On the night ** earlier this year that Barack Obama** stepped before the nation to deliver his sixth State of the Union address, Ben Carson—a political newcomer who harbors dreams of soon giving his first—settled into a sofa just a few blocks away. He was eager to hate everything the president was about to say.

Carson had come to the Capitol Hill home of Armstrong Williams, a conservative media impresario who officially serves as Carson’s business manager and who lately has functioned as Carson’s unofficial image-maker and political adviser as well. As the two men turned to the TV, they began dissecting Obama’s performance.

"He looks good," Williams said. "He looks clean. Shirt’s white. The tie. He looks elegant."

"Like most psychopaths," Carson grumbled. "That’s why they’re successful. That’s the way they look. They all look great."

For those unfamiliar with the mood of America’s far right, casually branding the president a psychopath is exactly the sort of talk that strikes a chord—and just the thing that has made Carson a sensation in the GOP. Today the former pediatric neurosurgeon—who’s never run for elected office—is suddenly besting candidates like Jeb, Marco, and Rand in some 2016 polls and preparing to announce his campaign for the White House. As for the current resident, well, Carson is sometimes encouraged to cut him just a little slack before he hands over the keys.

"He faces the same challenges you will face," Williams said of Obama as he spoke. "He’s gotta convince people to believe him. That’s all he’s doing: selling his narrative."

"But he knows he’s telling a lie!" Carson vented. "He’s trying to sell what he thinks is not true! He’s sitting there saying, ’These Americans are so stupid I can tell them anything.’ "

Since his inadvertent entry into politics two years ago, Carson has defined himself chiefly as a rhetorical bomb-thrower. He’s invoked bestiality and pedophilia while arguing against gay marriage, and earlier this month, during an appearance on CNN, he argued that homosexuality is a choice, "because a lot of people who go into prison go into prison straight, and when they come out, they’re gay." (After an uproar, Carson issued an apology and declared he would no longer talk about gay rights.) With equally provocative flair, he’s railed against the forces of government, declaring that Obamacare is "the worst thing that has happened in this nation since slavery" and, in fact, "is slavery, in a way." Similarly outrageous was his contention that "we live in a Gestapo age" and that America today is "very much like Nazi Germany."

This time next year, in the thick of the primaries, such wild statements could sink a candidate. Not so in these hurly-burly months before the race begins in earnest. Indeed, it’s in these early days of the campaign—before armies of political professionals descend and campaign contributions skyrocket—when a familiar sort of long shot can thrive. And among a certain segment of the GOP, Ben Carson is thriving. Yes, his chances for winning may be slim—only two presidents have reached the White House without electoral experience or high military rank—but activists on the right hope that, at the very least, Carson will give voice to a conservative anger and resentment that’ll influence the rest of the GOP field. "He’s like a messenger," Williams says of Carson. "He might not be king, but he will have the ear of the king."