The big news this week is that Spencer Pratt’s bid to become the next mayor of Los Angeles has failed. This is exciting for two reasons. First, Los Angeles dodged a big, dumb bullet. Second, Pratt is leaving Los Angeles, assuming he keeps his campaign promise to schlep his crystal-peddling ass out of town.
In a related story, the grifters running the right-wing echo chamber formerly known as Twitter have convinced their marks that the election was stolen. In turn, that unhinged narrative has inspired hinged media outlets on the left to speculate that the conspiracy theories surrounding the election in Los Angeles are dry runs creating chaos around the midterms. On the right, hinged outlets like the Wall Street Journal called the conspiracy theories nonsense, but nevertheless blamed California, calling the state’s slow ballot counting process “rocket fuel” for conspiracy theories.
The problem with the coverage on the left and the right is that it’s wrong. The Los Angeles mayor’s race was rigged, and I know this because I’m the one who rigged it. This is my story.
About a month ago, I noticed something strange in my YouTube feed. The algorithm, which reliably provides chiropractic thirst traps, earwax removal content, and Casey Neistat videos, began sending me Spencer Pratt campaign ads. The videos were AI slop perfectly calibrated to win over dipshits, wing-nuts, and buffoons. This alarmed me, because dipshits, wing-nuts, and buffoons have a long history of swinging U.S. elections in the direction of the soulless carnival barkers who promise the world, only to plunder it when they take office. I didn’t want that to happen to Los Angeles; as my mom often says, we have enough problems.
My plan was to rally opposition by writing about the Pratt campaign. This seemed like a natural fit, because I write humor, and most people thought Pratt was a joke. But after I published a few pieces, I had to face a hard truth. Maybe there was a time when the pen was mightier than the sword, but these days the solitary keyboard warrior is weaker than the stupidity at scale that is social media.
Still, I had to do … something.
I started at the top by calling Governor Gavin Newsom. Unfortunately, his phone labeled my number “scam likely,” which made it difficult to get through. When he finally picked up, Newsom accused me of trying to scam him. That got my dander up. Insults were exchanged. Eventually, Newsom hung up, then blocked me.
It was a similar story with the other elected officials I called. Some of them called me names, others threatened to have me arrested. Unsurprisingly, all of them, including Newsom, added my number to their campaign list, exponentially increasing the volume of urgent text messages I receive to send money in order to save democracy.
I began to despair. Pratt’s campaign was picking up steam, but California Democrats clearly had their heads up their asses. It was time to call in the big guns. I hired a witch off of Etsy to cast a spell, posted an RFP for an assassin on the dark web, and then I got so desperate that I volunteered for Bass and Raman.
Nothing worked. That is, Pratt continued to gain momentum, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
“It’s hopeless,” I told Christina. “We’re so fucked.”
“What about hiring a witch to cast a spell? I know a great one on Etsy.”
“Been there, done that.”
“Political violence?”
“In theory, I’m against it. In practice, I’m keeping an open mind. But here’s the problem: the only response I got to my RFP for an assassin was from an FBI agent.”
I thought mentioning the FBI would put an end to the assassination talk, but Christina wasn’t afraid. “Fuck the fuzz,” she said. “Isn’t that what LBJ said?”
I shook my head. As far as I knew, LBJ never said, “fuck the fuzz.”
“But he did hire an assassin to kill JFK, right?”
Again, I shook my head.
“Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.”
Christina roared with laughter.
“Babe, everyone knows it was a conspiracy that went all the way to the top.”
“No, that’s just a crackpot theory that happens to have spawned a cottage industry of crackpot theorists.”
I suggested that Christina check out The Rest is History podcast episodewhere Dominic Sandbrook and Tom Holland chronicle the remarkably straightforward case against Oswald, while trying to unravel why it is Americans are such suckers for conspiracy theories.
“Why would I listen to two Brits who don’t even speak American try explain American history?” Christina asked. “Everyone knows LBJ hired the mob to kill JFK, and they outsourced it Oswald in order to pin it on the Cubans.”
“That’s really not how it went down.”
“Well, tell that to your boy Robert Caro.”
Even I’d wanted to, which I didn’t, I couldn’t tell that to Robert Caro, because he’d blocked my number. It turns out the author of the definitive series on LBJ didn’t appreciate a super-fan calling to ask when he was finally going to publish the fifth and final volume. In fact, the last thing he said before hanging up and blocking my number was, “People like you, who keep interrupting my work, are the reason these damn books are taking so long to write.”
Caro’s comment stung, but it didn’t change my feelings about his books. In fact, after all the assassination talk died down — pun intended — I cracked open Means of Ascentthe second book in Caro’s LBJ series. The book picks up in the aftermath of LBJ’s failed 1941 Senate run and culminates with his election to that office in 1948. The difference between those two Senate runs, aside from seven years, is the fact that LBJ cheated the second time around. As the story goes, LBJ faced Coke R. Stevenson, a man who’d held so many different public offices that he was known as Mr. Texas, in the Democratic primary. The first race went to a runoff. The second race was a nail-bitter. Initially, LBJ appeared to have lost the Democratic nomination to Stevenson, but six days after polls had closed, 202 additional votes were added to the totals for Precinct 13 of Jim Wells County — 200 for LBJ and two for Stevenson, resulting in a narrow lead for LBJ, and decades later, a Wikipedia page dedicated to the scandal:
The subsequent recount, handled by the Democratic State Central Committee, took a week. Johnson was announced the winner by 87 votes out of 988,295, an extremely narrow margin of victory. Suspicions arose that the 202 late ballots were fraudulent. The names added to the end of the tally sheet were in alphabetical order and written with the same pen and handwriting. Some of the individuals whose names were listed insisted they had not voted that day, and the last person whose name was recorded before the questionable entries stated that when he voted shortly before the polls closed, there had been no one in line behind him.
That was all the inspiration I needed. My plan was simple: stuff the ballot box. In another state that would’ve been Mission Impossible. In California, it was Mission Feasible.
Knowing that voter turnout would be low — this is America, after all — I went around Los Angeles asking people if they planned to vote. If they said yes, I’d say, “Good for you.” Usually, the answer was no. In those cases, I’d offer to recycle their ballots for free. My offer was calculated to exploit the Angeleno weakness for recycling and the universal human desire to get something for free. I collected about 40,000 ballots, aka the difference. I marked the ballots for Raman, put 40,000 stickers on my lapel, and dropped them off at the nearest collection box.
It was easy.
And it worked.
Spencer Pratt lost. Not because he came in third, but because I cheated.
And now Los Angeles voters have a choice: Keep going in the same direction (Bass), or keep going in the same direction (Raman).
Hell yes, I do. Not Safe for Work is available at Amazon and all the other book places. Murder and Other Distractions is available here. And Ride/ Share can be purchased here. My books won’t save democracy, but they’ll make you laugh while everything goes to hell. Promise.
I ask, you answer
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Who really won the LA Mayor’s race? Wrong answers only.
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The media is blaming California’s ballot counting process for inviting conspiracy theories, but shouldn’t the blame go to … the people spreading the fucking conspiracy theories and the media outlets / tech platforms amplifying their lies? Go deep.
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My Etsy witch refuses to refund my money. Where do you hire your witches? Dish.
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Where will Spencer Pratt go if / when he leaves LA? Asking for a “loser.”
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When will Robert Caro finish his LBJ series? Asking for me.