Yesterday, Broward handed over a big ole stack of PDFs to a state prosecutor who had subpoenaed every commissioner, the administrator, and, as far as I can tell, anybody who has ever successfully parked at the Governmental Center. Hand-delivered by deputies, it’s a little like getting served divorce papers by your husband’s curling team. “Sorry about this, Carol. Great lasagna Saturday.”
This morning, a budget workshop about public safety was held, and nobody from BSO bothered to show up.
Ghosted, as the kids say.
Sorry Lamar, we’re just not really into you.
Also, fuck off.
– BSO
Bogen says the Sheriff personally promised, pinkie swore in fact, a high-ranking officer would be there … we hoped for McGruff the Crime Dog, instead, we got ourselves an empty chair with a little name card on it, which was patently ignored by all in attendance.
Somebody should have pulled a Clint Eastwood and interviewed the thing. “Sheriff, are there really branded urinal cakes with your likeness?” Long pause. “Available on your Etsy store? And they’re organic? Excellent! Vegan? Aw, shucks. Well, two out of three ain’t bad.”
Bogen’s official comment was “blow me Interpret it the way you want,” and I don’t mind if I do.
Udine called it “really fucking dumb a stunning lack of leadership.” Geller said no amount of money would ever satisfy the sheriff, which is also true of my dog and several of my ex-wives. Then Nan Rich said the part everybody was thinking: “What is this? Drunk Monopoly? We have no way to audit. Not clue WTF is going on over there. We can’t say what is going on there. Balls. There is no accountability to anyone. Also, can I get those three of those urinal cakes gift wrapped?”
