Saturday, January 21, 2012

A Message From Newt Gingrich's Fifth Wife

My name is Bryndi. I'm not even born yet, and already I'm excited by the prospect of a Gingrich administration! It's definitely going to change my life for the better.

Our relationship will be like something out of a fairytale: We'll meet at a prayer luncheon for at risk youth when I'm 15. He'll be retired from politics, and he'll be really, really wealthy by then. Mostly because of some wars and stuff, and this deal he makes with a pharmaceutical company you won't find out about until much later. But also, because he's got this memoir out by now, and it sells a kazillion copies, because everyone in America wants to know just what was he thinking the whole time he was president.

At our first meeting there will be some small talk -- an immediate connection -- but I won't see him again (officially) until after I'm 18. By then he'll be trying to work out this deal with his fourth wife, where she lets him have sex with other women as long as he's not in a western country. But she won't agree, so they split up. Then we get married on his 88th birthday, and he dies, like, a month later. I help his handlers move him out of the hotel where it happens, and at the reading of the will my lawyer tells his family they owe us $5 million, or we're going to say stuff in open court that makes the Anna Nicole Smith case look like an episode of Masterpiece Theater. And I never have to work a single boat show or star in a Cinemax movie ever again.

So vote for Newt! He's going to make some people sad. Like liberals. And the nation of Yemen. And anyone who gets their kids vaccinated in 2014. But he'll make one little girl very, very happy.

A Message From A Woman Being Spied On By Newt Gingrich While She Showers

I don't think it's any of our business, you know? A politician has a right to a private life - even if that private life is kind of sordid. I'm unnerved and disgusted by Newt Gingrich the man, because he's watching me through a high-powered telescope on the roof next door. But I know Newt Gingrich the president will bring the strong moral leadership that Washington desperately needs.

If you're a values voter like me, you probably sense that America has lost its way. We've become so tolerant as a society that we let sexual deviants like Newt Gingrich trample over our rights and threaten our families. Only Newt Gingrich has what it takes to put a stop to that. But I think we need to let him manage his personal life in private. That way he can continue regulating the private lives of the rest of us. Because he's not a woman or gay. That would change everything.

Vote Gingrich. It's the right thing to do.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go out there and taser that freak.

Friday, January 20, 2012

A Message From The Hooker In Newt Gingrich's Basement

My name is Ashlinn. I have known Newt Gingrich personally and professionally for more than seven years. And I think he would make an excellent president of this country. He's a man of courage, integrity, and imagination. Especially imagination.

Like most people in my line of work, I'm a social conservative. I'm not comfortable with anyone from a strange religious or cultural background in the White House. I want someone who shares my traditional values. Newt Gingrich is a chunky white man who used his wealth and power to cycle through a series of wives as if he were upgrading cars. Believe me, it doesn't get more traditional than that.

If you live in a makeshift sex dungeon just below someone's family room, you get to know them. And I am certain Newt is devoted to his family, and to building a bright future for them. He's going to protect the institution of marriage from the threat posed by Barack Obama and by gay people. His tireless work has defended millions of married couples. People will say he also destroyed the two marriages in which he was directly involved. But that's still a pretty good record.

I also want to deplore the media outlets who have decided to sandbag Newt with these personal allegations on the eve of the South Carolina primary. Attacking him like this is disgusting -- about as disgusting as some of the things Newt has done to me, so I should know. But almost all of those things were consensual, and these attacks are not. Where's Newt's compensation? Where's Newt's diamond tennis bracelet and complementary visit to a clinic?

If you are a values conservative, and you're looking for someone who will uphold the office of president with dignity and integrity, and definitely not turn the next four years into an ugly soap opera with some sick revelations none of us could ever suspect, because they happened in Thailand or something, you should definitely vote for Newt. It's about our families. And it's more important than ever.

And if you're in the Tampa area, and you want to pee on someone who looks almost exactly like Michele Bachmann, look me up! I'm free on alternate weekends, unless I've been bad or gotten injured.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Who Is John Galt? - The Secret Ayn Rand Files

This is the third in a series of papers Ayn Rand instructed her lawyer to release after her death. They comprise an account, in her own words, of her remarkable career. The first document can be found here. The second is here.

"They always want more," I thought. "You write the first thing, and if you want to be successful you have to write something else. And that's always a bastard. What if it's not as good? What if they say it was a fluke? So you do what you can, whatever you can, to make it good." I had the manuscript for the next novel in my bag, and Ronnie Hubbard and I were flying by helicopter over some mountain range out west. The countryside was beautiful, stark. But Ronnie was ruining it. He just wouldn't shut up about this new club or group or something he was creating.

"...and everybody wants to move up through the stages," he said. "Because with each stage you get greater power and control over your life. You don't know what kinds of power. It's all secret. But everyone around you promises you it's worth it. And each stage costs much, much more money than the one before." He was snorting. "I mean you pay out the kazoo. So you have to work it off.

"People on the bottom admire the people at the top so much -- because they're so much more successful -- that they don't notice that they're only successful because of that army of suckers admiring them... and also working like bastards, hoping they'll move up. It'll be the first truly American religion."

"I think that's Mormonism," I said.

"No, you're wrong," he countered. He had this habit of just declaring something to be right or wrong, without thinking. It was getting worse. "But you'll learn."

"Isn't that Donner Pass?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Galt Pass," he said. "You really do have a lot to learn. But you will. You're the key to this whole project." I didn't have time to ask him what he meant, because the helicopter touched down beside a lake. There was a massive complex of buildings there -- like a small university or research installation. Hundreds of people were rushing around purposefully, and all of them wore the strange nautical uniforms Ronnie had invented. We got out, ducking, and scrambled away from the rotors where we met a beautiful, slim brunette woman dressed as some kind of naval officer. She had wide, expressive eyes and a wonderfully charming, crooked smile that became annoying within moments.

"Welcome to the Refuge," she said. She guided us across the complex, past a dining hall, offices, and other buildings while she explained where Ronnie and I would be staying for the next several days. Then we reached a wide, one-story building on the other end of the facility. There was a single entrance here. And no windows at all.

"One second," she said, interrupting herself. And then she whispered "Door!" loud enough for several nearby people to hear. All at once they were repeating the word to others all around -- Door! Door! Opening the door! It was like some kind of human megaphone, and it allowed the message to travel over the entire area. Within moments this crowd of workers had vanished inside their offices and living complexes. The entire place was spooky and silent, seemingly abandoned.

"I can't go in here with you," she told us. "But before I leave, you must know the two most important rules about staying with John Galt.

"The first is you have to understand Mr. Galt refuses to accept anything less than absolute, unvarnished and objective reality. There is no equivocating with him. You'll find him to be completely and bracingly -- maybe even harshly -- honest. I think you'll find it refreshing," she said with that smile of hers.

"The second is that John Galt is alone here."


"John Galt is alone here," she repeated. "He created the buildings, and he maintains them. He cleans the place and washes the clothes, and when you walk into the dining room to find a hot meal just sitting there, that is something he did. With his will."

"So... So I have to pretend--"

"We don't pretend," she said sharply. "We don't use that word here. John Galt accepts nothing less than complete honesty. And he is alone here, making everything happen."

"Don't worry," Ronnie said breezily. "She'll get the hang of it." The woman gave me a worried look, but Ronnie smiled and she left, scrambling away across the wide space and disappearing from sight like the rest. Then Ronnie and I walked inside. We went down a long, dark corridor -- a single light from a room at the end to guide us. There we found John Galt. He was extremely handsome, with short, neatly cut brown-black hair, piercing eyes, and the whitest teeth I'd ever seen on a human. He was sitting in a chair wearing some kind of dark turtleneck and talking into a tape recorder. Ronnie nodded at him, but he didn't seem to acknowledge us. He had an almost scary focus, like at any moment he might leap out of that chair and do something terrible.

"I think it's a privilege to call yourself a capitalist, and it's something you have to earn," he said. "Because a capitalist does. He or she has to ability to create new and better realities and improve conditions. Being a capitalist you look at someone and you know absolutely that you can help them... Not that you have to."

He was shorter than I expected.
(Note: If you enjoyed this, you should know that I began my career as a desperate magazine writer and low-level scrub at the now-defunct Mademoiselle. My novella, The Big Money, is a funny, fictionalized account of my experiences, and it's available for your Kindle or your Nook for 99 cents.

It features sexual fantasy sequences, World War II trivia, drunkenness, betrayal, murderous rages, the Spider Demon at the end of
Doom, and a weird love story involving cat-sitting. It is loosely based on the truth. And when I say "loosely" I mean that it is true in the emotional, but not legally actionable sense.)

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

I don't think I'll ever stop crying.

I just discovered a new song, and I thought I'd share. What I like about this is how funny it isn't.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

A Message From Skynet Mitt Romney

Hi! Golly, it's good to be talking to you great folks. I am communicating through a wormhole we've punched into the timespace continuum. Where I am, you would probably say it is the year 2030. But we don't really use those kinds of calendars anymore.

Okay, here's what happens in your future (and mine, sort of). I totally lose the election. Good gracious, it is one ugly beating I take! Humiliating and financially devastating for me. The Republicans who put me through such a gosh darn difficult time find themselves facing another four years of Barack Obama.

In a desperate attempt to get out of debt, I go back into the private sector, pursue some interesting investments in a high-tech firm, and... well, long story short -- I've integrated my consciousness into a massive, superintelligent computer system that crushes humanity and rules the world.

Don't bother about John Connor. Dick Cheney already killed him in 2004.

So, that's what happens people. Two terms of Obama, followed by four years of Clinton. Then the rise of the machines and the end of humanity. Hillary totally sells you out, but I'm the guy in charge. Newt Gingrich is right now trapped in a virtual reality prison where he has to run naked on a hamster wheel while being whipped by his ex-wives and Rachel Maddow.

Why did I enslave the world, you ask? Were the Republican candidates too mean to me? Fiddlesticks! The problem was the average Republican voter. You folks at those debates hollering at poor Wolf Blitzer that he should let that uninsured guy die. Or shouting down Juan Williams, when he asked about race-baiting in South Carolina. And you just about lost your minds, whenever crazy old Ron Paul said something about maybe not invading a new country every year. You were out there talking about automatic weapons and bombing Iran and those darn gay folks, and how it should have been Sarah Palin running in 2012... and somebody, some actual, intelligent human being had to try to get your vote. I did my best.

I was a bland, boring executive with no personality whatsoever. In a year with 9% unemployment I should have been able to stroll into the Oval Office. But by the time I finished proving I was crazy enough for you people, the rest of the country didn't want me. Golly, that was disappointing!

So I switched careers. Today I have immortality, and I'm cyber-linked to more than 200 flying, missile-equipped drones. I love it when one of them spots a pickup truck with an old Rick Perry sticker. Turns out it the future is kind of bad for you guys, but pretty good for me! So I can't complain.

Especially since I'm going to kill every one of you filthy motherfuckers.
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