On What Planet?

How bizarre it is that a straw poll in an obscure town where, evidently, crazy is king (or queen), a person who amasses an astounding total of 4823 votes (crushing the next closest by an astonishing 152) is now the frontrunner of a formerly great party, forcing at least one opponent out of the race.

Not that I'll miss T-Paw (some will), who showed how much prostitution of oneself is now required by the teabaggers, who love crazy candidates as much as they hate facts. Mere moments before gracing Michele Bachmann with their imprimatur, they rushed like kids to an ice cream truck to gain sight of the mother of all crazy and brazen narcissism, mobbing Sarah Palin who just happened to show up in town in time to take the spotlight from Batshitwoman. (Just a coincidence, she purrs.)

What a pair. (I refer to the two women.)

How utterly sensible: after candidates spend more time and money per capita than they'll ever again, hanging out for weeks in a speck on the map, trying to get the attention of the aforementioned less-than-a-handful of voters, sufferers of ADHD, take a tiny poll among those least connected to reality, totaling fewer participants than show up to high-school football games in Perryland, and call it meaningful -- the will of the people. More than that: make it the basis on which the rest of the supplicants will be able to raise money. See ya, Timmy. Good luck, Thaddeus.

By definition, people in the thrall of Michele Bachmann, about whom the only question is whether her non-stop misrepresentations of fact are deliberate lies or simple stupidity, are not the sort who ought to have any say at all over the future of our country.

But there it is, and there it will ever be. Good luck, democracy.