Until the rise of Newt, the only amusingly oddball diversion to the grim hate-fest of the Republican primaries had been Ron Paul’s goldbuggery, but that’s simply part and parcel of the generalized right-wing fetish for a pure and distant Utopian America. A place where free white men ruled all that they surveyed and they could buy a bottle of whiskey, a steak dinner, a string of ponies, the favors of a woman of easy virtue and a strapping buck Negro for one gold Double Eagle. It’s the Andrew Jackson platform with weed.
Gingrich, on the other hand, is an exponent of a far more esoteric and endearing streak of American political wish fulfillment. He basically wants to turn the United States into the EPCOT center. The moon base proposal that has received so much mockery this week is just the tip of the space-berg (a/k/a “comet”). In 1995, the freshly minted Speaker of the House published a book called To Renew America, that contains a treasure trove of Disney-esque nutball fantasies. In this book, Newt doesn’t just imagine something as jejune as a simple moon base, but space honeymoons by 2020. According to Newt, “weightlessness and its effects” would provide “some of the attraction,” a notion that forces the reader to imagine Newt Gingrich fucking in Zero-G. Other Jetsonian flights of fancy found in this tome are “diagnostic chairs” in every home by 2005 that would “take your blood pressure, analyze a blood sample, or do throat cultures,” eliminating the need for trips to the doctor’s office. And let’s not forget Newt’s clarion call for American to create “a real Jurassic Park.”
It’s easy to laugh at these dorky hallucinations, but they sure as hell beat the brain dead GOP boilerplate that’s been passing for “ideas” for the rest of the Republican field. Tax cuts for rich people? Deregulation? More oil and natural gas drilling? You don’t fucking say. Just let me go pound some nails with my face. Amidst this litany of Guiled Age dross, something like “Moon Bases!” has the sound of poetry to it. “Moon Bases!” also points to the sole redeeming feature of Newt Gingrich’s personality. Beneath the thick, marbled layers of preening smugness and rank hucksterism, Newton Leroy Gingrich is essentially a fat, nerdy kid in a propeller beanie, watching Buck Rodgers, dreaming of the day when he can program robots to be his friends.
In one of these compartments, Newt Gingrich is banging a staffer.
Pigs…In…Space!
Until the rise of Newt, the only amusingly oddball diversion to the grim hate-fest of the Republican primaries had been Ron Paul’s goldbuggery, but that’s simply part and parcel of the generalized right-wing fetish for a pure and distant Utopian America. A place where free white men ruled all that they surveyed and they could buy a bottle of whiskey, a steak dinner, a string of ponies, the favors of a woman of easy virtue and a strapping buck Negro for one gold Double Eagle. It’s the Andrew Jackson platform with weed.
Gingrich, on the other hand, is an exponent of a far more esoteric and endearing streak of American political wish fulfillment. He basically wants to turn the United States into the EPCOT center. The moon base proposal that has received so much mockery this week is just the tip of the space-berg (a/k/a “comet”). In 1995, the freshly minted Speaker of the House published a book called To Renew America, that contains a treasure trove of Disney-esque nutball fantasies. In this book, Newt doesn’t just imagine something as jejune as a simple moon base, but space honeymoons by 2020. According to Newt, “weightlessness and its effects” would provide “some of the attraction,” a notion that forces the reader to imagine Newt Gingrich fucking in Zero-G. Other Jetsonian flights of fancy found in this tome are “diagnostic chairs” in every home by 2005 that would “take your blood pressure, analyze a blood sample, or do throat cultures,” eliminating the need for trips to the doctor’s office. And let’s not forget Newt’s clarion call for American to create “a real Jurassic Park.”
It’s easy to laugh at these dorky hallucinations, but they sure as hell beat the brain dead GOP boilerplate that’s been passing for “ideas” for the rest of the Republican field. Tax cuts for rich people? Deregulation? More oil and natural gas drilling? You don’t fucking say. Just let me go pound some nails with my face. Amidst this litany of Guiled Age dross, something like “Moon Bases!” has the sound of poetry to it. “Moon Bases!” also points to the sole redeeming feature of Newt Gingrich’s personality. Beneath the thick, marbled layers of preening smugness and rank hucksterism, Newton Leroy Gingrich is essentially a fat, nerdy kid in a propeller beanie, watching Buck Rodgers, dreaming of the day when he can program robots to be his friends.
In one of these compartments, Newt Gingrich is banging a staffer.
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