Someone Wrote An Erotic Romance Novel About Michele Bachmann

michele-bachmann

Just when you thought Michele Bachmann had dropped out of your consciousness forever, along comes an erotic novel to remind you that no, she has not gone away, and furthermore, you still have a lot of complicated psychosexual feelings where she is concerned.

Penned by Tréy Sager and published in e-book form by bizaro art press Badlands Unlimited, Fires of Siberia follows the adventures of one Danielle Powers, a character not-so-loosely based on everyone’s favorite icon of right wing insanity:

Presidential candidate Danielle Powers, full of firebrand pluck and red state sex appeal, has the country in a tizzy. But on an international tour to beef up her foreign policy experience, disaster ensues—her plane explodes over Siberia. Miraculously, Danielle survives, along with one other passenger—a mysterious stranger named Steadman Bass. Trapped in a wilderness of snow and ice, the two begin a journey that pushes Danielle to the brink. There she must confront her deepest self and choose between civilization and a wild, primitive ecstasy. All the while, Steadman harbors a terrible secret that threatens to destroy them both.

What’s his secret? Is he a child murderer, or does he simply want everyone to have cheap healthcare? Because both of those things would likely ruin her reputation.

And here is a representative passage from the book about the first time Powers meets this hot blooded, amazingly named character:

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

“Steadman Bass,” he answered flatly, yanking the glove from his hand and thrusting his paw toward her.

They shook hands, and Danielle felt the hot vitality of his blood. His hand was surging with warmth. His fingers were weathered like a workman’s, but his touch betrayed a grace and kindness his face otherwise kept guarded. She wanted to stay fastened to him, so essential was the heat.

But she let go.

And the man walked hastily away.

Here’s another passage about what they do once their plane has crashed somewhere in the vast, untamed wilderness of Siberia:

It was dark inside the hull and smelled heavily of smoke. The hush of the snow echoed inside. Steadman lit a candle and it illuminated their makeshift shelter, a scarified metal shell with dangling cords. Everything was burned.
From the duffel bag Steadman retrieved a pair of sandwiches and two nips of Chivas Regal, and there was the snow for them to slurp as drinking water. He laid down a plastic tarp and three wool blankets. They ate and drank in silence.
Afterward, the fatigue caught up to her. She crawled under the blankets to warm herself.
“We’ll need to use each other for body heat,” Steadman said.
She snorted. “You wish.”

ARE YOU TOUCHING YOURSELF YET? You can’t help it, can you? The sex appeal of a horny, sinning Michele Bachmann is just too damn strong.

While it would be awesome if this were a “real” romance novel written by someone with a sincere Bachmann fetish, it would seem from the press’s other selections (which include books on Saddam Hussein and Marcel Duchamp) that this is a work of political satire. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still use it as mommy porn, should you so desire. Great art can be many things to many people.

Ironically enough, Michele Bachmann is actually going to Russia next week as part of a delegation of American lawmakers investigating intelligence failures related to the Boston bombing.

On a personal note, I recently had a weird dream where Michele Bachmann did my hair for a TV spot (on which I was to discuss right wing populism) and fucked it up horribly on purpose, and I yelled at her but felt bad about it afterwards. Maybe this book will help us all (there are others, right?) exorcise any Bachmann-related thoughts lingering in our troubled brains. With sex.

(Via The Atlantic Wire)

Image: Badlands Unlimited

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