Last weekend, in a tragic development, the unemployment rate among the Cuomo Brothers rose to 100 percent. Given that the Gropey Gov has about as much chance of returning to politics as Bill Clinton and that the former host of CNN’s “The Fredo Hour” is so disgraced by having served as a one-man intel bureau against his brother’s accusers that even SiriusXM dumped him from its lineup, job offers are likely to be scarce for both — in their old fields.
But fellas, The Post is here to help with some suggestions for new career paths. Be bold about your futures, the way you were every time you shamelessly dismissed conflict-of-interest questions!
- Swab salesmen: Hey, guys, remember when Americans were desperate for incredibly scarce COVID tests and Andrew had state employees rush some out to Chris’ estate in the Hamptons? And the two of you went on TV to do a comedy routine with a giant swab as a joke about the size of Andrew’s nose? It’s the perfect entry to a new career hawking plastic sticks with bits of cotton on the end. True, no existing corporation wants to do business with dirtbags like you, which is why you’ll have to start your own company and probably have to sell the product on late-night infomercials, but there’s a brand name ready and waiting for you: The Cuo-Tip. You’re welcome, and I’ll take 10 percent of the dozens of dollars you’re sure to rake in.
- Cater waiters: Italian meatballs serving Swedish meatballs? Irresistible. Don’t drop the platter when you get your face slapped by unforgiving ladies who recognize you.
- Sewage diver: Someone needs to put on a wetsuit and get down there to inspect the machinery and whatnot. And the job carries the benefit of anonymity. In a lake of poop, no one knows you’re a Cuomo.
- Chippendales dancers in Vegas: Sure, being treated as brainless objects so that you can get your fannies pinched is fairly humiliating. See how you like it for a while. Yes, this is a lesson. Maybe you’ll run into some Cuomosexuals who treat you respectfully, but since they were mainly magazine writers, I doubt it.
- Taxi driver: What better place to spend the next 20 years than muttering dark Travis Bickle-isms about the injustices you’ve suffered from the front seat of a cab? It’s a low visibility gig, and that’s exactly the kind of visibility you need. I realize Uber pays better but I’m afraid that won’t work: you’d get a ton of one-star reviews from customers who don’t like sexual assault, corruption or having their grandmothers killed.
- Sparring partner at Equinox kickboxing class: This job’s so easy even you two jackasses could pull it off: all you have to do is get punched in the face all day. Trust me, you won’t lack for clients.
- Off-Off Broadway actors: You’re both pretty experienced with pretending for the cameras, right? Why not take your act to the theater, with a stage version of “The Godfather” that allows audiences to enjoy Chris playing Fredo for real? The only problem is that Andrew can no longer plausibly play Michael since Michael was a criminal mastermind who ruled his world for decades and Andrew is merely a sex pest who hastened the death of grannies in nursing homes. Maybe ill-tempered Andrew could play Sonny, though? We’d certainly all enjoy seeing him reenact the toll-booth scene.
- Gas pumpers on the New Jersey Turnpike. Useful, honest labor asking people if they want to pay cash or credit for their Sunoco go-juice at the Joyce Kilmer rest stop. Nah, on second thought, that’s too good for you mooks.
Kyle Smith is critic at large at National Review.
