There is nothing quite like the joy of a convert to the cause of VERMIN SUPREME, the grandaddy of protest candidates who has been occupying the New Hampshire primaries -- and rattling cages of all kinds -- for decades. When you come across a Troll-in-Chief with such a finely-tuned campaign platform and stump speech -- ponies for everyone, and fascism in the name of dental hygeine -- you wonder how you haven't ever heard of him before. As you read this, sci-fi geeks at I09 are discovering there's a candidate who has proposed money to research time travel and the genetic development of flying monkeys. Conservatives at the Weekly Standard are patting themselves on the back because Newt Gingrich survived a sustained attack by a man with a megaphone and a boot on his head who led an absurdist chant for the ex-Speaker's unconditional surrender. (As he did so, Chris Faraone was passing him beers through a window in the Mexican restaurant that had become Newt's Alamo.) Tens of thousands of YouTube viewers are watching the clip where Vermin turns to a homophobic candidate and tells him, just before showering him with glitter, "God told me to turn Randall Terry gay."
Here's a picture taken on Sunday, mere yards from the final debate of #FITN, just as the candidates were beating each other senseless. Vermin was out front, performing wedding ceremonies between people and corporations:
Yes, Yahoo Answers, this man is running for president of the United States of America. He filed papers and everything.
We here at the Phoenix have been committed amplifiers of Mr. Supreme's antics over the years. "I
bill myself as a friendly fascist, the kind you can trust," he told us back in 2002. "I
use my neo-Viking street-lunatic look to push my agenda, which is
mandatory tooth-brushing. By dressing silly, I get a lot of attention.
Simply by wearing a rubber boot on my head, I manage to garner vast
amounts of media coverage. And people get it. They are amused. You could
rant and rail all day about the government being intrusive, but I get
my ass out there and make people smile and hopefully make them think."
This year, longtime fan DAVID S. BERNSTEIN agreed to moderate a once-in-a-lifetime event -- far more ridiculous than your average weird-candidate debate -- in which Vermin debated deceased English mystic Aleister Crowley. It was pretty amazing. Among the things we learned: Vermin's merch table includes . . . actual vermi-themed art:
But this New Hampshire primary, by any measure, has been his masterpiece. He had plenty of practice -- not just those countless lonely slogs, heckling the national candidates, cycle after cycle, but also this past summer at Occupy Boston, where he became a fixture. Tomorrow we'll run Chris Faraone's account of this year's NH shenanigans, in which Vermin declares that this week was his dream: a completely Occupied primary, chaos and mayhem and absurdity everywhere, a massive performance-art spectacle.
In other words: we don't care how many votes Vermin manages to get as a write-in. Tomorrow morning, the GOP candidates wake up sore, bruised, and closer to defeat. And Vermin Supreme wakes up . . . Vermin Supreme.
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