That Anti-Fred Blog

Well, well, well. So Miss Romney's folks were behind an anti-Big Daddy blog.

I knew it. Only folks affiliated with campaigns would have any interest in building a blog to oppose lil' ol' me. And frankly, I'm such a captivating public figure, it's just plain hard to believe anyone out there in real America would be anti-Fred.

And you know what? I knew it had to be Miss Romney. I'm way up there in a dead heat with Mr. 9/11, and all the other losers are just so much bathroom mold, that it really just left Miss Romney as the only one who would benefit from tearing me down.

I'm really brilliant, underneath this laconic exterior.

You've Got to Be Kidding Me

So, Fuckabee comes in second in a straw poll that none of the front runners participated in -- because it was a waste of time and didn't matter for any purpose at all -- and he polls consistently as sixth at best -- well behind a man who has not officially announced his candidacy yet -- and the Post gives him this warm and fuzzy send-up.

Meanwhile, Big Daddy moves forward by announcing that we will announce officially next week, and we poll super-high -- some days a tie with Giuliani, and pretty much never below second place, and all the Post can muster is this blather about the so-called difficulties we face.

Now that's just fucked all to hell. Fuckabee has barely a better shot than that nutcase Ron Paul. And both of them have less of shot that my toejam. Less of a shot than the sweat off my balls. That's right -- the people, given a chance, would rank my toejam, then McCain, then Miss Romney, then the sweat off my balls, then Fuckabee, and then Ron Paul.

Miss Romney Reminds Me...

Live blogging the Iowa debate:

Miss Romney reminds me of some of them cornfed, blowdried boring-mcborings who would do a little patter and then do a little over-rehearsed shuck and jive on The Lawrence Welk Show. You know, someone who would sing a popular song and then suck all the life out of it -- and make matters worse by putting it in some lame little skit.

"Ooh, snap!" as the Kids These Days Might Say

Live blogging the Iowa debate:

Miss Romney just gave Obama a nice little bitch slap. "He must be confused... in his first week, he's going to meet with our enemies; then, he'll follow up by invading our allies." Very slick, little missy! Obama got all that attention for his foreign policy speech -- way to put him in his place by linking it up with that naive little moment from the Democrat debate.

By the way, which one is Tancredo and which one is Huckabee? Does anyone know? Does anyone care?

Not Thrilled? The Thriller's Not in the Race Yet

The Washington Post sure is trying to call an inch a mile: this story about Iowa Republicans not being thrilled about their candidates is all stretched out from some thin evidence.

The key thing to note about that story is that I'm not in the race yet. And I'm already polling in a tie for second behind Miss Romney, who's in the lead just because she's been spending so much money there.

No wonder they're not thrilled. They're not thrilled because the only thrilling candidate isn't officially a candidate yet. And besides, none of this stuff starts to matter until next January, for cryin' out loud. That's plenty of time for me to sex them up right.

The only thing I'm not thrilled about these days is the media elite's big attack on my wife. And the Post just continued the attack with this backhanded bit insinuating my wife never made a name for herself until after she met me. I don't know what gave them that idea, other than the facts they cite.

It's a Sneak Attack Plan -- Really, It Is

Folks, don't listen to the naysayers trying to shit all over the $3 million I raised for my soon-to-be campaign. I can ramp that number up any time I want. Thing is, I've been the front runner so long that I just need to make the other guys take me a little bit less seriously -- let their guard down, before I come in force and gobble up all the money.

Money or not, I'm still pretty much in the lead. Even in Iowa, where Miss Romney has been spending so much of her own money, I've been surging ahead of Limpiani and McNuts.

As soon as Jeri lets me, I'm going to own this race.

Was There Ever Any Doubt?

Ah, yes... the Zogby poll shows me in the lead of a race I haven't formally entered yet. McNuts is already in the remainder bin, Miss Romney has taken his place in third, and the limp-dicked loudmouth New Yorker is behind me.

Really, it's already a fight between Hillary and me. And at that point, who cares what I stand for? Just crown me president already.

It's going to be a sweet, sweet eight years, folks.

Money in MY Bank

Miss Romney's purse is open, and she's been reaching into it to fund her campaign. It has brought her to the top of the polls in Iowa and New Hampshire, but she can't keep that shit up as the race goes nationwide.

Speaking of, she and Limpiani are wasting a lot of their money on spending in Florida. Don't they realize I have those housebound walker users all sewn up? When they come back from a hard day of gambling for gift cards, what is the first thing they do? Turn on the TV. And who are they going to see? Big Daddy himself. Law & Order is on 24 hours a day, from A&E to USA and every channel in between. We own the cable industry.

Michelle, Tamika and Tanya Wanna Ride This Train

Giddy-up! LA Times says I have already pulled way ahead -- not tied for number two, but the sole occupant of number two, with McNuts and Miss Romney duking it out for third.

Limpiani -- you're next.

Ron Paul is down there with Brokeback, Tancrappo. and Fuckabee trying to get a half a percent of the crumbs we leave them. The mighty, mighty netroots sure are looking pretty flaccid right about now. See? So much for these nontraditional, blogging and bullshit exercises. Just give the people want they want -- a superficial image of authority and all-around manliness. The rest will fall right into place.

I am going to make a great president.

Jeri, honey, I think it's a blue pill night!

They're Clamoring for Me

I've barely stuck my toe in the pond and everyone is already begging for me to swim laps around the other jokers. The polls show me already ahead of Miss Romney and dead even with McNuts. Plus I'm already eating into McNuts' base. Which means it's just a matter of time before I eat Limpiani for breakfast.

So clearly the question isn't if I should run over to the Ames straw poll and come in at the last minute to tromp Miss Romney. I already have tromped her. And she looks even worse as she plans to stay put in Ames, even though McNuts and Limpiani have pulled out.

See? George Will can ask all he wants if I am "a mind undisciplined by steady engagement with complexities" -- if he didn't learn from Reagan and Dubya that the people just don't care about that, then it's clearly lost on him why I'm already at the front of the pack without even officially declaring. This guy really gets it: "Lights, Camera, Ass-Kicking Time." That's what the people want, George. Now pull that baseball bat out of your ass and come aboard the Ready Freddy Express.

Miss Romney Has an Admirer

In my day, no right-thinking man went around talking about "man crushes" or "bromance" or "getting gaysted by your dancefloor bro." But I guess times are changing. The Log Cabin types are still kind of a joke in our circles, especially now that Brokeback Mountain came out, but they've got the money and the right political leanings, and as long as they don't lean in too close I guess I just say, "Welcome to the big tent, and we're happy to have you help us get some better floral arrangements in here."

Even so, for Miss Romney to be publicly fawned over by some guy at The Politico, well that just doesn't help her cause one bit.

We're Not Worried

Some folks out there in the nether regions of the Internet (note to self: put that in a speech; it sounds smart) are jumping up and down with glee, because they think Ron Paul is going to raise enough money to make himself a power player.

So he raised maybe $5 million. I shit $5 million in my morning dump. And the Paul folks are probably so disorganized they don't even know how much they have.

I'll leave it to Limpiani to keep duking it out with him. It lowers him to keep on and keep on with the attacks on the nutcase, and it makes the nutcase get enough attention that he takes money away from the other fringers, like Brokeback and Tancrappo.

As for me, I'm just going to keep gobbling up all the money that Miss Romney is going after. The rest of the crowd will self-destruct or naturally fall away once I swing my big pipe into the race.

And then Hillary's going to suck off a real man. You heard it here first, folks.

Passing Thoughts About the Debate

How many times did Limpiani mention 9/11? That's gonna get real old, real fast. Like some kid in elementary school who just got back from Disneyland and has to go around mentioning goddamn Disneyland in every single conversation he has for the next week. We get it. But that's something you save up for just the right moment. The more you use it, the less mojo it has.

One of the newspapers says the debate was all about McNuts sticking out. Right. I think his campaign staff must have sucked off one or both of the reporters. His only real high point was when he talked to the woman who lost her brother in Iraq, and then he was just stealing Bill Clinton's "I feel your pain."

Them kids on the Internet are going wild about Ron Paul. A lot of the party zealots are complaining that he's not a Republican because he sounds like a peacenik. Get over it, both of you; he's got no structure behind him, just a lot of computer nerds. Just because you hear a lot of noise doesn't mean you got an army behind you. Move on, folks.

The real winner of the debate was Big Daddy. They all came off as crazy; I was removed from it all. They bit into each other; I went on the air to remind people I wasn't one of those kids who's been running for president since kindergarten. (Miss Romney, that means you.) They tried to tear each other down and build themselves up; I got to plug my website.

Chuckle... I've Got This Thing Sewn Up

All that time carefully cultivating my public persona in Hollywood has paid off: I make the ladies cream in their jeans. Miss Romney thought she would have this kind of appeal, but face facts: the soccer moms don't have wet dreams about guys with better hair than they have.

Note to self: maybe I should get some of my "grassroots" operatives to make some T-shirts that call me Big Stud Daddy, the Ultimate DILF, Former Senator Studly, Superschlong, something like that.

I am going to make a great president. Two terms -- and more, once we get that constitutional amendment passed. I'm going to be the new FDR. But without the cripple thing.