Florida has spoken! Stupid, stupid Florida. The relentless Republican nomination process grinds on. First, the pig men of Iowa listlessly anointed Dick Santorum with the manure-encrusted sweater of victory. Then the flinty maple miners of New Hampshire chose Willard “10k” Romney to wear the sticky-but-coveted Maple Crown. Repulsive space-monster Newton Leroy Gingrich topped them both, though, winning the allegiance of South Carolina’s shrimp-herds and skin-clad hill people. Three contests, three different winners. Enough of these ridiculous micro-states. Now it was up to Florida–goofy, electorally incompetent Florida–to make some sense of the increasingly absurd Republican nomination contest. The disgraced former House Speaker hoped to capitalize on his victory in the swamps of South Carolina, and lay a final beat-down on shiny, gold-plated, employee-firing-enthusiast Willard “10k” Romney. Romney, in turn, hoped to finally crush the last of the upstarts who dared question his claim on the nomination. Santorum was there to–hell, who knows. Escape the glum Pennsylvania winters, I suppose. Undead specter Ron Paul gave up on the state entirely a few days before the primary and went to the wintery wastes of Maine to troll amongst the lobster-hunters and potato-gatherers for votes in their upcoming caucus.
The preztestants had two bitchfests debates in the Depressing Old People Sunshine State. In the first debate, in Tampa, Gingrich was bloated with victory and half-digested shrimp, a feisty, ebullient space-slug. He would win all the swampy states, and coast to a moist victory! Then a remarkable thing happened. Romney, in a remarkable simulacrum of human rage, tore into Gingrich. Resigned in disgrace! Influence peddler! Monster! The second debate, in Jacksonville was no better for the erstwhile-frontrunning space-beast. And it wasn’t just in the debate. Romney’s giant wallet opened in rage, dumping $15 million in vitriol on the disgraced former Speaker’s head. Victory slipped out of Gingrich’s soft little hands, as his lead evaporated, and Romney pulled ahead. Seconds after the polls closed Tuesday night, news outlets called the Florida race for Romney. Romney took 47%, Gingrich had 31%, sad-eyed sweater-fetishist Dick Santorum had 13%, and increasingly irrelevant death-specter Ron Paul had 7%. Revel in the freshly minted Mittmentum!
Romney initiated victory sub-routines in Tampa. His handlers had installed new confidence modules and upgraded his software to FrontRunner 3.1. Holding aloft the diadem of pirate-gold once worn by Spanish governors of Florida, Romney vowed to return us to the golden age of 2007, before the Kenyan Usurper had ruined everything. He was smooth, convincing, and fact-free, like James Brolin playing Ronald Reagan in a made-for-tv movie.
Gingrich, his jowls glistening with fried grouper and sorrow, slowly heaved his bulk on stage in Orlando. Stale, sour-smelling, week-old victory bile dribbled out of his flaccid battle-sacs and onto the vomit-colored hotel carpet. Clutching a nearly-empty bottle of Old Klansman whisky, he waved his fore-appendages feebly and vowed to fight on. Romney had really crushed him in nearly every demographic. The only group that turned out strongly for Gingrich were the mer-people of the coastal mangrove swamps. Mormon whaling ships in the 19th century had hunted mer-people for sport, and they were motivated more by the blood-feud with Romney than any particular fondness for Gingrich’s policies. Gingrich is counting on his support among the gangsters and sand-people of Nevada to blunt Romney’s momentum in next week’s Nevada caucus.
Ron Paul, whose clever strategy to come in last in every post-New Hampshire contest is unfolding like clockwork, spoke to a small crowd of stoner-hobos at the Crustacean Museum in Bangor. He waved his skeletal hands at the crowd, making a sound like castanets at the bottom of a very dark, very cold well. “We will fight on until the gold of Osiris is returned and the unbelievers drown in rivers of blood!” he said jovially to his bong-waving supporters.
Santorum had already abandoned Florida and hitch-hiked to Nevada, the next caucus state. Wearing faded overalls–he had to burn his last suit after the bedbug incident at the hotel in Tampa–he spoke to supporters from an un-used room next to the wedding chapel at Stinky Pete’s Bordello & Casino in Reno. “Shit,” he began–his speeches used to start with “Howdy!” but lately they more often begin with “shit,” or “goddamn,” or “screw you”–“shit, you know what? Screw you, Florida! Screw you right in the FACE!” The modest crowd of itinerant silver-miners and whores cheered. Santorum scratched himself. “Help me Nevada, to say screw you to Florida, and that big jerk Mitt Romney! Then we can go all the way, and say screw you to Barack Obama in the fall!” Santorum is nearly broke, and will rely heavily on Stinky Pete’s whore-money fueled super-PAC to stay competitive in Nevada.
I’ll close with another recipe from Gingrich’s delightful cookbook, Fill My Maw.
Uncle Newt’s Old-timey Gator Gumbo 
1 four-to-five foot long alligator
2 pounds of clams
1 quart of St. Johns river water (if this isn’t available in your area, you can substitute water from your toilet)
1 fifth of Tipsy Pirate Brand Rum
Dump clams on your patio, smash with hammer
Coarsely chop alligator with machete.
Put clams and alligator in a trough or other receptacle. Add other ingredients, stir vigorously with your fore-appendages.
Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Empty trough into your maw. Enjoy!
Serves one.
