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Politics: Bye-Bye, Bachmann

[ 0 ] January 12, 2012 | Charles Branham-Bailey

And the Perennial Last Sighting of the Egg Nog

I can’t imagine too many slights more stinging for a staunchly-avowed evangelical Christian candidate for president than that of the Almighty failing to deliver enough Iowa caucus night votes to catapult him or her to one of the three top-tier pole positions.

America can breathe a sigh of relief and sleep better now that Michele Take-America-Bachmann (who finished sixth) will not be moving to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. next January.

Nor will the once-struttin’-and-preenin’ Rikki-Tiki Perry (fifth place), whose ass-whuppin’ in Iowa was so humiliating he limped back to Austin, his tail between his legs, to lick his wounds and mull over the puzzlement of why the rest of the country ain’t so gung-ho over him as Texans (inexplicably) are.  Oh well.  Oopsy-daisy!

Where did God go wrong?  Why hath ye forsaken thee?, Bachmann and Perry must now be wailing.

God must detest being dragged into political campaigns, as he so often is.  Without trying to claim that I, myself, know what he’s thinking, I’ll bet he was likely holy incensed by Bachmann’s remark in Sarasota last August, after the East Coast tremblor and Hurricane Irene:

“I don’t know how much God has to do to get the attention of the politicians [in D.C.].  We’ve had an earthquake; we’ve had a hurricane.  He said, ‘Are you going to start listening to me here?’”

Perhaps her direct line to the celestial HQ was experiencing static and she misunderstood.  Perhaps the one whom God was trying to make listen was Bachmann herself.

From Rabbi Brad Hirschfield, writing for the Huffington Post last August:  “Bachmann’s God and her politics are one. They are clearly understood by her, they are 100 percent correct, and all those who disagree are worthy of punishment.  [She] let it be known [in her Hurricane Irene remark] that she believes the price for disagreeing with her is death and destruction.”

Looks like what came to death and destruction were her presidential aspirations.

I’m guessing God didn’t appreciate being enlisted, unsolicited, as a Bachmann campaign advisor and, so, retaliated in the omnipotent fashion only he can muster – by sabotaging a victory in her native state.

He must not give a rat’s ass about Perry either.  I’m guessing God’s been wary of Perry at least ever since Rick essentially tried to pin the human fuck-up that was the BP oil spill – “From time to time there are going to be things that occur that are acts of God that cannot be prevented.”  – on the Big Guy.  Dumb, Rick.  Real dumb.

Perry, days before the caucuses, was asked by Ken Herman, my fellow columnist at the Austin American-Statesman, if an Iowa loss might prompt him to call it quits.  “That’s God’s will,” the guv said.  “There might be an outcome that he decides that I wouldn’t go on.”  (Last Tuesday, God’s will – or somebody’s – handed Perry the first defeat in his political career.  Cue the goodbye speech!)

“Is he caucusing?” Herman asked Perry as the candidate headed to his bus for a Cedar Rapids appearance.

“I’m pretty sure he will be,” responded Perry.  (I’m not making this up; Rick actually said that.)

As good a journalist as I may be, I’ve been unable so far to track down at what Iowa precinct God voted and for whom he voted.  But if I do, you’ll read it here.

In her goodbye speech, one that at times was delivered sloppily, with slip-ups, Bachmann referred to Obamacare as “socialism,” “socialized,” or “socialist” no less than six times in 10 minutes.

Rather than keeping it short and simple, she often delivers convoluted sentences that don’t make sense.  A doozy from last week’s farewell:

“From the time of the Pilgrims…all we have to do is look around because very clearly we are encompassed about with a great cloud of witnesses that bear witness to the sacrifices that were made to establish the United States and the precious principles of freedom.”


God isn’t the only one Michele likes to conjure up in her speeches.  Dead people, like the venerable Founding Father Ben Franklin, are another favorite:

“I will continue to stand and fight for this country…because Mr. Franklin and all of the founders…are watching us.”

If they are, maybe Ben and the others are watching from that great cloud that’s been “encompassing about.”

“There are many more chapters to be written on our path to the nomination,” Bachmann told supporters the night of her loss.  (The next day she quit the race, thus skipping those chapters and heading straight to  “The End.”)

“I look forward to the next chapter in God’s plan,” Bachmann concluded in her candidacy’s swan song.  If that plan comes anywhere near to replicating what happened to Lot’s wife when she disobeyed orders not to look back at the city of Sodom as it was being destroyed, but turned and look back anyway, I’d be tickled pink.

Lot’s wife turned into a pillar of salt.

Yes, turn into pillars of salt, Michele and Rick, and nevermore haunt us with presidential candidacies.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not announcing that God concurs with that sentiment – he doesn’t speak to me and I don’t speak for him.

I’m only guessing he concurs.


– Mitt Wrongney came out on top, by a nose, with almost 25%.  What can we take from that?  For beginners, 75% of Iowa Republicans, unconvinced, unsold, and unre-Mitt-ant, prefer anyone other than Mitt to be their next president.  Hmm.  Food for thought.

– The only Republican in the race worth considering (Jon Huntsman) – but too, uh, rational and intelligent for the neo-con masses to digest – came in dead last.  Translated, this means of course that Iowa Republicans are abject, lint-brained morons.  Now return to your grain silos and bury your heads in the barley until 2016.


Every couple of weeks brings a new twist in the ongoing Jorge Gonzalez City Managership Death Watch.  This week’s bombshell:  A State Attorney’s Office probe into alleged Sunshine Law violations by Commishes Weithorn and Wolfson involving their move to oust Gonzalez.

Now City Hall’s embroiled in a “Who’s the rat?” guessing game about who snitched to the SAO.

My City Hall source says if Jorge’s future was iffy then, now it’s pretty kaput.  If he’s the probe’s instigator, he’s just burned his last bridge.  His pursuit of the four majority votes he needs in March just got harder – that is, if he even still wants his job after March.  It could be, I’m told, that instead of going out quietly, he prefers to go out vindictively, bleeding as many of his enemies on the dais as he can wound, eviscerating all remaining civility.

Perhaps Jorge senses he’s out.  Perhaps he wants out.  One thing the spectators I’ve asked agree on:  No way have we seen the last of the ugliness.


Many people get sad and crestfallen this time of year.  It’s only natural.

There are no more Christmas presents to unwrap.  The holiday tree, shorn of its ornaments, has been taken down and tossed to the curbside with yesterday’s trash.  Andy Williams and Mariah Carey carols are gone from the airwaves.

It hits us every year.  After the 25th, it’s all downhill and anti-climactic from there.

There are bright spots.

Relatives whose faces you don’t care to darken your doorway for another year leave town.

Department stores are no longer congested with stark-raving-mad, pushy shoppers about whom you ponder, Hey, though I would never do it myself, I kinda like the idea of spraying every damn last one of them in the face with mace.

And no more “December to Remember” TV ads, with accompanying annoying theme music, by a certain car company.

The thing that makes me forlorn this time of year is the disappearance from grocery shelves of my holiday favorite, egg nog.  It happens every first week of January, right after New Year’s.

There’ve been all too many Januaries in the past when I walked to the dairy aisle, hoping to get there in time to glimpse the last flock of cartons on the shelf and seize one, only to realize, dejectedly, that this nog hunter came too late.

This year, however, I made damn sure I was not going to be go home empty-handed.

I bought a few cartons the other day.  Of course they won’t last me through the rest of the egg nog-less year until Thanksgiving – their expiration dates remind me of that.  But at least they’ll keep me in the holiday frame of mind and extend that Christmas-y feeling by a few more weeks.

I used to wish egg nog was sold year-round.  Now when I consider it, perhaps it’s best that it only comes around but once a year.  Like football season, or baseball season, or like Christmas itself, if it didn’t ever go away, we’d easily tire of it and never look forward with anticipation to its return.  Absence makes the heart grow fonder; some of the best things in life are those that we must bid temporary good-bye to and patiently await their return, when the reunion is all that more sweeter.

So, until November, farewell egg nog.  I’ll miss you.


…from Slicky Ricky’s State of the State address on Tuesday:

– Train Wreck, after a year on the job, is still a lousy, awkward public speaker who has yet to master a teleprompter.

– All those flower arrangements on the legislators’ desks made the chamber resemble a funeral parlor.

– TW’s speech was, disappointingly, devoid of many specifics and too heavy on the self-backslapping.  The Democratic response to his SotS, particularly Sen. Nan Rich’s (D-Sunrise), was more substantive – and damning.


Email sites that incessantly tinker with the view of your mailbox page and its features, rather than leaving well enough alone.

I have email accounts with all major three – Gmail, Hotmail, and Yahoo! – but one recently dared to hang new curtains and change the furniture around without asking me if I really cared for all that.

No, I don’t care for your new “customization,” “updated themes,” or “cleaner and more modern” page appearance.  I liked it the way it was.  It worked for me.  Take a lesson learned last year (and expensively so) by Netflix:  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it and risk losing the customer.


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About Charles Branham-Bailey: View author profile.

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