The surviving members of the GOP Comedy Tour assembled in South Carolina’s Shrimp-n-Grits Auditorium last night to abase themselves before a motley crowd of cranks, shrews, gold-bugs, shrimp merchants, Confederate Flag salesmen, and the cast of Smokey and the Bandit: The Musical. The event was hosted by Mike “Gomer” Huckabee, former star of tv’s Gomer Pyle.
Huckabee got the crowd in the mood by belting out his trademark hit, “The Impossible Dream,” and then it was down to business. First, Gomer explained the depressingly dull format–this would not be the laff-riot of the debates back in Iowa. The candidates would come out one at a time, answer some questions from the assembled crowd of wackadoodles, then retire to the green room and eat more boiled seafood. They would not interact, and they were FORBIDDEN to criticize each other. Gingrich visibly deflated at this sad news, gas glumly leaving his floatation-sacks. Romney executed a passable smile subroutine. Santorum looked up from his knitting and scowled, while Rick Perry slipped on a banana peel. Ron Paul, meanwhile—wait a minute, WHERE THE HELL IS RON PAUL? Oh, Ron Paul isn’t even here! Oh, this is an outrage. This thing is turning into a goddamned Pete Best concert. Damn you, Gomer! DAMN YOU!
First up is expensive software packet Willard “10K” Romney. He gets a question about housing. People are losing their houses! Willard blames Barney Frank, and then promises a bold strategy of doing nothing and letting the free market take it’s course. It’s unclear how having Willard travel back in time to punch Barney Frank in the balls will help this person get a house, but oh well. Willard’s next question is a less-than-comprehensible word salad about separation of powers and presidents not doing what Congress tells them, or something. Willard agrees with whatever the hell the guy said, and calls Obama an extraconstitutional monster! Passing bills along party lines is like spitting in George Washington’s face! Willard’s emotion chip is beginning to super-heat, and his handlers dial him back a bit. Next up is a Ron Paul supporter. “I’m a Ron Paul supporter and I don’t like you!” he scowls. Willard’s handlers nervously remove the emotion chip entirely. “I love Ron Paul, and you’re the same as Obama! Why should I vote for you?” asks the scowly crackpot. “Ha ha!” replies Romney. “I want a strong military AND a balanced budget! I spent my life in the private sector! 25 years in business!” The Ron Paul crackpot looks really unimpressed. Perhaps he did the math in his head. Romney is 65, and 25 years in business leaves, what forty years? That’s not exactly spending your life in the private sector. What WAS he doing, then? Not auditing the Fed, that’s for sure. Romney did not change this guy’s mind.
The next questioner is a gloomy doctor. “I’m a doctor dependent on the Medicare teat! Yet I’m also a free-market Republican! Help me!” Romney reconfigures his facial architecture into a smile-like configuration. “Price controls are bad! Markets are good!” Romney responds. “Let’s privatize Medicare!” Doesn’t look like Romney sold the doctor, either. A venerable grotesque who looks like Margaret Hamilton is up next. “I’m a Christian and there are too many restrictions on Christians! What will you do about this?” she demands. Willard vows to fight for our traditions, and then wanders off topic and talks about menorahs. This does not seem to persuade the witch. And then, Willard’s final question: “You’re a moderate flip-flopper. Why should conservatives vote for you?” Ah. Why, indeed, good rustic, why indeed? Romney’s answer? “I balanced budgets and cracked down on brown people!”
And that’s it for Romney. Man, he is dull. Don’t expect any poetry from a Romney administration. It’s all Excel spreadsheets with this guy. He makes Mike Dukakis look like Pavarotti.
The next preztestant is Romney stunt-double Jon Huntsman. He sucks up to Huckabee, they chat briefly about Huntsman’s tenure as leader of the Fantastic Four, and then it’s Yokel Question Time. “What will you do in the first thirty days to help crazed yokels such as myself?” asks a tin-foil-hat-wearing lunatic. “I will lead!” Huntsman cries. “I will do unspecified things! Bold, unspecified things!” Oh lord. Then Huntsman is asked about illegals taking our high-paying high-tech jobs. Huntsman hawks up a bolus of standard GOP immigration talking points. Then he gets asked about spaceflight, by a man who is really concerned that we have to pay Ruskies to get into space now. Now we’ll get some good rhetoric! Maybe Huntsman will speak movingly about his epic battles against Galactus, or how he and his friends flew into space and turned into mutants! “Space is very inspiring” Huntsman says in an uninspiring monotone. God, he’s a Romney-esque horror. Why couldn’t Gingrich have gotten that question? He would have given a soaring speech about his bold plans to build orphanariums on the moon! Alas.
Finally, Huntsman gets a question about foreign aid. Why are we spending money overseas FIXING MOSQUES? Damned if I know, Huntsman shrugs.
This man will not be president. Off he goes. And then, the main event! Out wriggles vile space gangster Newton Leroy Gingrich! The disgraced former House Speaker waves his stumpy fore-appendages at the crowd. Gomer reminds him not to be a mean jackass. The first question: “I’m pregnant with twins! And I just got laid off! What about jobs!” Gingrich quickly fellates Reagan, takes credit for the 90s boom time, and then casually mentions that Romney is basically the Annihilus of Job Destroying Doom, who turned Taxachussetts into a Negative Zone of joblessness. The crowd boos Gingrich. He shakes his jowls in righteousness, spraying Gomer with shrimp-scented spittle. Gomer tells him to knock it off. Gingrich wriggles semi-apologetically.
Next question. It’s from a Ron Paul-loving stoner-hobo. “The Founding fathers hated the Fed!” says the stobo. “Who’s better, you or the Founding Fathers?” The loathesome space slug fellates the Founding Fathers as deftly as he just fellated Ronald Reagan, then announces, jowls quivering with anticipation, that he will consume Ben Bernanke’s entrails at his inaugural feast if elected. Huckabee shudders. For an encore, he vows to fire all liberals employed by the federal government.
Next, Newt gets a soft-ball question about Obama and class warfare. His gelatinous body quakes with mirth. “Obama is a foodstamp president!” he proclaims, throwing chunks of raw meat and half-digested frogs into the adoring crowd. “I will be a paycheck president!” Presumably, this is a reference to Gingrich’s ability to find vast paychecks in novel, unorthodox places, a practice the graft-enamored former Speaker would continue as President. The crowd goes wild, basking in the warm glow of Gingrich’s hate of Obama, as the space-gangster slithers off.
Next up, it’s sweater-fetishist Dick Santorum, whose performance piece involves an uncanny impersonation of a student getting a B minus on a persuasive speech in a high school speech class. He talks a lot about abortion. Boy, he sure doesn’t like it. Then he gets a question about electability. “Dude, how are you going to attract independents nd Democrats? You’re a nut!” Santorum chuckles. “Oh, Democrats love me!” he proclaims. “I won by huge margins until I lost by a huge margin!” The crowd stares at him. Off he goes.
Finally, poor brain-addled Texas governor Nathan Bedford Forrest Gump takes the stage. He gets pitifully simple questions about welfare fraud, which he is ag’in, and a laughable question about what kind of running mate he would choose. In the awful silence, the crowd ponders the kind of dark world where Governor Gump is the nominee. He scrunches up his face, all thinky-like, and announces,”a dumbass like myself. Someone with an Eye-dentical fee-losso-fee.” Huckabee gets a brief look of horror on his face, trying to imagine such a beast, but he’s enough of a show-biz pro that he recovers quickly. The cast of Smokey and the Bandit: The Musical comes on, does their big number “Long Way to Go, Short Time to Get There,” Huckabee does a quick reprise of “Impossible Dream,” and the evening shambles to a close.
God help us, there’s another one of these debate-farces on Monday.
