after he grew to be abnormally large as well as physically gifted and then some, if you messed with me, you then had to deal with Ray.

I was not going to see history repeated on my troubled watch, and Ray grew to be loyal to a fault. I think that's what it used to mean to be brothers...having each other's backs no matter what.

These days, the two of us would likely be shipped off to the hoosegow for being so violently heterosexual, or some such convoluted metrosexual, new-age gibberish. So be it. Screw it. If you haven't noticed, the new, more progressive ways of doing things are rushing us to the proverbial precipice. And fast.

But back in the black-and-white day, if you wanted a piece of Ray, you had to deal with Mark. And if you wanted a piece of Mark, Ray came a stompin'.

And for any or all of that, neither of us would ever offer any apologies.


Video Flapdoodle

Wilkes-Barre, June 1972...

But wait! There's more.
Go to YouTube.com and search for "coalcrakers."

If you were kicking around Wilkes-Barre in those days, you'll be glad you did.


Ebon's first

Ebon's first ever attempt at an apple pie.

Not too shabby.


Thursday, November 24, 2011

Feast Day

While I am not much of a meat-eater, I hope the lot of you enjoy your turkey and the associated commercial trimmings.

As for me, I have no profundities to offer about this holiday. Well, there was 1980, when I beat the hell out of my brother-in-law before the turkey was carved. Uh, I'll spare you the grotesque details, except to say that my knuckles were kind of sore the next day.

Anywho, all I have to offer today is a link to another site: Don't Be Frackin' Crazy, direct from the Stroudsburg area.

Enjoy the feast. I'll be glued to the NFL today.


Wednesday, November 16, 2011

W-B Republicans: They huff and they puff and they get blown away

With the election done and gone, a few incendiary thoughts.

Now that the mayoral scrum in this city has been decided, it’s good to see that a certain county commissioner has stopped slinging accusatory arrows at Mayor Tom Leighton over the impending fate of the Hotel Sterling and has decided that the county should rightfully take the lead on the demolition funding.

So a hearty pat on the head goes out to the little fella.

As far as that supposedly hotly-contested mayoral race is concerned, is there an actual Republican party in this city? I mean, like, do they have semi regular meetings and funding sources and business cards and everything? Seriously, is there an official Wilkes-Barre Republican party apparatus in place?

Because I have to say, when you look at the ill-qualified and ill-prepared candidates that keep getting stoned year-in and year-out in this city, and when you see the threadbare campaign coffers and even the garishly painted homemade yard signs, it sure doesn’t seem as if there’s much of an organization.

And if there is an organization in place, what does it do other than firing off phalanxes of right-to-know requests?

And who’s responsible for the amateurish and ill-conceived “Take Back City Hall” cards that were distributed at the polling places on election day?

On the front side, just below the list of city Repugnicans seeking elected office it says, “Be sure to vote for all electing just one won’t get it done!” Or, vote a straight party ticket.

But on the flip slide, the condescension, the self-importance and the lecturing begins with “Its time to vote for the person not the party.” Nothing totally contradictory going on there. Nope. Pure genius.

So, you can’t even publish a stinkin’ poll card that makes sense, but you want me to put you and yours in charge? Fat chance, fathead.

Face it, you're no Renita.

Whoa! And those folks over at Betsy’s Vote4Betsy Facebook election page are of the unhinged variety. It's obvious that this area is woefully short on doctors specializing in shock therapy. Let me see….oh, yeah, try this from one of the asylum escapees...

As it was told on Moonbats4Betsy, the FBI assigned a field agent to take down Tom Leighton, but according to one of Betsy’s followers, Leighton “turned him.”

He turned him? What, did they drag him up to the DPW building and water-board the dude until he promised to vote a straight Democrat ticket? What are you going to do when the loonies get to creating their lunacy? Scream? Run like hell?

Oh, and this one is a classic direct from the guy who specializes in slander as well as illegal parking. According to this guy, our chief of police is having an affair with a heroin addict and is also protecting her drug house.

Here’s the cut, copy and paste, his words not mine:

“Show up at City Council Thursday (5:30-6pm). Some vey big news will be announced. If you care about corruption and institutional silence... then show your support.
On the docket: Aldulterous sex scandal with Dessoye and heroin addict and protection of drug house.”

Oh, baby! Andrew Staub will go all carpel tunnel on his note pad when this slanderous bomb drops in public!

Anyway, to the Repuglicans and Independents of Wilkes-Barre I say, y’all gotta do better than this. Because if this is all you got, you ain’t got nothin‘ at all.

Sez me, Markie…a registered Republican.


Sunday, November 13, 2011

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

The changed faces of W-B City Council

Three newcomers.

District A: George Brown (new to council)

District B: Tony George (new to council, former chief of police)

District C: Maureen Lavelle (new to council)

District D: Bill Barrett

District E: Mike Merritt


Tom Leighton...56%

Unofficial numbers just in....

Tom Leighton...3,765

Lisa Cope...2,244

Betsy Summers...717

A majority, not the predicted plurality.

There's no reason to flee.


Voter #14 in Nord End

I voted at 7:11 AM. I was voter #14, which suggests a brisk early pace. There were more poll workers than usual, so I got nailed with a bevy of cards.

This one listed below brought on a welcome chortle.

Hate me if you must, but, collectively, this bunch couldn't operate a Slinkie without assistance.

I did it. I frickin' did it. I voted for a 29-year-old district attorney. Screw it. If she's over matched, dump her four years from now. But there was no way I was buying into Musto's well-worn pitch on WILK's Corbett show some nights back.

You know the tired spiel. When it came to Kids-for-Cash, nobody knew nothing, nobody saw nothing, no one suspected anything, no one said anything and not a soul wondered to themselves about anything being seriously amiss with our juvenile court lynchings. Nobody.

Really? Spare me.

Mayor? You know who I voted for, the only candidate who has already provided Wilkes-Barre some capable leadership.

Controller? Kathy Kane has the experience to hit the ground running.

District council? Mike Merritt is low-key, but engaged.

Ah, and Luzerne County Council? This is an eclectic crew, but the crew I picked.

Rick Morelli DEM
Kathy Dobash REP
Harry Haas REP
Ed Brominski DEM
Bible Buck American Independent Party (?)
Tim Mullen LIB
Mike Lacey LIB

That's it, a total of seven. But seven that would probably never settle into some newer version of a good-old-boy network.

Wilkes-Barre Area school mis-director? I voted for one candidate and one candidate only, John Quinn. I know his fiery faults, but I always liked the guy. Even if I did pull the wing nut out of his podium and watch him helplessly crash face-first to the floor in front of the entire class. Statute of limitations?

Luzerne County judges? I went chick, chick and chick: Gelb, Mirabito and Rogers.


Monday, November 7, 2011

Election Eve or: time for some coin flips

It's election day eve, and I still cannot get up to 11 people I would vote for to serve as our first ever Luzerne County Council.

Harry Haas is a must. Rick Morelli, having served on both the study commission and the transitional committee, seems to be a no-brainer. I will vote for Bible Buck simply because he'd drive everyone crazy with his penchant for quoting scripture.

Blessed are they who do not touch Markie or any of his stuff.

I will vote for Tim Mullen. Ed Brominski adds a unique perspective, being a former commissioner and all. Ill-prepare as she seems, Kathy Dobash also seems to mean well. But after that, I might be reduced to a series of flips of my Boy Scout "good deed" coin.

Since I reside in the Nord End, I can only vote for one city council type, a ridiculous setup. As a registered GOPer, I will vote for the Dem, Mike Merritt. Of the three mayoral candidates, only one of them has even an iota of a freaking clue--Tom Leighton. So, again, the nod goes to the Dem.

County judges? You got me, man. I've tried, but what do I really know about any of these people? I'll pick somebody, I suppose.

This DA thing has me confused. I told myself that I could not vote for a candidate who looks and sounds like a high school senior. But after hearing the sitting DA on WILK's Corbett show a few days ago, I told myself I could not vote for her either. Uh, when all else fails, vote against the incumbents in Corruption County.

That's all I've got for tonight, but check out this eye-opening post about how the role's have reversed in Wilkes-Barre's long-running newspaper war. I never thunk of it like that.

Right to Gripe: Setting the Record Straight


Friday, November 4, 2011

Halloween uptick

Who said Halloween was dead, dying, decaying or starting to smell funny?
In 2009, Wifey reported less than 30 trick-or-treaters. Last year, she was pleased to report 41 visitors in search of goodies. This year, 51.

L to R: Avery, Jeremy & Zachary
These three goofs, brothers by the way, are my grandrodents. They reside here in Wilkes-Barre. They attend Wilkes-Barre Area schools. And they aimlessly wander Wilkes-Barre with their insane grandfather, i.e., me.

Even though they are unaware of such important matters, what they desperately need going forward is capable leadership from someone who knows what the, ahem, what the heck they are talking about.

Capable leadership? Knowledge? Well, I guess that leaves the warring parties, er , the two challengers to the incumbent mayor out of the mix.

Sez me.