Newt Gingrich's Campaign Journal



Money’s getting tight. Just finished a campaign meeting with Callista at Miami Subs. I had the “Nacho Ordinary” sub and she had the “Naked Wings” (we laughed about that for a good 20 minutes – I mean chickens already are naked – NOTE TO SELF – ADD “NAKED WINGS” TO “FUTURE STANDUP” FILE). 

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I’m tired of the road. I think too much when I’m on the road. And in my office. I’m pretty much thinking of shit all the fucking time. I’m like the Lebarron James of thinking. Damn, that’s good. Need to save that for my next NAACP speech.


I found Callista under the floorboards again, rooting around for what she called “Earth protein.” She’s such a cutup.



Working on my concession speech. I thought I’d start with the story about how me and Reagan used to josh around in the West Wing. Even he knew I’d be President one day. He said, “Newt, what do you want to do?” And I said, “I’m going to be leader of the free world, colonize the moon, and invent a conservative breakfast cereal for patriots who love their country but can’t stand that fucking Marxist, Tony the Tiger.” We had fun.

And just when they think I’m bowing out–BAM–I hit them with the whammy: CO-PRESIDENT NEWT. Pretty boy Mitt can give the speeches and shake babies or whatever, but I’ll be the brain meat. The Cheney to his Bush. The Dakota Fanning to his Elle Fanning. I WILL RULE NARNIA (that’s my secret code name for America). God, I’m so hard right now.


Took a drive to clear my head. Callista was going to join me, but her tail was infected so she stayed home to nurse the hatchlings.


Officially suspended campaign today in a speech that will go down in history as a speech that occurred on this date.

I talked the shit out of all sorts of stuff like space and Islam and America and how awesome America is. I called Mitt afterwards so we can work out a deal. I don’t get to be Co-President, but I do get to be in charge of hookers at the convention in September.


Things are finally getting back to normal. I started working on another novel about America kicking ass and how Obama’s just like Chairman Mao for trying to raise the marginal tax rate 3%. Callista says she’s happy to finally have some privacy so she can focus on her inner strength and repairing the Plytox Plasma Energy Core that was damaged in the crash. 

Maybe I’ll take up bowling.


OK, so the convention got a little out of hand. Apparently, Mitt meant “bookers,” as in “booking speakers.” Not “hookers.” Boy, did I have egg on my face. And several hookers.

In my defense, who the hell wants to hear Ron Paul ranting about the Fed WITHOUT a stage full of tits? Also, I made sure that the ratio of white hookers to ethnic hookers was nearly even. WE HIT EVERY MAJOR HOOKER DEMOGRAPHIC. Best RNC ever.


Of course the typical lamestream leftist gay Muslim media is in attack mode with their typical unfunny headlines: “Newt Bling-Bitch,” and “Newt’s G-HO-P,” and even “Newt Arrested For Live Web Cam Sex With Hookers On Convention Floor.” It’s like, enough with the puns, media. Get a life!

Anyway, Callista is totally cool with it. We have this “deal.” But she’s been under the weather lately so I’m just going to go ahead and divorce her and marry Nyomi Banxx.


Guess who made bail, beeotch! But I do owe the RNC $3 million dollars. That’s a lot of scratch, so I think I’ll write another book about how Reagan and I used to jam on Zeppelin tunes together at Camp David and then go horseback riding with Margaret Thatcher and David Bowie. A lot of personal discovery that summer.


Tried meth today. Not bad.


Seriously, how do you lose to Obama? If the Presidency was a free piece of ass with a sign on it that said, “For Romney” he would pass it up because he’s a lame-o and also because he’s probably pretty faithful to his wife, who by the way, is a class act who I would totally bone.


Sold the last of Callista’s human masks to a collector in Nevada. 



I was going through some old scrapbooks and I found this article with one of my quotes: “A mere forty years ago, beach volleyball was just beginning. No bureaucrat would have invented it, and that's what freedom is all about.” Damn, I was so high. Good times.


My 99 weeks of unemployment benefits are up? Since when did they run out after 99 weeks? Did the GOP push that limit through? Because that doesn’t seem right. It’s just so heartless. No, that couldn’t have been us. Fucking Obama.


Nyomi split.

It’s kind of a strange feeling having someone just up and leave you with no warning. I really think I’m beginning to understand what it’s like to harm someone that loved you, that trusted you, that---ah, I’m just fucking with you. That whore was nothing but a money pit. SHE MADE ME SO ANGRY. She was always, “I can’t have dinner tonight, I’ve a three-way in the morning,” or “I can’t have sex tonight, I’ve a three-way in the afternoon,” or “Can I borrow the car to have a three-way in.” UGGGGG. It’s like, I get so wound up I can feel a pain in my chest. It’s really hard to describe. Also, my left arm is numb.


On the mend! It’s been a crazy couple of months. Paying for this stint in my heart was trickier than I thought. I canceled my insurance after the Supreme Court threw out Obamacare – you can’t force me to buy something I don’t need, Nazis! And while I’m a little short on funds at the moment, at least the safety net of going to the emergency room and running up an enormous debt was still in place. Free market, people. Look it up.


Success! I got myself an excellent new education position in our local award-eligible high school. And while I’m not quite teaching, I can honestly say that I’m truly learning. The proud American workforce in this custodial maintenance department has treated me like one of their own. Well, I can only assume, because they don’t speak much English around me. But, in three more years, they say I can move up to brooms.

Sure, the urban blacks youths joke around with me, and call me “pumpkin head,” and “welfare case” and “douchebag who wanted to make us do your shitty job,” but it’s all in good fun. Even when they throw things at me. Because I’m the one who has to pick it up. That’s my job. I pick up after children who throw things at me. 



NEWT 2016!


This article was originally published May 2012