Commentary: Spencer Pratt, please call me. You don't know what you're getting yourself into
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Spencer Pratt, please give me a call.We should talk.You say you want to be mayor of Los Angeles, but do you really?I know that being a candidate has rescued you from anonymity after your career in reality TV went off a cliff.You’ve got CEOs backing you, and fans raving, and you’ve managed to milk social media attention.But at some point you might have to answer questions from the reporters you’ve been avoiding.And if you win, you’re going to have to drive to City Hall five, six, seven days a week, and I don’t know if you saw my column a few weeks ago, but the fountain on the south lawn hasn’t worked in about 60 years.
If you get elected, you better put a wrench in your lunch box, because nobody has figured out how to fix it.So that’s the reality, pretty much.And the unions will want what they want, and the socialists on the City Council will be lying in wait, especially after President Trump blew you a cross-country air kiss and certified your MAGA credentials.More than 30,000 people are waiting for their broken sidewalks to get fixed (I’m not exaggerating) but there’s no money, and if you hire several thousand more police officers as you’ve pledged, the city would be bankrupt for the next decade or so and you’d need to take out a loan to buy a doughnut.Sidewalks and streets could get long-awaited upgrades, but don’t hold your breath.So call me, like I say, because I think there’s still time to change your mind.If you choose to proceed, and if you actually win, it might feel like you’re in a sequel to that reality show you did called “I’m a Celebrity ...
Get Me Out of Here,” and you may end up praying the show gets canceled.The mayor’s hours are long, and everywhere you go, someone will want you to fix this problem or that, and as you wander the halls of power you’ll think back on your campaign pledges and hear the constant echo of a line f...