BY DAN VALENTI

PLANET VALENTI NEWS AND COMMENTARY

(FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE, MONDAY NOV. 20, 2017) — As you might know from the fawning magnification of a feature story published in The Boring Broadsheet Saturday, the Pittsfield Fourth of July Parade Committee, otherwise known as the Committe to Re-Elect Peter Marchetti (CREEPM), conducted a fundraiser over the weekend. It’s so reassuring to know that the sucker-money will go to a worthy cause, although considering the feud a-brew in’, we’d guess John Krol might argue the point.

The Good Time Golden Oldies Collen and Darren Re-Elect The Great White Dope Queen Bisquit Flour Hour rocked Reid Middle School in two weekend shows, shaking up the building even more than the police did recently at Herberg when they had to “escort” a reluctant, transgender teacher off the campus and off the payroll for alleged inappropriate action toward one of the pupils. We’re not exactly sure what he/she did, but an angry parent has been talking chemical burns.

Sources say the Nov. 2 incident was considered so disturbing by JIV and Co. that when the police arrived, they ordered the Herberg shades drawn in every classroom to protect whatever innocent eyes are left in these all-too-culturally precocious, pubescent boys and girls. What? You didn’t hear about this latest shining moment for the Pittsfield public schools on local radio or read about it in any local media, including the daily “of record?”

THE PLANET is shocked. Shocked. Gosh, it couldn’t be that the school department and certain city officials ordered The BB and the rest of local media to spike the story, could it? Or perhaps, as is more likely the case, the local media (which is neither rare or well done) didn’t know it happened, which means they aren’t trying, which means they aren’t providing honest coverage of the city’s most non-productive, dysfunctional, expensive department (eating more than 70% of the entire municipal budget). Do they not care? Do the editors muzzle their reporters? Are the journalists not good enough to “get the story?”

If you see Raymond Burr in town, you know the teacher has decided to go after the city for her/his\whatever kiss in the mail. The meritless case would be settled out of court. JIV won’t even care. He’s got his, and the $$$ will come out of the Kapanskis’ hides in higher taxes. As for the kid’s chemical burns as Mama Bear described them, she would appear to have an actual case against JIV and Co.

Ah, but we digress.

THE  PLANET could dig the musical fundraiser if it had been for a worthy cause such as a cure for the common cold or to purchase more trash cans for Tyler Street, but “the Fourth parade?” That overrated, $85,000 production by the creepy core of the Parade Committee? Not a chance. And when was the last time Marchetti shared the accounting of those 85,000 smackers? Never, as we recall … Not that THE PLANET would ever suggest financial hanky panky or a diversion of funds. There’s no reason to suspect that here.

Once upon a time, in a distant planet from a dim past, Pittsfield had a Fourth parade of which citizens could be proud, a parade of great energy and a modest size that fit the down-home theme of a patriotic day. Then, like all good things in this Sad Sad Sick city, it fell into the hands of the unworthy, a swishy collection of elves, imps, gnomes, misfits, dimwads, and fairies, a merry band that counts Marchetti as a ranking, card-carrying member.

THE PLANET first met PM when he first ran for office, in 1999 or about an additional 100 pounds ago. He lost that race, gained weight, and learned. He learned the game of “suck-up,” gaining expertise and practicing it in a manner up there with the spineless best. He wiggled, he wavered, and he whiffed, standing for nothing and sitting for everything. Once The Suits realized he would “play ball” and not lift a fat finger on behalf of citizens, taxpayers, and the besieged Little Guy, they made sure he won. The lie-filled game continued well for limp Peter, and he racked up win after win.

It came crashing down when The Vested Interests, playing both of the city’s political machines with equal deftness, found Dan Bianchi finally willing to take the top spot. Marchetti had a race he should have easily won, but he folded faster than Myron Florian’s accordion. Exit Peter, panned.

If Panned Peter was a smart man, he would have stayed the heck out of politics, spending the rest of his life trying to build up his vanquished self-respect and building his career on the outside. Ah, but the siren call proved too much, and the man got back in, dooming his personhood on the sacrificial altar of the local Democratic committee. As the line in the Christmas song puts it, “Don we now our gay apparel. Fa la la, fa la la, la la la.” Tis the season, and all that.

Marchetti achieved the apex of his masochistic humiliation when he eschewed staying behind the curtain at the Herberg hootenanny. If he didn’t back out at the last minute having come to his senses, Peter actually got on stage, no doubt encouraged by the wattless bulbs on the CREEPM committee, to waddle through a dreadful, ribbons-and-rainbow version of the Tom Jones sexy rocker, “It’s Not Unusual.” We won’t say Pete can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but the notes were so flat that Christopher Columbus resurrected from the grave to perform his famous egg trick.

Not unusual? We hate to break it poor Peter, but, yes … It’s become SO usual as to be typical, so typical to be a cliche.

Now if he’ll only agree to come on live on TV with THE PLANET to bang out more Tom Jones.

Would ya believe, Englebert Humperdink?

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“It’s not odd. It’s only a whale off kilter” — Sir Tiberius Fruitjuice.

“OPEN THE WINDOW, AUNT MILLIE.”

LOVE TO ALL.

The Usual Disclaimer.