• kathryn rathke
During the campaign, my consultants took away my Twitter and Facebook access and barred me from reading The Stranger, but now that I’m mayor I can do as I please. My handlers were afraid that I would react rashly to the many personal attacks launched my way, but scrolling through the Slog archives, I don’t see what the big deal was.

For example, on July 23, Goldy wrote that he would not vote for me because I am “thin-skinned.” Thin-skinned? Really? Is that the best you can throw at me? Besides, it’s not even true.

My skin isn’t thin—it is thick and supple like a well-marbled pork belly.

True story: Once, during a rousing rendition of “You Can’t Get a Man with a Gun” at our weekly legislative session karaoke night, Senator Pam Roach accidentally let off a shot from the Glock 19 she keeps in her purse. Hit me square in the cheek. Didn’t leave a mark. Never found the bullet.
How’s that for thin-skinned?

As for the rest of the feeble barbs tossed my way by Stranger staff—the accusations of being “inflexible” and “disingenuous,” and of having “enormous” eyes “like a weepy deer” (yes, I know you were tweeting about me, Anna, and I have a fucking thyroid condition)—well, enjoy sucking an ex-mayor’s cock for a change. My communications director makes more than all of you combined, and he’s got standing instructions from the motherfucking mayor to tell you all to go fuck yourselves up your asses with a rolled-up Weekly. This is my city now, and my face eats bullets, motherfuckers. And if you call me “thin-skinned” one more time, I’ll burn you to the fucking ground.