Bachmann leaves nothing behind but Santorum.

Up in the morning look in the mirror.
I'm worn as her tooth brush hanging in the stand.
My face ain't looking any younger
Now I can see love's taken her toll on me.

She's gone. Oh I, oh I'd
Better learn how to face it.
She's gone. Oh I, oh I'd
Pay the devil to replace her.
She's Gone— what went wrong?
  
"She's Gone."
Hall & Oates, 1976

I'm not going to lie...it hurts. Way down in my gut, it smarts, and I'm sort of hanging by a thread right now.

But it's over. Doggone it. Michele Bachmann, America's sweetheart, has decided to "stand aside," to withdraw from a pack of GOP candidates she had been spanking a year ago with the vigor of a yellow pant suited dominatrix. 

Sure, she was flawed, but that's the thing about her that lit my Presto Log. Her gaffes gaffed my heart like the quiver tip of a bobbing pellet waggler. (fishing lingo courtesy of Wikipedia).

Congresswoman Bachmann had me at HPV vaccine, of which she had heard from her friend's father's husband causes mental retardation. An acquaintance of her cousin's barber's waxer told her that President Obama had incurred expenses totaling two hundred million dollars a day while visiting India.

Both statements totally false.

And totally hot.

And now she's gone.

So, Ms. Bachmann, as you retreat to lick your wounds and stock up on those comforting cans of Chung King Chow Mein for the coming apocalypse, I bid you goodbye, but certainly not farewell, my sultry psychopath.

Enter former Pennsylvania Senator Rick Santorum, who lost his latest re-election bid by seventeen percentage points in 2008. After falling only eight votes short of Mitt Romney's victory total in this week's Iowa caucuses, Santorum has now achieved "flavor of the month" status in the Baskin Robbins ice cream sweepstakes which has become this campaign season.

If I were to assign actual flavors to some of the past leaders, I'd probably dub Newt Gingrich "Newt York Super Pudge Punk."

Herman Cain might be "Meet Me In My Suite Candy Cain Crunch."

Rick Perry? How about "Scoops and Scoops of Oops?"

"Vanilla Nut" would succinctly describe Michele Bachmann's flavor, and now that Mr. Santorum has assumed the mantle, let's call his "I'm Secretly Attracted To and That's Why I Hate All Gay Boysenberry" ice cream.

It's going to be fun to finally see Dick encounter the same media scrutiny under which his predecessors have wilted. He feels that food stamps are unnecessary due to America's high obesity rate. He believes that abortion exceptions to protect women's health are "phony" and that healthcare is a luxury, an expense which most people could afford simply by lowering their cable and cell phone bills.

And Santorum stated that if he were President, even though he firmly believes in state's rights as proscribed by the Constitution, he would unilaterally annul all same-sex marriages.

The guy has six kids, so a likelihood exists that one may harbor attractions to those of a kindred gender. That's not okay, but it obviously is okay for insane people to wed. 

Otherwise, all of Rick Santorum's children would have been born out of wedlock.

I'm in love with Michele Bachmann. There, I said it.

Please remind me, since it's been a while since I've fallen so hard for someone.

What are the telltale feelings?

A churning in the pit of your stomach, a desire to squeal like a feral boar, an overwhelming sensation of having been grossly and profoundly offended?

If all are true, and I think they are, I'm hopelessly and sloppily in love with Representative Michele Bachmann, Republican Congresswoman from Minnesota.

There, I said it. IloveherIloveherIloveher. I feel alive every time she opens her mouth and serenades us with such gems as, "The big thing we are working on now is the global warming hoax. It's all voodoo, nonsense, hoakum, a hoax." What a woman.

I'm in love with the way those tiny crop circles of rain bead up on her well-sprayed hair. I'm in love with how she so effortlessly portrays the part of Barbie's crazy aunt who prays every night for that homo Ken.

The manner in which she announced her candidacy for the Republican Presidential Nomination at a debate for Republican Presidential candidates was masterful, and yes, I was turned on.

Highly offensive, and way hot.

I'm not easily offended, which is why I'm sure it's a sign that I'm smitten with this woman who has pasted her personal bumper sticker on America's three-wheeled Radio Flyer of Crazy, the Tea Party.

Seriously, not much offends me. For instance:

When someone decides to sand her fingernails next to me on public transit, dusting my eyes with collagen-inspired particulates, I'm not offended. Heavily grossed out in a DNA terrorism victim kind of way, yes, but not offended.

When a car pulls out in front of my bike, nearly transforming my body into road pudding with a plastic helmet, I'm not offended. Am I extremely pissed, since I'd previously taken every measure to ensure that I'm lit up like Caesar's Palace with a spandex moose knuckle? Yes. Offended? No.

When certain people with whom I work, speak of "needing" those Stuart Weitzman pumps or that Kate Spade New York handbag, I feel pangs of amazement. Their shallowness rivals only the summer kiddie pool at Lincoln Park around four o'clock when it's two parts water, one part urine, yet I'm still not offended.

So when my Micky (my new pet name for her) announces that she will abolish the Environmental Protection Agency, instituted by none other than Richard Nixon, as one of her first executive actions, I feel so offended that I may have no choice but to leave my wife and take a chance on this vixen.

I realize I may discover her in bed with Exxon Mobil, spooning in the afterglow of another "drill, baby, drill" moment, but I'm ready.

And highly offended.