Live blogging the debates:
This is dull. I thought I was going to live blog the New Hampshire debate all night, but I keep nodding off.
Folks, this boring-ass crowd is the whole reason I have to run. The only interesting guy up there is Ron Paul, but he has less a chance of winning than my toe fungus.
Live blogging the debates:
Seriously. And not just Ron Paul -- Tancrappo, Fuckabee, Duncan Cunter. Why are those losers still in it?
This is why it makes total sense for me to skip the debate. It would debase me to have to talk with those numbnuts.
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.
I don't know what kind of fantasy-land the political press people are living in. They're dying to say that my campaign is already withered on the vine, but the fact is that the people are lining up to lick my hairy toes.
Here's the latest "Mama say wha'?" moment: the National Journal says of the blogosphere, "Conservative frustration with the tortured roll out of the Fred Thompson campaign is undercutting blogger enthusiasm for the campaign."
The same day that was published, my "tortured roll out" had already put me in a dead tie for number one.
What do we learn from this example of political press types reaching into their own asses, pulling out a wad of shit, and plopping it down on the page?
(1) Don't turn to the political press for the news. Or insight. Or, for that matter, anything, unless you just need the newsprint to line your bird cage.
(2) Stop paying attention to the blogosphere. Pay attention to the people. If blogger interest mattered one bit, then Ron Paul would be the big dick of the candidate pool, not the spooge-rag he is.
Ron Paul gets this big piece in the Houston Chronicle. And I say: why? My pubes have a better shot in the primaries than that weirdo. His supporters are nothing more than Cheez-Whiz-slurping, technobabble-speaking freaks sitting in their parents' basement wearing their Starfleet uniforms, clicking around for free porn on YouTube, and instant messaging each other about the next comics convention.
I thought Tommy Thompson's flame-out would have been a lesson to Ron Paul and the other barnacles in this race: get out now and make room for Big Daddy before I swing my monster cock into this race and you get my salty manjuice all over your miserable little face. Before, as Ron Paul supporters would say, you get "pwned."
So, let's see... OK, so McNuts is cracking up. Well, that's hardly news. As soon as I came sniffing around, I pushed that loser to second-tier status at best, and now that's all finally coming to fruition.
And, let's see, who else is down there... right, Ron Paul. He had his little moment of popularity on the Internet, his debut on the comedy channel, and all that, but he's still the nothing he was before. As soon as Dan the Dweeb realizes he has to stop playing video games in his mom's basement and go out into the sunshine to cast a vote in a primary, I think all that Ron Paul talk will dry right up.
And who does that leave... let's see... Tancrappo, Fuckabee, blah blah blah. Right. As if anyone gives two shits about them.
There aren't that many Ron Paul supporters... Paul is just way, way, way down there on the polls, nowhere close to me in even his wildest dream. But his supporters certainly are intense about him. For the life of me, I can't figure out why.
Last night, after we tried and failed without the blue pill (note to self: get re-fill ASAP), Jeri and I snuggled up to watch TV, and we paused on The Colbert Report, thinking it was Nightline. I thought I liked that Colbert fellow, until Jeri told me he was making fun of Republican talk folks. And then he interviewed Ron Paul. Watching it, I had to say -- I just don't see it. He doesn't have any reasonably faked masculine swagger, and he came across as this goofy overaged kid who takes our fake "small government" talk much more seriously than the rest of us do.
Why is he even allowed in the party?
First things first, all the news kept getting pushed aside because of Paris Hilton. Near as I can tell, that little girl ain't done a thing ever, not even a lick of work in her whole life. Where I'm from, we'd say a person like that is a waste of skin. Now somehow the whole world seems to know who the hell she is and seems to care if she goes to jail or not. I'd say she's like that Anna Nicole Smith, but at least Anna Nicole Smith had the good sense to do something positive for the world by posing in Playboy and making a late-night Skinemax flick I like to watch whenever I'm traveling and Jeri isn't around to help me drain my pipe.
And that's just one sign of these strange times we're living in. This Ron Paul guy just won't go away, even though he has less a chance to survive than a doughnut in Michael Moore's office. All my people are trying to tell me we've got to get with all the Web 2.0 stuff he's been doing. YouTube, MySpace, Bebo, streaming video, DailyMotion, Facebook, Google (is that a freaking noun or a freaking verb?), text messaging on your iPhone... it's all Geek to me.
Whatever happened to just doing those fuzzy, soft-focus commercials of you on the beach with your family, saying you want to blow a little sunshine up the country's collective ass for the next four years?
This campaign might be more work than I thought.
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.
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.
Can an actor and elite insider sell himself to the public as a folksy outsider and become president of the United States? You betcha.
All I had to do was wait for those numb-nuts to make fools of themselves, and
now I get to swoop in as a savior. "Folks, we're a bit down politically right now, but I think we're on the comeback trail," I said at a fundraiser, and everybody there knew what it meant. I am the Great White Hope who will save our party from being represented by a limp-dicked loudmouth, a pretty boy who wears funny underwear, a wannabe maverick who's anything but, and that nutjob that the computer geeks love.
That's right. I'm the Republican Party's only chance. And I get to go home to a hot wife. America is dying to have a fine piece of tail as First Lady.
