Kirk Bangstad, owner of Minocqua Brewing Company, announced he's running for Wisconsin governor because apparently the state's highest office now requires little more than a taproom, a Facebook account, and the confidence of a man who hears federal agents knocking and thinks, “Here's my campaign launch!”
Bangstad made the announcement Saturday outside his Minocqua taproom, where the event promised flowing beer and loud conversation.
On a livestream, Bangstad said he made the decision after being visited by the Secret Service and FBI following controversial social media posts he made about an alleged assassination attempt on President Trump.
He said he felt abandoned by the Democratic Party when several Democratic officials condemned his remarks. Bangstad criticized current Democratic candidates for not treating the political situation as a “five-alarm fire.”
Safety, judging by the tone around his recent fame, must have been somewhere near the bottom of the keg.
He built his sudden statewide name on one thing: ugly attention, posting about a “free beer day” if President Donald Trump died. After the attempted assassination of the president, he followed up with a post suggesting the “Resistance” needed better marksmanship or that the whole thing might have been staged.
Federal agents from the U.S. Secret Service and the FBI later showed up at his brewery for a voluntary interview. Most men would treat such a visit as a warning; Bangstad seems to have treated it as a credential.
Bangstad has been a outspoken critic of the president. His company currently has a promotion promising free beer on the day Trump dies, which has drawn heavy criticism in the past.
In addition, his company sells merchandise that's critical of the president, including t-shirts that read “I wish it was free beer day at Minocqua Brewing Company” and “Is he dead yet?”
Bangstad's campaign now rests on a platform so thin it ought to come with a coaster underneath it. No record of addressing state problems, no experience running a large government agency, and no serious list of accomplishments Wisconsin families can point to and say, “He gets results.” Just a viral moment, a federal interview, and an ego convinced that outrage is the same thing as readiness.
Calling himself a battle-hardened fighter, ready to save democracy from Trump's agenda, Bangstad jumped into a crowded Democratic primary after Gov. Tony Evers chose not to seek a third term.
Voters usually expect candidates to bring experience, judgment, discipline, or at least the good sense not to celebrate the possible death of a sitting president. Bangstad appears to offer a different package: beer, grievance, merch, and enough self-regard to fog the windows of every bar in Oneida County.
The Minocqua rally leaned hard into the act: beer flowed, the crowd cheered, and Bangstad soaked up the spotlight while his brewery kept selling the usual anti-Trump merchandise. He turned a serious moment into a personal marketing campaign and now expects Wisconsin voters to hand him the keys to the Capitol. It takes a special kind of nerve to look at a federal visit over assassination-adjacent social media posts and decide the next logical step is executive power.
Shallow men have chased fame before; Bangstad just found the express lane. He spotted the backlash, rode the wave, and mistook applause from his side for evidence of depth. His big pitch seems to be that he annoyed the right people loudly enough to deserve promotion.
If Wisconsin wanted a governor chosen by decibel level, every tavern in the state would already have three qualified candidates by Friday night.
Wisconsin faces real problems; families deal with high taxes, struggling schools, crime, roads that punish suspensions, and energy costs that keep climbing. We need somebody who can solve problems, not someone who “solves” for clicks.
Bangstad offers spectacle wrapped in self-importance and a governing plan thinner than the foam on that night's last call.
He'll be running on attitude, not achievement, mistaking noise for leadership and a viral stunt for a résumé. Wisconsin already has its quota of political performers. It doesn't need a brewer whose grand idea is to monetize hatred and call it courage.
Kirk Bangstad's massive ego spotted 15 minutes of attention and decided destiny had arrived wearing a brewery hoodie. He grabbed the microphone, poured another round, and declared himself the answer.
Wisconsin voters now get to decide whether they want a governor or another loud man chasing applause before the tab comes due.
On the other hand, though, I can see the point of why not. Bangstad hit the anvil at the right time using the right sledge and is riding Warhol's clock down to 0:00. As the saying goes, “Any publicity is good publicity.”
And that's as far as I'll go complimenting him.
I've written about my group of five, five of us who've been friends since elementary school. When we turned 50, we made a trek to hit all the brewpubs from Plover (O'So Brewing) to Minocqua. I say that to say this.
His beer isn't very good, either.
Want more fearless, plain-spoken commentary without the newsroom hand-wringing? Join PJ Media VIP today and use promo code FIGHT to get the current 60% off offer. The loudest people in politics count on everyone else getting tired, distracted, or quiet. VIP support helps keep the lights on for writers who don’t intend to do any of those things.
Join the conversation as a VIP Member