This will be a day long remembered. We have seen the end of the Delaware primary, and soon we will see the end of this insignificant primary season. Vile space gangster Newton Leroy Gingrich, erstwhile Terror of the Outer Rim Territories and God-Emperor of South Carolina, is dropping outWhere once every two-bit governor, Hee Haw extra, haunted mummy, deranged harpy and philandering pizza-flogger was running for the GOP nomination, now, there is only Earth’s Richest Manbot, Willard Thurston Milburn Drysdale Howell Tiberius Romney III, the Ten Thousand Dollar Man. He stands astride the political landscape like a boring, faintly unlikeable colossus. He stands alone.

A titan has left us. A beast of outsized appetites, a Falstaffian manphibian whose mighty moral failure was matched only by his greed and ambition, we shall not see his like again, unless he or some other Republican runs for president in 2016. Newt’s passing has left a big moist crooked hole in America’s heart.

Technically, the undying specter that goldsmiths call Ron Paul is still running, if by running you mean “chanting eldritch charms into the howling wind of the moonless desert darkness.” Oh, you can hear him, if you listen, keening into the night, praying for a death that will not come from gods who have turned away. There is not gold enough in the world to bring him peace, and not all the ancient eagles of Hatshepset could lift him to victory against Wilford Jackassticus Lannister Mittanicus Romney now.

Newt in happier days, campaigning in Arizona.

And so, the nation’s pig-men and maple-miners and shrimp-herds and hill-folk and mer-men and dumbasses weep for the passing of disgraced former House Speaker Newton Leroy Gingrich, their fat moist messiah. His victory sacks engorge no more! His pudgy  fore-appendages droop with defeat. His food trough is stained with tears, and his campaign bus rattles with empty bottles of Uncle Phil’s Cheese-steak Schnapps and Old Klansman Imitation Sippin’ Whiskey, as cruel and unsmiling repo-men tow it away. The bus company will never be able to get the stench out, and eventually the bus will be dumped in the Gulf of Mexico to form an artificial reef for particularly disgusting fish to frolic in.

Gingrich prowls the fetid swamps of South Carolina, looking for votes. Ron Paul does whatever the hell it is that he does.

Come, let us remember him together. At first, his campaign was viewed by most experts as a scam to sell cook books or a scheme to defraud the owners of luxury hotels. But through a combination of luck, pluck, willful suspension of disbelief, and the comical incompetence of his rivals, his campaign transmogrified from a strange grifter’s performance piece to an actual campaign-like thing. South Carolina was where the vile space-gangster had his best shot at dethroning Romney. It’s moist and swampy there.

The ruins of South Carolina were a fertile ground for Gingrich's particular brand of claptrap.

He won South Carolina, and even got the endorsement of America’s Dumbest Governor, Texas dolt Nathan Bedford Forrest Gump. But that was the peak of his campaign.

He had hoped to carry his winning streak into Florida, but it was not to be. Despite his appeal to the superstitious mer-men of Florida’s cypress swamps, his glistening monstrousness frightened the addled old people who are the bread and butter of electoral charlatans who hope to win in Florida. Romney reminded skittish elders of the sales manager at the Lincoln-Mercury dealership where they bought their last land-barge, while Gingrich reminded them of a grotesque polyp that would eventually kill them. Romney won Florida.

The vile space gangster, backed by Hyman Roth’s mob money, hoped to make a comeback in Nevada. To make matters worse, hapless yokel Senator Dick Santorum was gaining in the polls, threatening Gingrich’s role as the pre-eminent guy who wasn’t Romney. Gingrich arranged for some street-toughs to steal Santorum’s clothes and shoes while the broke senator bathed in the Bellagio fountain, but this backfired, and Santorum became a folk hero among the hillbillies and meth-heads that are a key part of the GOP primary electorate. “Shoeless Dick” Santorum, The Hobo Senator, would go on to a string of victories in Colorado, Missouri, and Minnesota.

Try as he might, Newt was never able to catch up to Wellborn Romney.

Romney won Arizona. Gingrich tried to catch up in the Midwest, where there are lots of disaffected stupid people, but Romney’s unstoppable magic wallet carpet-bombed Gingrich with negative ads.

Michigan seems like a dream to me now.

All Gingrich got for his troubles was chafing and windburn. Romney’s delegate lead continued to grow. Gingrich slid behind Santorum.

Newt starts losing to that hobo punk Santorum in Colorado.

And so, the end to a noble quest by America’s most beloved space monster. He will not be president after all. The campaign bus is towed off. The campaign banners are harvested for their valuable lead paint. The cook books go to the remainder bin. The maws will go unfilled. Let’s close with some final recipes from Newt’s cook book.


One cow

A pile of cheese (use whatever the hell kind of cheese you want. Don’t let some liberal Alinskyite East Coast elite tell you there’s a particular kind of cheese you have to use. This is America. Use whatever cheese you want, as long as it isn’t French).

One hoagie roll

Beat the cow with a tire iron until lightly killed. Separate cow parts with your disarticulation tool. Chop coarsely with machete or fireman’s axe.

Stuff hoagie roll with cow. Pile on cheese. Consume.

Serves One

Speaker Newt loves seafood!


Ten pounds of clams

One bottle of Hearty Seaman Seafood Schnapps

One tomato

Rinse clams off with your hose. Dump into large receptacle or feeding trough. Add bottle of schnapps. Chop tomato with machete or entrenching tool. Add to trough. Stir vigorously with your fore-appendages. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Dump trough into your maw, and enjoy.

Serves one.