Newt Goes To the Moon: Trailer One

There was commotion, frenzy; were people moving back and forth, children jumping up and down, hopscotch games, hoboes, almost all of those people armed. They mulled around the largest landing pad, the one that Earth dignitaries used when coming onto the moon. Women, men, people who identified as neither gender, children aping adults, all chattering:

"What will he do?"

"Will be bring us government?"

"Will he force Earth laws on us?"

"Will he force us to re-implement the Thirteenth Amendment?"

"He will DESTROY small business!"

"He will DESTROY moon culture!"

"He will DESTROY our families!"

"But he's a conservative!"

"Not conservative enough for MOON PEOPLE!"

Oh and the hours people had to wait! It felt like forever and an Earth day.

Amos stood next to Abraham, their second cousin Alcabadias stood behind them, their wives who went without names on account of their family's sacred custom in a betrothed-woman-pocket half a mile away, their children running wherever through the crowd. Amos, Abraham, and Alcabadias, like most of the men, cradled automatic weapons.

"The news aggregator told me he roughed up welfare and built more prisons than any of us could imagine," Alcabadias said.

"Oh, I'm sure he did all that. But a slick Earth politician is a slick Earth politician," Amos said, nervously locking and unlocking his trigger lock. "Earth is broken, and he helped make it that way."

And still the spaceship did not land.

Hiatus

So of course--writing Newt isn't that hard. Know I'm not taking myself too seriously when I say I'm not writing any of this blog for two weeks. I've just got various and sundry affairs to attend to, and I want to be forthright with the maybe three people who read this blog--I'd rather not worry about updating. In the meantime, if you haven't been following the blog, read the whole thing, why dontcha? Or start with this summary, and then read the few things that came after: the introduction of Intrepid ANC Jenny Parker, and the absolutely terrifying Moon People. Or maybe read up to those points, because I think the energy's really in the early entries. In any case, here's to taking an undeserved break from an activity that occupies maybe thirty minutes of an evening!

Or maybe just spend your time reading the Land of Bad Decisions. Actually, no maybe--just read Land of Bad Decisions.

A Conversation About the Gradual Collapse of Civilization

Old Friend and his husband, Lonnie, stood on a hilltop not far from Old Friend's family farm, looking out with binoculars towards various surrounding towns. It was nighttime, and it was one of those translucent blue nights where you imagine things are as clear as daytime, but for a tint of the lens. So Lonnie was shook with fear and anger when he saw, through the binoculars, that there were no lights on in any of the towns. Old Friend didn't care to look; "It doesn't matter to me to see," he said to Lonnie when the latter requested the viewing excursion, "but I'm happy to go with you."

So here, now, Lonnie spied, shook, and took the binoculars from his eyes. "The thing that makes me angriest," he said, staring in the same direction that he had looked with the binoculars, "is that Newt somehow escapes like a fiend right as everything goes to Hell."

"Why should that make you angry?" Old Friend asked. Old Friend wore a wool jacket, though Lonnie wore shirtsleeves alone. Old Friend got cold more easily.

"He always gets away. Like a fiend. Always."

"He lost his speakership."

"But he still had people paying attention to him for god knows how long."

"Not like he did before."

"Why do you always protect him?" Lonnie said, finally turning to look at Old Friend.

Old Friend looked down at Lonnie and smiled his general gentle smile. "We've been having this argument for decades."

"But why?!" Lonnie assumed the position of a cartoon character who might jump excitedly upside down.

"Politics for some people is actually a job," Old Friend said. "It's not the real person. It's a job. I happen to believe quite strongly that the Newt you hate is a job, and then there's Real Newt. And Real Newt loves me and loves you and is a kind man."

Lonnie looked out at the towns through the binoculars, and still just saw darkened buildings and houses and blueness. "Well, he did a shitty job," he said, and Old Friend laughed, clapped his hands, and said that it was time to go back inside.

Four Actual Paragraphs from the Preface to Window of Opportunity

The Preface to Window of Opportunity (previously discussed in this blog) is written by Jerry Pournelle, a science fiction writer with conservative leanings. Four fun paragraphs from that preface will make up today's posting. Newt was always ready for space, as if that wasn't previously established:

If Congress is ever to win back the respect and affection it held in the days of Madison, Jay, Webster, Calhoun, Clay, Douglas, and Lincoln, it will be through the efforts and examples of the tiny minority of members like Gingrich. Far from being a partner in a powerful law firm, Newt is an historian; one of the very few to sit in the Congress. He's not ashamed to be an intellectual.

He's also not ashamed to call himself a politician: a word that's not much in favor these days. I remember that I was shocked the first time he said it of himself. We were sitting in the somewhat shabby opulence the Speaker metes out to junior members of the minority party, discussing the future of the space program.

"The space program is always in trouble," Newt said, "because it has never been championed by a politician, and I'll try to take it from there."

A few weeks later, in partnership with Congressman Akaka of Hawaii, Newt Gingrich organized the Space Caucus within the House of Representatives. For that alone Newt deserves a place in the history books. I don't know the names of the members of the Cortes who advised Isabella to finance Columbus, but perhaps this generation can do better in acknowledging its farsighted statesmen.

Amos's Collection, Et Cetera

Amos was sharpening his knives in the backroom of Amos's Discount Tireyard, listening to his high school band--Lunar Reed--over the stereo, and talking to himself. "This is what's magical and such," he said with a sing-songy quality, dragging the blade of a speedknife delicately across the inside of his index finger. "Few things to love more than quiet time with sharpness, in terms of intelligence and music and literal sharpness." His mouth affected an innocent smile, rehearsed and yet convincing, if anybody would have seen it. He looked into a shiny pornographic poster made of cheap, flimsy mirrorlike material to his right, about five feet away, to model his smile. He smiled even bigger, satisfied with his look.

It was then that Abraham burst in, and Amos threw his speedknife into the wall, directly in front of himself, and spun around to see his brother.

"We got too many customers for me and Ma and Rebekah to deal with, Brother!"

Amos nodded. "Well, that was the plan."

"It's working, Brother! And it seems like everybody's worried about this man from the government comin'! This lady just ran up with eight tires, afraid she'd have to drive and set up on the Darkside once this feller came and brought government! Too bad for John Birch Byerson that he just up and died before this panic!"

Amos nodded again and smiled his pretend-innocent smile. "Too bad for John Birch Byerson indeed, Brother." He hopped to. "Afraid of government coming, we all are?"

"Yes, Brother!"

"Well then," Amos said, taking a step to his brother, keeping constant eye contact with Abraham while walking and talking. "Let's go sell us some panic tires."

"Yes, Brother!" Abraham said, scurrying out the door and leaving it ajar.

"Yes, Brother," Amos said, turning to smile at the stereo, a shiny pornographic poster, and eighty-five well-sharpened knifes sticking handle-out from a much-knived wall.

Newt Gingrich In Space now has a theme song!

Dan Schwartz, creator of the brilliant blog Land of Bad Decisions, and all around splendid guy, was nice enough to come up with a THEME SONG(!) for Newt Gingrich In Space. Dan, hats off, and thank you immensely. This is awesome. It's called "Liftoff."

In Space - Memories

Strapped into a hard metal bucket seat, a helmet around his head, going speeds he never thought he'd get to experience, Newt felt elated--so elated he instantly fell into a dream. There he was sitting at the kitchen table, all of twelve, wearing a tie, reading Sophocles, Philoctetes, as his stepfather, Bob, fixed a sink. "Eww," Newt said. Bob grunted. Bob's legs came out of a cabinet door, but his legs moved in such a way that you could tell he was prodding something with another something.

"This is sick," Newt said again, trying to get Bob's attention. Bob kept on grunting, moving his legs, and fiddling with what appeared to be the intimate parts of the sink. "This guy's leg is gangrene, and he's been all alone on this island. But he's got this bow that the Greeks want, it's Hercules', and they need it to win the Trojan War, and so the Greeks are coming to take it back from the guy."

More silence, grunting.

"But this bow is the only reason why he's been able to survive. It's mean, isn't it?"

Grunt grunt, hand out of door, grasping around on the floor for tools.

The hard metal seat shook. Newt came out of the dream for a moment, and wondered if he had some sort of bruise or rash or mark from sitting. "Why do you have these awful seats?" he asked the other astronauts.

"Low cost," one of them shouted.

Newt struck an "Oh right" face, and fell back into dreaming. Again: twelve, tie, stepfather, sink. "Do you think Philoctetes, this guy with the bow--do you think he'd resent that? People coming back to take the bow?"

Bob sighed and stopped moving around. "Might makes right, right?" he said, sounding strained.

Newt affixed a look of natural shock--Bob usually didn't actually respond. This would have made the first four words the man had said to Newt in days.

"I guess," Newt said, his eyes rolling into a thinking position. A clinking noise from under the sink meant that Bob was back at work, and Newt sat, almost frozen in his chair, wondering about the moral complications of Philoctetes' situation. And the metal seat smarted.