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Nope ... not going there, no matter what you do


Please, please, please-please … pleeeese … don’t make me say it.

“M------- ------"

Look, the primary is Tuesday, and I’ve been a good Oregon voter to this point.

I’ve watched all 755 videos on the Mail Tribune website of the candidates for governor explaining why they’re the only one who can a) get the state moving in the right direction again, b) keep the state moving in the right direction that it’s already in, or c) lead us to a better future by turning the clocks back to the Eisenhower Era.

I’ve seen more political TV ads than those starring Jake from State Farm and Lily from AT&T combined.

The candidates are either smiling behind empty stares to show that they can be good neighbors, or scowling to show how they will pummel us into submission if we don’t heel to their dogma.

It’s the stuff of nightmares.

One of them’s a Mom. We know this because she keeps telling us she’s a Mom. “I’m a Mom,” she says, as though none of the other 754 candidates are parents.

I’m not sure how much being a Mom helps, frankly. I don’t think I’d want my Mom to be the governor of Oregon — and not just because she died in 2007, although that certainly wouldn’t help her campaign.

To give you a sense of my Mom, it’s like that commercial — or, for you internet whizzes out there, meme — about the Mom who tapes pictures to her living room wall, thinking that’s how social media operates … only to be interrupted by an exasperated other Mom who says “That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works.”

Well, my Mom would be the third Mom in the scene … the one sitting on the couch, who never makes a sound. Or a move.

I’m not sure we want a governor who never says or does anything. Well, on second thought … maybe?

Gov. Mom, though, is standing in a classroom and tells us she wants our schools to teach children “how to think, not what to think.” Of course, by eliminating from classrooms topics Gov. Mom finds inappropriate, she’s actually telling students what not to think.

(Trust me … it makes sense.)

Another candidate, who has a face for radio and a voice for print, drives disgustedly through what appears to be a backdrop of either Lviv or Portland before spitting out the word “woke” as though someone force-fed him lima beans as a child.

His demeanor and political positions remind me a bit of my Dad — although the candidate never proclaims himself to be “a Dad,” and isn’t seen in a T-shirt while chain-smoking Pall Malls.

This is hitting a bit too close to home. I can’t imagine what could be more unsettling than thinking about my parents running for governor.

“Men------ Di-----”

Gee, thanks.

I have read my Voter’s Pamphlet. I have filled out my ballot. Properly signed. Dropped off at a proper drop-off spot. I used the proper pen and included the name of my first pet (Marshmallow), my Little League batting average (.310) and the identity of the first girl I ever kissed (none of your damn business … you’re not counting my ovals).

“Menst--- Digni—"

No, no … nono-no … NO!

I won’t say “Menstrual Dignity” — and you can’t make me!


There are days where I like to believe that I am a grown-up. That these 40-plus years spent toiling in newsrooms have instilled in me a sort of professional decorum that knows when to sidestep low-hanging, poor-taste fruit as nimbly as marching behind a horse during a parade.

I mean, let’s face it, when candidates want to spin cultural strawmen into political gold over a plan to install tampon dispensers in all school bathrooms for grades K-12 … well, what is your local howling voice in the wilderness supposed to do?

No … not that. The proper course of action is to pay it no nevermind.

Don’t bring it up. Don’t mention unmentionables. Whatever you do, don’t make a non-sequiturious reference to the opening minutes of the original film version of “Carrie.”

Politicians (and national media trolls), meanwhile, know an easy target when they see one — and ignore decorum so better to stir the primordial ooze of voter agitation.

This is where our politics has led us, to waging wars of words over issues that easily could be explained and compromises worked out — if only either side could stop building their soap boxes long enough to listen.

I, however, am my parents’ son … which is why I’ll never be governor of Oregon.

Mail Tribune columnist Robert Galvin doesn’t know how anything works at rgalvin@rosebudmedia.com.