Some kind of angel, some kind of halo. /UPI photo
My dear Santorum:
Though your pious crusade will flee my endorsement, I want you to know I earnestly, even wickedly stand behind you. Allied for years with the Rightwing Chaos Party, I had been advising Newt Gingrich, that loose cannon, but your relentless, sanctified zealotry promises even greater disruptions. Your spiel still appears plausible, especially against two opponents with zero creditability. Really, what bright-eyed, bushy-tailed newcomer wouldn't outflank a reprobate with three messy marriages? Stay the holier-than-thou course, but do consider upgrading your less than presidential trash talk.
Take calling me the "Father of Lies." Is that where any ruthless politician prone to untruths wants to go? I am more properly the Lord of Misrule, finding truthiness works better than mendacity. Compared to rightwing politicians, who lie when their lips move, I need little deceit: exchange your soul for power and riches in this world.
Since personhood now includes everyone, including the supernatural, I happily join billionaire human devils to fuel your PAC. Actually, unlike the transient rich, my support comes with zero strings attached. You don't ever have to take my calls to serve my purposes. If your outlandish, McCarthyite demagoguery needs to bash me, go for it. After all, nothing connects us "soul brothers" more than our mutual conviction: the greater the leap of faith, the more the end justifies nasty means.
But imagine the fun and games if you pulled off the long shot of winning the White House. You'd immediately enact "your mandate," namely force-feeding medieval theocracy on America. Zealots tend to overplay their hands so we're talking censure, even impeachment, maybe termination. Be still my beating heart, envisioning pandemonium unseen since Bubba was mortified or W. stole the Florida vote.
Perfect Sugar Daddy