Dear All of My Friends Who are Campaigning for Jefferson Smith,

Please stop. Because I didn’t appreciate having to have a talk — again — with my teenage daughter about how it’s still a man’s man’s man’s world and our daughters (sisters, mothers, friends and lovers) deserve so much more. As my late, great friend Frank would say, Men like that hate women. “Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed!”

Jefferson Smith, you need to get the hell out of the race. Now. Here’s a song, dedicated just to you, sir.

“You add insult to injury/what do you get?/you get a bus stop full of honkeys that don’t ever forget”

Love,

Nancy

PS — This, this and this. For starters.

PSS — No, Charlie Hales didn’t pay me to say this. We don’t even live in Portland anymore. It’s that I am still, deep inside, a 12-year-old girl whose mama’s best friend was murdered by her abusive husband. What did the cops say, when she called them and said, “He’s threatening to kill me” ? They said, He hasn’t killed you yet.

Yeah there’s this, too.

PPSS — How is this my business? Oh, you know. I heard someone say “stupid bitch” and I assumed he was talking to me.

Edited 10/11/12 to say — Fox 12 Oregon just tweeted: Portland police and firefighters unions have withdrawn their endorsements of Portland mayoral candidate Jefferson Smith. And thank you, Mother PAC. Good.

Yeah, and along comes the 1:32 a.m. e-mail.

Edited on 10/22/12 to add: Next, we have One Ron Buel trying to smooth things over. “Character assassination” my ass. Jefferson Smith keeps shooting himself in the foot repeatedly, like Yosemite Sam gone completely berserk, and somehow the rest of us are to blame?

Look, Smith blames his victims all the time — the woman he punched, the people he assaulted and freaked out on during sports league, probably that mean ol’ traffic court for his driving record. So it’s really no surprise he is reeling, lashing out and looking for someone to blame since it doesn’t look like he’s going to be Mayor. Of anywhere. Ever. He can go be Mayor in his own head, that should work.

Yes, Ron Buel was Neil Goldschmidt’s go-to guy, for those of you who are keeping track of this crap. (Past posts we’ve written: one, two and three. And there’s this one, too.)

You know, the sociopaths, sex abusers, murderers and all the rest of the freaks in the world don’t bother me so much. There truly are more of us than there are of them. What bothers me are all the other people — the grandmas who cry, Not my boy! Not him! He’d never!; the girlfriends, wives and hangers-on who say, You don’t know him like I do, etc.; the co-workers who say, Well, that never happened to me, therefore it never happened to you…

Because those people? They just might outnumber the rest of us.