DEAR SIR: Is J.C. Gillespie a real person or was that Karl Rove ["Letters," Sept. 16, sent in by J.C. Gillespie]? The notion that America can't survive without "ass-fucking the world" is the political philosophy of a rapist/parasite. If true, America doesn't deserve to survive.

And no, we're not all the same Ugly Americans to the rest of the world. I've been well east of Jersey City and the view from there is that the American people made a mistake in putting Bush in office and are charitable enough to forgive the error. They won't be so forgiving if we do so again.

As for Gillespie's program of incest, I think I'll leave that to his "moderate Republican" were-pigs. I have better things to do than grunt at the moon.

Gerhardt E. Goeken


DEAREST HUMPY: I live in Gresham, and imagine my chagrin when I did not find your newspaper in its proper place in my local public library! Upon further inspection, I found your delicious rag HIDDEN under a pile of another, less enlightened publication. I curse the cold-hearted devils who wish to thwart anyone's access to my favorite alternative newspaper. I smell a conservative plot, undertaken by those lost souls that continue to fear that which is unknown to them.

To those who hid your beloved paper, I say: crack open a beer, crack open a Mercury, and relax. That's the problem in America today: Not enough Richards, too many Dicks!



TO THE EDITOR: Forget conspiracy theories related to Tom Moyer [News, "How the Mighty Have Fallen!" Sept. 23] and focus on the opportunity for Portland to get clean money campaign finance reform. The idea is gaining traction because big money contributors are out of control no matter how the contributions are reported.

Clean money reform creates voter-owned elections, taking big private money out of the system. It's great for voters--I want more choices and face time with candidates. It's good for candidates because it frees them up to talk to voters.

Heck, it's even good for the Mercury. Poor slob reporters won't have to pour over 200 pages of disclosure reports to find big contributions from Tom Moyer's administrative assistant and granddaughter. Instead you, and the rest of Portland, can talk with candidates and focus on critical city issues.

Anne L. Potter


TO THE MERCURY: I'd like to clarify some misstatements made by Michael Svoboda in his recent article "Things To Do In Portland When You're Undead" ["The Zombie Issue," Sept. 16]. First off, Mr. Svoboda, we resent your implication that the barstaff at Tube and Holocene are anorexic because we are all on some sort of extreme form of the Atkins diet. Anorexic, sure. (Although if you ask any of us, we still think we look a little chubby.) But the Atkins Diet? None of us would ever dream of eating meat! We prescribe to a strict macrobiotic vegan diet (A twice daily routine of lettuce and one cup of water slightly sweetened with Splenda), as well as herbal supplements (mainly Metabolife, mini-thins, and laxatives).

Furthermore, to add insult to injury, you state that our brains are pickled with gin. That could not be farther from the truth, dickhead. Our brains are pickled with vodka. And only high end, triple distilled imports. They're easy for the liver to process (thus our wafer thin bodies do not absorb as many calories) and they have less toxins (so that we may keep our aging husks in an eternal state of Dorian Gray-like adolescence.)

While it's true that zombies would not be welcome at Tube--they have terrible fashion taste and never have any money anyway--I simply wanted to correct Mr. Svoboda's sloppy errors. Now if you'll excuse me I have to feather my hair and pick out which pair of tight black pants will go with which fitted black shirt for work tonight.

Mikey, Tube Bar Manager

OKAY, OKAY! YOU WIN! (Two free passes to the Laurelhurst, and two tickets to see King Lear at Portland Center Stage, that is!) Congrats and a tip o' the hat to Mikey who wins the Mercury "Letter of the Week" for his stubborn-headed, but entirely correct defense of the anorexic employees of Tube. Now go eat a sandwich, for Christ's sake.