Apart from the certainty that as soon as the first sticker is attached to the first bumper, it's too late, I abhor you for the near-equal certainty that you (bumper stickerer) are part of the problem you profess to solve. "Ooo, I purchased real estate and now, with my ass firmly anchored in upper-middle class respectability, I wish to urge on those who are still prepared to risk creating the interesting sights and sounds that I do so enjoy!"
And who is to judge what is weird? Apart from the, shall we say, merely peculiar or (heaven forfend!) patently offensive? Shall we, who wish, at your automobile’s adornment’s urging, to do the work of keeping Portland above satisfactory levels of weirdness, submit our modest proposals to your evaluating committee and ready ourselves for feedback and suggestions? Perhaps a 30-day public comment period to ensure the minimum threshold of weirdness (previously voted on and agreed to, of course) is met? Verily sir or madam, may the manifestations of our whimsical caprice allow you and yours to frolic about an urban garden that provides you with myriad stories to regale your less hip relatives with over Thanksgiving turkey! “Oh, Aunt Sally! How quaint you and your fellow Minnesotans are!”
But lo! How might one whose public pronouncements incite us toward the “weird” not just marinate in said but, dare I say it?, partake as well? A humble suggestion: ghost ride your bestickered whip down the N. Baltimore Ave. boat ramp while sending lewd and