Public opinion on Newt Gingrich’s moon base plan has varied, at least among all non-geeks (ie, dorks). Some say it was classic pandering, as it was proposed just before the Florida primary, an effort to gain votes in a state full of former NASA employees; pragmatists say it’s foolish; conservatives were torn; President Obama had to ask for a new bowl of cereal after snorting laughter caused him to snot milk back into his bowl; the Romneys were initially distressed that Gingrich was talking about the planet Kolob, where they are planning to spend their celestial afterlife, but are now just generally relieved; Nicolas Cage continued reading a bad script. Republican second runner-up, Ron Paul, is reported to have been “contemplative” upon hearing the news. He was said to have instantly paused his Virtual Boy, but stayed staring into the 3D visor for over an hour, just running his thumbs over the buttons. His aids were appalled at this reaction as he apparently never pauses for anyone.
There was one camp that wasn’t torn or appalled. While Newt Gingrich may have been laughing, it would have only been at his own genius, how it all was unfolding according to plan. As results for the Florida primary came in, Newt Gingrich reclined and closed his eyes as one of his aids spoon-fed him space ice cream, and another continued moon-ing other cars on the road. The limousine pulled to a slow stop when everyone’s phones buzzed in concert. The second aid pulled his pants up. The first put her ice cream down.
“I don’t understand,” the second said, staring at his phone and raising his hand as if to give up, “none of my buttons are doing anything. This message won’t go away.”
“Yeah, same here, “the first added, “I think we’ve been hacked. What does it mean?”
Gingrich opened his eyes and furrowed his brow. Or, it remained furrowed, rather. The first aid showed him her phone. It read:
ALL YOUR MOON BASE ARE BELONG TO US
Gingrich turned to look through the car window into the opaque city scape.
“Gooooood,” he was seen saying to the rain, his eyes gleaming.
Following Gingrich’s divisive, other-wordly plan, Ron Paul’s support began to erode, but as he wondered whether to give up or go on, something occurred to him as he writhed at rock bottom that may have never occurred to any other politician in history: the geeks are strong. Under this enlightenment, he redoubled his efforts, answering the call of his heart. Pandering it surely was not; it was more like the unfurling of a butterfly from its caterpillic threshes. He merely became transparent. First, it was subtle, unnoticeable to the naked eye. The news networks missed it, and when they saw it, they had no framework to talk about it. First it was Paul’s rhetoric. He began to use the word “realm” whenever a typical politician would have employed “sector” or “industry.” Those close to him noted his ring tone change from “Marimba” to the Super Mario Bros. “underground theme” and the “Imperial March” whenever his wife called. When questioned in an interview shortly after the Florida primary on the speed and effectiveness of the current Congress, Paul replied, “They’re far too slow and they’re deliberating too long. The American people can’t wait for change. I mean, we’ve got to be more like Leroy Jenkins in Washington. Talk is cheap.” As geeks are known to love subtlety, numbers slowly trickled into Ron Paul’s favor. The plan was working.
In response to Paul’s efforts, Gingrich made a public statement about the national security threat of an Electromagnetic Pulse attack leaving the country without electricity, calling it the United States’ most dangerous threat. While most of America rolled their eyes, geeks everywhere all of a sudden became interested in discussing national security policy. When asked to comment on Gingrich’s supposed EMP threat, Paul merely responded, “Most impressive.” At a nearby sci-fi convention, the majority of attendees were seen leaving the convention with shirts, and buttons saying, “Frak Newt Gingrich.” Gingrich was at a loss.
At the Arizona debate in late February, Gingrich’s recent struggles severely effected his composure. He was seen constantly wiping sweat from his brow, and seemed to deliver his comments in a shouting, defensive manor. The stage was a balance beam; wherever Gingrich seemed to teeter and stumble, Paul and Romney became more statuesque. Rick Santorum was as good as non-existent. Driven to maniacal defenses and accusations, Gingrich finally looked at Paul and asked him with a smile, “you want this nomination, don’t you?” Gingrich, confused when neither took his bait, exclaimed, “Either you’re for me, or you’re against America!”
Paul turned to him and sternly responded, “Only a Sith deals in absolutes.”
Gingrich’s face slowly contorted into a grimace. He raised his hands, all of his fingers flatly pointed at Paul.
“No!” he shouted as he walked towards Paul, “no, no, NO! YOU WILL DIE!”
Paul’s aids watched on with horror.
“Run, Ron, run!” one begged as Paul turned to face Gingrich’s advances, “what is he doing?”
“He’s beginning to believe,” another said.
Gingrich lunged at Paul’s throat, the force of his weight overpowering Paul, and flattening him to the ground. Paul screamed as Gingrich strangled him and took breaks to smile and sometimes laugh. Intermittent among the screams Paul could be heard pleading, “Please, Mitt!”
Romney stood nearby shifting his upper body back and forth between the two in indecision. Finally, among the cries for help he took action, picking Gingrich up over his head in a show of brute strength and throwing him into the cameras and audio equipment. Gingrich lay shaking from electric shocks. Romney approached Paul, extending his hand.
“Join me, Ron,” he said, his deep voice booming throughout the venue, “and we will rule this country, and then the galaxy, together as father and son, president and vice president. You will of course be the father-figure in this case at your age, but I will seek your advice sometimes, similar to a son, but I will have more authority as president, you understand.”
Paul did not respond.
“This is your destiny,” Romney added, “Search your feelings, Ron, you know it to be true.”
Just then the venue went dark. Those at home watching on television panicked in the darkness of their homes. The outcome of the debate was now the least of their worries as everything in eye-shot was black.
Deep into the pitch black confusion of our nation’s Capitol, past the bulletproof windows and fortified walls of the white house, inside the oval office, men in suits muttered curses and groped for their phones and flashlights. Before any of them were successful, a cool, deep voice cut into the darkness like a light saber.
“Oh, I’m afraid our EMP is quite operational,” it said with an air of playfulness, “quite before our little Republican friends were able start their precious rebellion.”
A gleaming set of white teeth shined in the blackness.