DizzyTown was chillaxin’ over the Holiday Weekend on the deck of The Pulse’s North-O-The-Rivah Hixson Hideaway Retreat, tossin’ back Bud Lights, flickin’ butts into the yard, flippin’ Lauren Alaina CDs into the bonfire and sticking Ron Paul stickers on the neighbors’ pickup. What fun!
But we stopped to reflect upon the Iowa Caucuses (stop. reflect. continue drinking—ha!), which will be over when this issue appears in print. Nevertheless, here’s our Crystal Ball take on the outcome, from the bottom up:
• Newton GrinGrinch: The GinGrinch has had his moment, but the Whos are tired of his bloviating. Newt’s nightmare is our daily dream—a Newt-free political landscape. Take it easy, Newt. Spend the summer at Club Med-Vatican and live it up on the Pope’s tab. Send us one of those cool papal snow globes.
• Ron Paul: We have no cute nickname for Ron Paul. He is neither cute nor nicknameable, as his parents surely concluded: “Ron. Ron will do,” they said. “Besides, if he grows up to be really crazy, he’ll sound semi-sane. Maybe. Hahahaha.”
• Mittens Romney: Romney, like his ex-dog, Seamus (who Mittens tied to the roof of his car for a long vacation drive), faces nose-first into the wind, fearless and surprisingly uninjured by this long, weird primary and emerges unscathed, arriving safely at his destination. Not because he’s worthy. He’s not. But because, as most have figured out, he’s the candidate most likely not to make a complete moron of himself against our elegant and eloquent president—although he will eventually be vanquished by his own transparent lackluster-ness. Simply desiring the presidency is not enough. Dad should have mentioned that, Mittens.