It’s 8:00 pm EST, the caucus doors have just closed in Iowa, and, as I write this, The Romney Sons are most likely engaged in a severe Blow-Job Daisy-Chain in the plush comforts of a suite in some generic motel in Iowa.   The reason for their mirth?  They think they’ve gotten away with it.

“We’ve fooled those humans,” Tagg brags to his younger brother Craig right before climax, anxious to shed his human skin so the scales underneath might breathe, post-ejaculation.

Craig looks up at his brother with starry-eyes: “Dad’s gonna be president.  I can’t believe these poor creatures.”

“Keep on sucking, Craig.”   Tagg responds.

Poor creatures indeed.  Poor Iowa.  The lizards have been there for five years, plotting, planning, doing their best to convince the locals to elect their patriarch, the Inevitable Victor of Iowa, Willard Mitt Romney.

Poor Iowa…  Like the only girl in a cheap bar, she’s had money thrown at her, heard every pick-up line in the books, and will be tossed asunder in the morning.  This bizarre, aforementioned waltz is what most know as this year’s GOP Iowa Caucuses.  The guy with the most money (Mitt Romney) is rabidly competing with two sincere guys, viz. Ron Paul and Rick Santorum.   Ron Paul, not being in a fraternity,  has a slight disadvantage to both men.   Then, in the corner of the bar, you have Newt Gingrich: he sits alone, sipping a cognac, too cool for school, reading Kafka’s “Metamorphosis,” while Michele Bachmann vomits in the women’s restroom from too much Merlot.  Rick Perry is in the back-room, slugging Lone Star’s, playing “Buck-Hunter.”

That’s the scene: given that the latest polls assert 41% of caucus-goers are undecided, here are my predictions:

1.  Ron Paul

2.  Rick Santorum

3. Newt Gingrich

4. Mitt Romney

5.  Rick Perry

6.  Michele Bachmann