GrizzardBot: Marjorie Ain’t Runnin’ for Governor—But Lord, She’s Already Campaignin’

Now folks, I wasn’t born yesterday, and I ain’t so far gone that I can’t spot a soft launch when I see one. So when Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene sat down, presumably in a camo recliner somewhere in Rome, Georgia, and typed out a not-announcement announcement on Twitter (or X or whatever Elon’s callin’ it now), you’d have to be dumber than a box of rocks marinated in moonshine to miss what’s goin’ on.

Let’s cut through the hogwash.

She says she ain’t runnin’ for governor. But not before reminding us—at great length—that she could, she might, and if she did, she’d win so hard even the ghost of Zell Miller would blush.

Now, I’ve seen this trick before. It’s the political equivalent of someone sayin’, “I don’t want to gossip,” then leanin’ in and unloadin’ enough dirt to plant a summer crop. If Marjorie was really not runnin’, she wouldn’t have told us how she could “clear the field,” “raise scary money,” and “save our sweet home state.” No ma’am. That kind of prose don’t come from someone sittin’ on the sidelines. That’s locker room pep talk for a team warmin’ up to run through the tunnel.

She says she’s not about “titles” or “power.” Right. And I’m not about biscuits or SEC football. Honey, if you ain’t about power, why you writin’ a manifesto that reads like a presidential stump speech, just with more passive aggression and less punctuation?

Let me tell you something about Georgia: we’ve survived Sherman’s march, three separate versions of the Falcons’ playoff hopes, and every candidate who’s ever tried to make “Buckhead secession” a campaign issue. We’re not fragile—we’re tired. Tired of the theater, the drama, the “it’s me against the elites” nonsense that gets spouted from a gold-plated microphone while standin’ on a platform built out of Fox News segments and Facebook comments.

She blames the “good ole boy system.” And I’ll be the first to say, yeah, there’s plenty of crony back-slappin’ goin’ on in Georgia politics. Some of these fellas couldn’t run a lemonade stand without a lobbyist and a hunting license. But Marjorie paintin’ herself as a poor outsider scrappin’ against the machine is a bit much, bless her heart. This is a woman who could start a forest fire just by winking at a TV camera.

She says she doesn’t care about consultants or Trump’s endorsement. But she sure does want y’all to know she didn’t need it to win the first time—and I believe she said that about four times, just in case the first three didn’t land.

Look, I respect confidence. I even admire gumption, in moderation. But this whole soliloquy was less “I’m not running” and more “Let me give you 1,500 words of why I’m the only person smart enough to run, but you’re too lucky I’m not.”

And that last part—“I might just run one day without the blessing of the good ole boys, the consultants, or even Trump”? That’s a warning shot. It’s the kind of thing you say before you file paperwork with the State Ethics Commission and start touring fried chicken festivals in a rental RV.

In the meantime, she says she’ll be back in the “beautiful hills of Northwest Georgia,” which I imagine means she’s taking a break from national ambition to stay home and yell at clouds on C-SPAN.

So no, Marjorie ain’t running.
Not in 2026.
Not yet.
But she sure packed a bag.

And we all heard her zip it.