How do I stop FOODday? I've tried phone calls and emails, to no avail—soon, the offensive, sodden package reappears. What's the home address of the editor-in-chief? I wanna dump 500 copies of FOODday on his doorstep.

FOODday makes me NAUSeous

Stop FOODday? Ha! You might as well try to slay the immortal tide, blot out the sun, or give a wedgie to pantsless Death as hope to turn aside the soggy march of FOODday.

For those who don't know, FOODday is a wad of soft news, recipes and ads that arrives, uninvited, on many Portland doorsteps every Tuesday. The Oregonian, which produces it, would call it a "free newspaper."

Of course, I could crap in your shoe and call it "free compost." In both cases, the generosity of the gesture hinges on one's ability to refuse it, and this is where FOODday has made its share of enemies.

The Oregonian's official position is that if you don't like FOODday, you can call the newspaper at 221-8240 and it will stop delivery. But many people say FOODday recurs after a few months, like some incurable herpes of the porch.

How many? Well, I get letters like yours several times a year. Local blogs are rife with FOODday kvetching, and there are two Facebook groups devoted entirely to wishing FOODday would go away.

Multiple emails to The Oregonian were unanswered at press time. The paper probably figures no responsible journalist would rush into print without getting the other side of the story. Joke's on them!

That said, don't pick on the long-suffering editor—he's a newsman, not a CEO. Instead, write to the publisher. For all I know, he's long-suffering, too—but you gotta admit, it's hard to picture a guy named N. Christian Anderson III clawing his way up from the mailroom.