Youbetcha goshdarnit, there is nothin that woman (Michele Bachmann I mean) won’t do to grab the limelights and so forth and now with this soon-to-be upcomin altarbiology of hers comin, (I did it first in case anyone’s still listenin to my trills and trails across this great land of ours there, greetin and meetin folks atop my large bus from place to mall but seriously real Americans need to bless her — because of all those little headaches runnin around her house like gerbils in a tent — that do so keep her inconfident — plus that indoorsman husband she’s got, submittin her 24/7 and also the candidacy she’s blastin about at the drop of some hat there in the debate ring cycle) grabbin up the slack I pre-slacked down for her, with me poppin up like twenty-one rainy-day toadstools, one jump street ahead of the lamestream media (similar to that Katie Couric bunch, waitin to leapfrog me with some Jack-in-the-bag gotcha question to chuck at me like a reptile out of a paper sack to fillup their blogs and so forth) seein if I’m decidin to run from another office again while tryin to keep one forefathered footstep ahead of Michele Bachmann’s focus-absorbin ways too, but I do wish her all the best, really I do, leadin from behind there in my tracks for her to step right in it.
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