Our mayor is Rob Ford. Don’t you know who he is? Call him the C-Lo Green of municipal leaders.

Truck him.

And truck you, too.

Think of this as rhyming slang; call it Ford’s fuddle-duddle; older folks may remember Nixon: expletives, deleted.

Character emerges in moments of stress; in moments of stress, Rob Ford spews like an Icelandic volcano. This comes as no surprise.

We have known all along what he is like.

He flips the bird at citizens when he talks on his cell in his truck. He called one of his council mates a snake and a weasel. He said another was a waste of skin.

He spewed drunken profanity, and drunken inanity, at a couple of fans at a Leafs’ game, and then he denied having been at the game, and then he retracted his denial.

What is a “right-wing communist” anyway?

Let’s be serious: Marg Delahunty is a comic character, dressed in a skirt, armed with a plastic sword, holding a microphone.

If Rob would call 9-1-1 on Marg, he had better keep his curtains closed and stay inside the house on Monday night.

I’m betting there’s a run on Warrior Queen costumes in my beloved Parkdale.

The real outrage: how is it possible that the mayor of the largest city in the country does not know Marg, the scourge of politicians?

It is clear that he never watched anything on CBC television except Don Cherry, a loudmouth who also has — just coincidence? — anger management issues.

Marg Delahunty is at least as recognizable, if not as amusing, as Don Cherry. She is, in her own way, as comically iconic as the gang at the Tim’s in the Air Farce sketch.

She is, minus the costume and the novels, the Margaret Atwood of comedy. Ford should have known who she was.

Afterwards, he told reporters in a scrum that he was open to the media. Rob Ford is not, and never has been, open to the media.

He is open to the media he chooses.

I pity his mouthpiece, Adrienne Batra. She sees us coming — we do not stop — and she must feel like a wind-up doll. “No comment. No comment. No comment. We do not talk to the Star. No comment.”

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Back to the 9-1-1 call.

The dispatcher is a municipal employee; arguably, Ford is the boss. No, not true. The dispatcher works for the corporation, not for the mayor. He has no business throwing his weight around.

Yesterday, he said Marg prevented him from getting into his vehicle. Also not true. He got in, and then he got out and fled to the confines of his house.

I don’t buy the notion that he feared for his life, and I saw no children in the video.

But even if his daughter was there, she was in the house, and what must she have thought when she heard daddy using the f-word while talking on the phone?

Ford made his position clear during the call: he has no use for municipal employees. He’s waging war on them, and us.

I hailed the garbage truck the other morning, as a fellow was taking my recyclables. I retrieved my bin and asked him how things were going. He said he had no seniority, and was likely to lose his job.

I said I was sorry. He said he’d find another job, and he said he felt sorry for the people on his route.

He’s losing his job, and he feels bad for me?

Let me cast the wider net: we, all of us, should feel bad. Halloween upon us for three more years.

Ain’t it a witch?

Joe Fiorito appears Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Email: jfiorito@thestar.ca