I remember when the bullies around here used to kick sand in my face. I was just a little girlie man to them then. Not any more. I've got my black belt in political jujitsu.
Neil and his boys thought they had me down and out on the PGE deal. And what was their best shot? "We're different from Enron. None of our executives are disgraced criminals." Oops. God doesn't punish with a stick. Now their local management team is about as welcome as a pair of low-rider jeans at the Arlington Club.
The mayoral endorsement sure rocked somebody's world. Did I call it right, or what? There is such a thing as too much money. That campaign's made more mistakes than a Severn Trent billing system.
Silly old timers, they think they can still intimidate me. The other morning, I went to the porch to get the paper, and there's a dead salmon, wrapped up in campaign finance reports printed off the internet.
Don't they know they're messing with the wrong guy? I know a couple of gentlemen you can ask about that. One is in Liberia. I'm not sure where the other one is – probably pitching a skating rink somewhere.
I can't believe it.
I did everything right. Got all the downtown money behind me. Ran tons of ads. Bought the best slogan-writers money could buy, said nothing the least bit controversial, portrayed myself as the "new kind of leadership." Worked my butt off dialing for dollars. And I come in second?
Maybe I need to make my message more specific. I guess we need to give the exact details of the many, many great initiatives I have led on the Council.
First thing tomorrow, I'm going to get one of these high-priced research people to figure out what those were.
Holy cow. All that money spent so far and I've only got 27 percent of the vote? There goes my summer.
I don't get how I can be all over the media like white on rice and still not pull away from guys like Po/Po. Those guys' campaigns consist of a credit card and a prayer. Meanwhile, I've got more advertising floating around than a mortgage broker on speed.
I know I'm more popular than 27 percent. Doggone it, people like me. Maybe it's time to change my campaign staff. It's got to be their fault. Get rid of the consultants and bring in a fresh face.
That little gap-toothed punk down the end of the bench on my left isn't helping things any. Have your fun now, junior. I've got an elephant's memory.
Oh, well. It could be worse. At least I didn't have Neil's name on my endorser list. That guy always talks in code, so I had to have both his wife and his ex-wife listed up there. Maybe I should go for the trifecta and call his victim down in Nevada. Mannaggia, running for public office in this town is so complicated.
Here we go with another exciting week, and another exciting month. Nothing can top last week, though; it was unreal. First we unveiled the plans for the MARC. A 50-foot climbing wall and a fancy pressurized swimming pool! Woo hoo! And I didn't let on, but I know just how to get the Salvation Army to pay for it, too: a huge Jesus statue at the top of the climbing wall. You know "Touchdown Jesus" at Notre Dame? Wait 'til they see Crampon Jesus in Portland! And an underwater Holy Ghost painted on the bottom of the pool. Maybe a couple of Virgin Mary's in the yoga rooms, too.
The separation of church and state thing could be trouble. Those pesky ACLU types will come sniffing around. But hey, if it means I get my name in the history books, I can sing a discreet chorus or two of "Bringing in the Sheaves"! One nation, under God!
We'll even have water sports down on the east side of the Willamette next to the Broadway Bridge. That'll be an upgrade from the dead-man-floating games we get down there now. Maybe as a transition, we could start right away handing out fencing gear to the homeless people who are stabbing each other all the time.
I ended the week with a bang, too, with my big announcement. Tom for Mayor! That ought to give Old Moneybags a little agita. He doesn't understand how soon my time is coming. I'll drive him nuts for four years, starting now, and blow him away after one term. Campaign finance reform, and then I'll take him by storm. Move over, Tom McCall.