Poll watchers are writing the obituary for Newt “I Got My Ass Kicked Over That Name A Lot When I Was a Kid” Gingrich. Pundits are screaming at each other with full-throated vigor and the public stands agog that none of the punditocrisy saw this coming.
There are a thousand Christmas stories in the Big City and quite frankly I hate them all. However, for some inexplicable reason other people like jamming themselves into stores the size of Montana, coping with the terminally chipper, and fruit cake. Just consider this my Big Lots-style holiday gift to everyone.
I still dream of the days when I mustered the strength to pop someone’s head like a zit, to just let the vitriol fly and let the pus-covered words land where they may. That day has come.
Newt Gingrich likes to promote himself as an academic with all the answers – academic answers similar to Creationism. The image fits well with his messianic complex as an oracle who preaches the perfection of what’s right – and we do mean right – and true. Plus, the “liberal” media gobbles it up like a plane crash making a smoking crater in the ground.
In America, we worship commerce. We like to buy things, perhaps too many things. But, to keep Americans buying companies need to advertise. Sometimes those commercials are art. Cheap art. Low class art. But, art nonetheless. Art with its own strange image.