Newt Finally Crushes His Solo Cup and Leaves the Kegger.

When you were younger, did your mom or dad ever bark out, just before you left the house for the evening, "Just remember, nothing good ever happens after midnight!"?

Depending on how you define the word, "good," I've grown to believe it's a fairly accurate statement. And in the case of Newt Gingrich's presidential foray, it's now so long after midnight that the birds are chirping and the paper boy only has half his route left.

Yes, Newt is the guy, that guy we've all known, who stayed too long at the party.

During his year-long foray in pursuit of our nation's highest office, Gingrich wallowed in irrelevancy for half of it. Despite a primary win in his native Georgia as well as a victory by a wiry, silver back hair in South Carolina, Gingrich hasn't held a polling lead since 2011.

Okay, and that was back when frontrunners rotated in and out of public favor like toothless skanks to Ted Nugent's dressing room at an NRA convention.

Since then, Newt has whored himself out to a sugar daddy casino mogul whose super PAC kept our fuzzy Muppet stocked with enough Sugar Free Red  Bull and mutton jerky to sustain Callista and him through those all-night steel horse rides. Yet he's still managed to rack up six hundred thousand dollars in debt, plus a forty-thousand dollar per day Secret Service tab at our expense.

And we all know those Secret Service guys have better things to do.

But alas, Newt has decided it's time to fish his car keys out of the bowl and leave the party. The floor is sticky, the keg is empty and the hosts have been yawning since around 1:30. They thought that putting the remaining pigs in a blanket into freezer bags might have signified a strong enough hint, but Newt stayed.

Rick Santorum left a couple of hours ago. He and Michele Bachmann's husband, Marcus, had to be somewhere to lay hands on a guy and speak in tongues to cure him of his gayness.

Michele puked after accidentally taking a huge drink from a Solo cup filled with Rick Perry's chew spit, but old dependable Herman was there, as usual, to give her a ride home.

Perry went out for another can of Copenhagen but couldn't remember how to get back.

Sitting in his van in the driveway, Ron Paul never did make it into the house, which left Gingrich alone in the living room with no one to talk to.

And so, after nodding off a couple of times with one wing-tipped shoe up on the coffee table, Newt Gingrich wiped the drool from his cheek, hoisted his carcass off the sofa and staggered out the door without even saying goodbye.

That's okay, though, I can say it. Bye, Newt.

Breaking news: Newt's open marriage proposal uncovered.

This really is amazing.

After quite a few phone calls and thanks to the unprecedented freedoms provided by the Patriot Act, I think I've uncovered the smoking gun.

Was this dangerous work? Potentially, but America's right to know trumps my own petty concerns for my family's personal safety.

Without further ado, I hereby submit a document which may very well sway the outcome of the 2012 Republican Presidential race: the original transcript of the letter written from former Speaker of the House New Gingrich to his then-wife, Marianne, proposing an "open marriage."

July 24, 2000

My Dearest Marianne,

Our marriage has always been one based upon love, trust and above all, reason. And that is precisely why I'm appealing to your sense of reason to hear me out, to understand that I am proposing this arrangement for the benefit of you, me and most of all, America.

No single argument is more or less important than another, so please read each with equal receptiveness. Let's begin.

You know how I'm really into history, and you know how I really like playing that game where I'm Abe Lincoln, the country lawyer, and one day while I'm shirtlessly building a log cabin, you walk up with a tin of water and tell me I look thirsty, and I say, "Then quench me, slave girl," even though Abe Lincoln never had slaves, although I would have had I actually been Abe Lincoln? Yeah, I won't make you do that anymore.

I can find someone else to mousse my furry chest.

I can get that whole "secretly attracted to Lewinsky" thing taken care of.

You're free to date and engage in physical relations with anyone of your choosing, even friends of mine...if I actually had any.

You can pursue someone whose required foreplay doesn't include a miniature jaws of life or other small hydraulic device to expose my Newt Flewt.

You will no longer wake up in the morning smelling of Old Spice and Domino's Cheesy Bread.

If I return home smelling of Love's Baby Soft and Grape Bubble Yum, I won't need to tell you she looked eighteen and claimed to be a lobbyist for the wine cooler industry.

I think you'll agree that this arrangement benefits all, especially you. Please respond soon, since I plan on being gone all weekend.

Your fuzzy love muffin,
Newton

I think the facts speak for themselves. You are a small man, Mr. Gingrich.

Listen up, candidates: How to turn this thing around.

"Everyone has a plan 'til they get punched in the mouth."
-Mike Tyson

That's one of my favorite lines ever.

It's so accurate, whether, as with Mr. Tyson, it literally refers to one of his long history of fallen tomato can opponents, or more figuratively referencing the combatants in our modern political arena.

While none of the presidential contenders would even consider going a couple of rounds in the ring, how much fun would it be to watch Gingrich sweating and gasping for air as he simultaneously attempts to punch Santorum and hide his quivering moobs?

While the candidates surely consider themselves above any type of physical fray, wouldn't it be great to see Perry and Romney go after each other at Madison Square Garden during halftime of a Knicks game?

I could see Perry dominating at the outset, but then Romney getting really pissed about the condition of his hair and windmilling his open-gloved hands in a climactic, yet ineffective rage.

Alas, I can only fantasize about such entertaining political exploits.

But now that Mr. Romney has opened a fairly sizable lead over the others and gained nearly enough momentum to propel his robber baron arse to the nomination, the also-rans had better restock their verbal quivers or forever stand down.

So, in these desperate days, exceptional circumstances require exceptional assistance and I'm here to offer just that to messieurs Paul, Perry, Santorum and Gingrich.

Congressman Paul, you've got the reputation of a well-prepared, mature orator, as well as a highly respected physician. So, next time you hear Mittens proclaim that "corporations are people, my friend," ask him where General Motors' scrotum is.

It'll throw him off. A lot.

Governor Perry, Mr. Rommey likes to attempt to relate to average folks, which you do, as well. So, next time he claims that "there were a couple of times I wondered whether I was going to get a pink slip," tell him "That's ridiculous. Y'all could get as many pink slips and blue teddies as y'all want. In fact, you could buy the entire Fredericks of goddamn Hollywood."

Snap.

Senator Santorum, if Governor Romney makes the mistake of again saying, "I like being able to fire people who provide service to me," respond with "That's where we differ, sir. Since I'm a highly repressed right wing Christian, I conceal my perversions by keeping all those who service me financially secure."

Moral high ground is what it's all about, no?

And finally, Speaker Gingrich, you've proven yourself to be quite adept at firing sharp verbal salvos, so you don't really need my assistance. But just in case, if Mitt again affirms that "President Obama's stimulus plan is one of the biggest peacetime spending binges in American history," remind him that the United States is certainly not at peace, but it will seem like it once there's a President Gingrich.

He'll be godsmacked by your badassedness.

You guys are welcome.

Please...fill me in.

It's equal parts flattering and encouraging to know that some smart folks read my ramblings from time to time.

And those are the peeps I'd like to address with this post, because I've been experiencing a dull discomfort, right up around my throbbing frontal lobe, in trying to make sense of the current campaign for the 2012 Republican Presidential nomination.

As Jerry Seinfeld once asked, "Can someone please explain this to me, because I'd really like to know" the answers to the following questions:

Why do so many of these candidates use the term, "the American people," as in the sentence, "the American people are just plain fed up with wasteful government spending on entitlement programs" as if everyone is of one mindset?

After reviewing the American Person Qualification Checklist, I've determined that I am one of those American people, since I've eaten Cap'n Crunch at least eight hundred times, know that "pickup" can be a noun as well as a verb, and purchase toilet paper in forty-eight-roll pallets.

And actually, I only needed two of those to qualify.

These people claim to know what I, an American person, demand, yet none of them have come within three states to double-check. I'm not aware of any Presidential hopeful even flying over, let alone landing in, Washington state, unless you count Dennis Kucinich's appearance at Seattle's Hempfest last week. Had Mitt, Michele, Herman, Rick and Rick cruised Seattle's cannabis tents, they may have gained a deeper understanding of the mindset here on the Left Coast. Then it would've been burrito time.

Why do these people look like they do?

Seriously, do they resemble normal people? I can't think of anyone who likely spends as much time in front of a mirror as Romney, except maybe my teenage daughter, whom I've heard proclaiming, "I earned this body."

Then there's Bachmann. Does anyone you know, other than joggers and road crew stop sign holders, wear yellow as frequently as she does? Maybe she justifies it because those blinding half jackets make her teeth appear whiter, and the plaque would really jump out at you if she wore crimson or something.

Or her next job will be working for Century 21.

Why do they feel that their credentials are positive, let alone impressive?

Herman Cain was the CEO of Godfather's Pizza. Good on you, Herm, for working your way up the ladder to become purveyor of the world's worst pizza. Don't get me wrong; I love pizza so much that four out of five days, I may choose it over my family, but I'd rather eat an aspic-coated slab of plywood than anything that has emerged from an oven at Godfather's.

Mitt Romney has enriched himself by purchasing companies through leveraged buyouts, laying off hundreds of workers and socking away profits into offshore tax havens. He believes corporations are actually people and should be afforded the same rights as humans. Straight humans, that is.

Why do these people consider it chic to deny science?

Texas Governor Rick Perry, when asked by a young boy whether or not the governor believed in evolution, replied, "It's a theory that's out there."

Rick, Rick, Rick. Gray matter between your ears is a "theory that's out there." Evolution has been empirically proven. You need look no further than your homeboy, George W. Bush, to ascertain that he's somewhere on the evolutionary scale between single-celled protoplasm and a chimp who knows twenty-three words and seven numbers in American Sign Language.

And it's really easy to deny global warming if you're Michele Bachmann. All you have to do is attribute the hurricanes and flooding to God's retribution for our sinful ways, his wake up call to repent before the end of days and certain eternal damnation.

Even though, as George Carlin once said, he loves us.

So, please, if anyone out there can shed some light on these queries, these seemingly rhetorical questions, please respond, preferably before the locusts show up.

Is it just me, or do they look like muppets?

God bless America.

And while we're at it, let's throw in Buddha and Vishnu and Tom Cruise and anyone else who can provide a little home field advantage, because I'm afraid we need all the help we can get.

You see, a lot of us just aren't very bright.

You're still here? Cool, thank you. I was afraid you may become offended and click over to that hilarious chimp wedding site.

Look, I really don't want to come across as your stereotypical, Seattle-living, Birkenstock-and-gray-socks-wearing liberal who's blissfully ignorant that his sideburns and neck fuzz haven't been thatched since the organic barber stopped showing up at the farmer's market.

But I just may in this instance.

According to a Marist Poll released in honor of our nation's birthday, only fifty-eight percent of our country's residents were aware that America declared its independence on July 4, 1776. Twenty-six percent were unsure and sixteen percent named an incorrect date. In addition, one in four of those surveyed didn't know that country from which the United States seceded.

As appalling as these statistics are, and, mmm...boy, they are, they're certainly not shocking. Twenty-five percent of our voters support either Michele Bachmann (11%), Sara Palin (11%) or Rick Santorum (3%).

And since twenty-five percent also don't know which nation we smacked down to gain our freedom, I'd be willing to bet my gun rack that those folks are one in the same.

Bachmann stubbornly maintained that our founding fathers rallied against slavery. Umm, wrong again, Crazy Barbie with Titanium Hair®; most actually owned slaves.

Palin spun a delusional yarn about Paul Revere when she claimed that he was also warning the British that "uh, they weren't gonna be takin' away our arms..." I'll stop there, because it rambles. Wouldn't it be great to have a president who warns the enemy—

"Okay, I just want to let you guys and gals in North Korea know that we're gonna wee-wee you up a little next Thursday with a little limited nuclear strike. Take care now, folks, and back to Wipeout."

And then there's former Republican Senator and Presidential hopeful Rick Santorum, who in 2003 said,  "If the Supreme Court says that you have the right to consensual (gay) sex within your home, then you have the right to bigamy, you have the right to polygamy, you have the right to incest, you have the right to adultery. You have the right to anything."

Sweet. Does that mean we can also bring back candy cigarettes and those dangerous lawn darts?

So what about the rest of the voting populace? I'm referring to those fifty-eight percent of us who actually know the date America sprung out of the British womb without the benefit of an epidural. Who do we support?

Although Gingrich only accounts for three percent, the guy isn't ignorant of American history. He may be quite repulsive and hypocritical, but at least he knows the difference between a musket and a muskrat.

Romney? I can't really tell how smart he is, since he's too busy twisting in the winds of public opinion to  take a stand on historical and constitutional events. I'm guessing that behind that sultry baritone and glistening smile, crickets chirp.

Ron Paul is a smart man, but he wants to abolish the IRS, saw the United States off at its southern and northern borders (like Bugs Bunny actually did once) and let our new island continent float away in a state of isolationist Utopian nirvana.

Intelligent, yes, but also paranoid and insanish. And as a side note, I don't want another President named Ron.

I can't remember who comprises the remainder of the Republican candidates, but I think the list begins and ends with the word, "yada."

America, what do you say we study up a little before the next election? How about if we educate ourselves to know the difference between facts and the baseless ramblings of the lunatic fringe? Do you understand that these people actually believe they're qualified to be your President?

Remember, we've misunderestimated before.