[img]1|left|Ari Noonan||no_popup[/img]The pure joy that visited my body on Monday with the news that Holly Mitchell just had been sworn in as the latest member of the state Assembly representing Culver City was comparable to a childhood memory:

The sad afternoon my father, backing out of the driveway, accidentally crushed my new scooter.

If Holly Mitchell is a state legislator, Barack Obama is Presidential timber. And America’s voters attemnpted to apologize for that blunder last month with a massive reversal of form.

Holly Mitchell is introduced to audiences as a childcare advocate.

Wow.

California is sliding into a fiscal ocean much faster than the East Coast doomsday dingos predicted an earthquake would pout all 35 million of us under water.

The answer to the worst state financial crisis in the history if the planet is a childcare advocate — that, boys, is the punchline to a bum dream.

Didn’t we just get finished with a twin-like social justice whacko, Karen Bass, foster child advocate.

Whoopee II — and I don’t mean Goldberg.

Space Reserved for Adults

Are any grownups in the room.

Unless Ms. Mitchell, who probably is a nice lady given the sensitive theme of her life, has a heretofore undiscovered skill buried in the farthest reaches of her cluttered, unfathomable pocketbook, she ain’t the cure for what ails our state government.

As a Democrat, we already are starting in a deep hole because it means she does not think rationally — oh, my golly gee whillickers, people, letr’s save the whole darned world, and by the way, here is 75 cents for child care.

Maybe there is a sharp teenage boy in the audience who would like to spend the next two years in Sacramento who could play Karl Rove to the apparently quite unequipped Ms. Mitchell.

As if her abysmally empty pedigree suitcase weren’t vacant enough, she is billed — trumpets, please — as a single mother.

Isn’t this the place where Archie used to crack “Whoop-de-doo”?

Which sounds like the likely substance of Ms. Mitchell’s first stentorian address to her colleagues.

Don’t send me another girl, boys, if this is the strongest delegate you have.

Do we really need another Edith Bunker in state government 40 years later when we have adult problems?

In a Democratic-run world — My Gawd, I Am a Victim, All of Us Are Victims, and Ain’t It the Most Delicious Feeling? — single mothers are earth’s version of real live saints.

Incapable of error. Only a nasty person would risk left-wing opprobrium by faintly criticizing such a feathery bastion of bulldog bravery.

Hereafter, Ms. Mitchell, 46 years old, shall be known as St. Holly.

All right, Saint, here is the first question:

Name 10 social justice programs you are willing to cut.