The rules of Bob Barr's universe are many and fascinating. Several have to do with his libertarian principles, such as "No matter how much power government has, it never has enough." Others are more holistic, such as "The world is full of idiots." There are deeply personal ones: "The most difficult thing about politics is dealing with people with really bad breath."

Really?

"You wouldn't believe," Barr explains in his deathly serious way. "Some people -- just awful halitosis."

Is there any human being on the planet more committed to his seriousness than Barr? He's so into the Founding Fathers that most of his phone numbers, including his cell phone, end in "1-7-7-6." He talks about himself in the third person. In his office, he keeps a photo of himself as a Republican congressman -- calling for the impeachment of Bill Clinton. Even Bob Barr's mustache is serious.

And yet, every once in a while, the strangest thing happens. He does something surprising, like announcing he really likes Bob Marley. Or saying he kind of liked that Borat movie, except for the part where he was unwittingly in it as the butt of a joke, eating cheese purportedly made from human breast milk. He's still Bob Barr the bulldog, but in person he can be quite solicitous. And every so often, he smiles.

"That's one of Bob Barr's laws of the universe!" he said triumphantly. "Once you create a bureaucracy, it is near to impossible to ever get rid of it." He grinned broadly.

The ideal third-party presidential candidate should be the kind of guy who relishes a fight even when it's him against everyone else. Especially when it's him against everyone else.

Someone like Barr, 59. In the '70s, he worked for the CIA as an analyst and lawyer. In the '80s, he was a Reagan-appointed U.S. attorney. He came to Congress during the GOP takeover in 1994 and began calling for an impeachment inquiry of Clinton for campaign finance issues. Then Monica Lewinsky materialized, and Barr kept up the steady pounding, warning of "the smoldering ruins of a great democracy."

A staunch conservative

During his eight years in Congress representing a district in Georgia, Barr was the staunch conservative's dream. Among his accomplishments: renaming National Airport for Ronald Reagan; blocking the District of Columbia's efforts to approve marijuana use for seriously ill patients; making the public aware that Wicca is being practiced on military bases. And the big enchilada: writing the Defense of Marriage Act, which restricted the federal government from recognizing gay marriage.

Critics questioned Barr's moral authority, pointing out that he had been married three times.

And then Sept. 11 happened. In its wake, Barr said, he became increasingly disenchanted with President Bush. He came to see his own party as having moved 180 degrees from the small-government philosophy that was at the core of the Republicans' 1994 "Contract With America."

Or, "if not 180 degrees from that, about 178 1/2," Barr said, with his characteristic precision.

In 2002, Barr lost his seat after redistricting. In an ironic twist, the national Libertarian Party mounted a campaign against Barr because of his stand against medical marijuana.

In time, Barr concluded that the biggest threat to the nation was government power. He began to wish he hadn't voted for the Patriot Act. He decided that even Wiccan soldiers should be able to do their Wiccan thing. He concluded that both gay marriage and drug legalization should be left up to the states, even though, personally, he is still against both. As a consultant and lobbyist, he worked on behalf of civil liberties and privacy rights. He worked with the American Civil Liberties Union and with a pro-pot group called the Marijuana Policy Project.

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