The Societal Value Of Parking Placards Goes Well Beyond Providing Real-Life Examples Of Irony For New York Students

They contribute an easy source of humor for a beaten-down populace, and remind us that biting investigative reporting is alive and well, as well:

A Waterfront Commission honcho used a cushy job perk to illegally park his Lexus outside New York University Law School while he taught a class on corruption.

. . .

When asked how parking illegally on Washington Square South jibes with teaching a course on corruption, [the honcho] slammed his door shut, yanked the placard off the dashboard and sped off.

Up, Up And Away

The Times elevates expectations about the Mayor’s State of the City address to possibly unattainable heights:

In recent weeks, Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg has been mocked as a Manhattan elitist on “Saturday Night Live,” booed for his educational policies and accused of ignoring far-flung corners of New York City paralyzed by snow.

But Mr. Bloomberg will take one step toward rebuilding a strained relationship with the city’s other boroughs on Wednesday when he announces a plan to make it easier for New Yorkers to hail a cab outside of Manhattan. The mayor’s proposal, part of his 10th State of the City address, would make it legal to hail livery cabs.

Jersey Trash

Sure he’s a traitor, blah blah, but there’s also something really, really funny about it:

The man who tried to curse the Yankees by burying a Red Sox jersey in the Bombers’ new stadium lives just a short drive from the House that Ruth Built.

The culprit is a mason — born and raised in the Country Club section of southeast Bronx.

“As I stuck it in, I said, ‘The Yankees are done for the next 30 years.’ I only put a 30-year curse because I’m 46 and in 30 years I’ll be dead, and I won’t care if the Yankees win then,” said “Gino,” who spoke from a construction job in Manhattan.

Already, the man’s co-workers defaced his station wagon with Yankee slogans written in shoe polish.

Long a Yankee hater, the turncoat hatched his plan last August after refusing to set foot on the job out of spite.

One summer day, he placed a carefully folded jersey bearing the name and uniform number of David Ortiz, the slugging Red Sox designated hitter known as Big Papi, into the concrete mix being laid along the third base line.

“The reason why is George Steinbrenner told [Yankees GM Brian] Cashman to get Ortiz and Cashman told him, we don’t need him, We have [Jason] Giambi and Nick Johnson,” Gino boasted, referring to a chance the Yanks had to sign Ortiz in 2003.

“Rooting for the Yankees is like rooting for All-State Insurance company to make more money,” he ranted. “Every ball thrown, I hope I have the last laugh. Red Sox Nation is alive and well.”

Two witnesses spotted the mason planting the shirt, which he wore to work that day, in the floor of the visitor’s locker room in front of the third-base line — not on the field.

But Gino was coy as to the exact location.

The Steinbrenners “don’t have enough money to [make me] tell you where it actually is,” he said.

The traitor said he’d been rooting for the Red Sox since the days of Jim Rice in the 1970s.

When he buried the jersey, this Benedict Arnold was making $88 an hour to do construction at the treasured site. And he documented the entire sabotage on his cellphone camera.

Go Figure

Lottery players either lack originality or have a wicked sense of humor:

State lottery officials closed down betting on 871 because too many New Yorkers were playing the number — the hotel room where pay-for-love-gov Eliot Spitzer romped with a hooker.

Officials retired the number for Tuesday night’s Daily Numbers game after it reached $5 million in sales, lottery spokesman John Charleson said Wednesday.

The lottery cuts off sales to numbers when they reach $5 million in order to limit the state’s payout should the number hit.

The number’s popularity surged after reports that Spitzer trysted with a high-class hooker named “Kristen” in room 871 of the swanky Mayflower Hotel in Washington.

But it turned out to be as unlucky for gamblers as it was for Spitzer: Tuesday evening’s winning number was 662.

Comic Relief . . . Emphasis On Relief

He may not have the kind of experience you would expect from someone who would be representing several hundred thousand constituents in the U.S. Congress, but Chris Owens has a nice sense of humor:

Democratic candidates In today’s four-way congressional primary race stuffed the mailboxes in the final push to succeed retiring Brooklyn Rep. Major Owens.

. . .

Chris Owens, the incumbent’s son, whose campaign hasn’t sparked as much enthusiasm as his rivals’, also sent out some mail over the weekend.

One even said, “No, this is not another mailing from David Yassky. It is your only piece of mail from Chris Owens.”

I declare the campaign is over: Close Race; Score One For Opportunism; The Post Oppo Research Machine Chugs Along; See, The Thing Is Was, Senior Year Was Just Such A Blur For Me . . .; Excitement!; Well, That’s A Relief!; Pay To Campaign!; Recipe For Hitting The Front Page Of The Sunday Times: Just Add Sharpton; You Know You’ve Jumped The Shark When . . .; Unite To Stop White Individuals!; The Sad Thing Is That It Was Probably A Carefully Crafted Statement; How Do We Put This? Let’s Just Say Identity Politics Still Exists . . .; Barack Obama: Some Guy They Stuck In There; Nothing Against Your Policies, It’s Just The Color Of Your Skin.