Not much has been written about The Ibogaine Effect as a serious factor in the South Carolina primary, but toward the end of the race—about three hours before the vote—word leaked out that some of Romney’s top advisors had called in a Brazilian doctor who was said to be treating the candidate with “some kind of strange drug” that nobody in the press corps had ever heard of.
It had been common knowledge for many weeks that Gingrich was using an exotic brand of speed known as Wallot … and it had long been whispered that Romney was into something very heavy, but it was hard to take the talk seriously until I heard about the appearance of a mysterious Brazilian doctor. That was the key. Later that night, it was reported that Governor Romney was a known user of a powerful drug called Ibogaine.
I immediately recognized The Ibogaine Effect—from Romney’s near-breakdown on the flatbed truck in Iowa, the delusions and altered thinking that characterized his campaign in New Hampshire, and finally the condition of “total rage” that gripped him in South Carolina. There was no doubt about it:
The Mormon Savior had turned to massive doses of Ibogaine as a last resort. The only remaining question was “When did he start?” But nobody could answer this one, and I was not able to press the candidate himself for an answer because I was permanently barred from the Romney campaign after that incident on the “Tall Corn Special” in Iowa … and that scene makes far more sense now than it did at the time. Romney has always taken pride in his ability to deal with hecklers; he has frequently challenged them, calling them up to the stage in front of big crowds and then forcing the poor bastards to debate with him in a blaze of TV lights.
But there was none of that in New Hampshire. When the Boohoo began grabbing at his legs and screaming for more gin, Big Mormon went all to pieces … which gave rise to speculation among reporters familiar with his campaign style, that Romney was not himself. It was noted, among other things, that he had developed a tendency to roll his eyes wildly during TV interviews and debates, that his thought patterns had become strangely fragmented, and that not even his closest advisors could predict when he might suddenly spiral off into babbling rages, or neocomatose funks.
In retrospect, however, it is easy to see why Romney fell apart in South Carolina. There he was—far gone in a bad Ibogaine frenzy—suddenly shoved out in the blinding daylight to face an exuberant crowd and some kind of snarling lunatic going for his legs while he tried to explain why he was “The only Republican who can beat Obama.”
It is entirely conceivable—given the known effects of Ibogaine—that Romney’s brain was almost paralyzed by hallucinations at the time; that he looked out at that crowd and saw gila monsters instead of people, and that his mind snapped completely when he felt something large and apparently vicious clawing at his legs. We can only speculate on this, because those in a position to know have flatly refused to comment on rumors concerning the Governor’s disastrous experiments with Ibogaine. I tried to find the Brazilian doctor on election night, but by the time the polls closed he was long gone. One of the hired bimbos in his Holiday Inn headquarters said a man with fresh welts on his head had been dragged out the side door and put on a bus to Salt Lake, but we were never able to confirm this.