Apocalypse Newt - satire on House Speaker Newt Gingrich - Column

And on the Hundredth Day shall be opened the Seventh Seal, being the limitation of terms to seven; and upon passage all manner of pestilence shall come to be loosed upon the House, from ornamental filigree coming to life to the eyes of paintings of distinguished gentlemen rolling even as spittle issues from the busts of former Speakers.

And as ever more unspeakable acts of legislation come to pass, shall there all of a sudden come a rumbling as if from the very bowels of the Electorate and with that a groundswelling; just then the Mighty Lincoln shall be seen to rise from his seat of stone and walk again in the strides of a giant to reclaim his Party; tramping through the vintage of Congress, crushing beneath his marble boot Representative Dornan, who seeth him not for the C-SPAN camera.

Many shall be the implorings, and myriad the calls for public hearings and compromise, but they shall fall upon stone ears, while talking points shall stick in the throats of the unctuous.

And while the White House shall remain unavailable for comment, the Great Lincoln shall stride to the podium to pluck and carry off the wriggling Newt spewing sound bites now unheard amid the clamor and wailing, even as the Great Emancipator sniffs and probes with great amusement the tiny thing in his massive palm, crossing with it over the Ellipse amid the tumultuous din of sirens and automatic-weapon fire from the general direction of the Heritage Foundation, and, thence, stony to the general pandemonium, to the base of the Washington Monument now spewing great globules of magma crashing in fiery waves upon the heads of lobbyists, talk-radio hosts, and Republican freshmen walking together to lunch, even as school-children there to protest lunch cuts are left untouched and find much mirth in the field trip. So shall it then pass that the Mighty Lincoln shall climb to the obelisk to draw the fire of his enemies away from the Populace, as the Army of Dick takes to the very air like raptors in executive jets seeking to pluck away the sweet morsel of their dear leader dangling, without so much as a net of safety, from the Savior of the Union's watch fob.

Still, no word shall come forth from the executive mansion.

And it shall continue to pass that the Man from Illinois, nearing the top, shall of a moment lose his balance while fending off the locust swarms, and begin to fall amid many cries and only the occasional "Jump! Jump!" hurling towards the ground, and it shall happen that the Newt shall hit first and cushion the blow to little more than that of a missed step.

Upon seeing how it has been played out, then shall the heathen all at once stop their raging and look upon the world as if for the first time, words of compassion spilling from their lips, each sprouting a flower, while animated butterflies shall flutter to Salt 'n Pepa over credits listing the truly righteous, albeit too quickly to read.

Only then shall the Great Lincoln smile, knocking his giant stone stovepipe against his knee and replacing it upon his glorious head, and head back to Springfield, saying only he never did care for Washington.

And it will come to pass a statement from the White House shall be expected within short order.

COPYRIGHT 1995 The Progressive, Inc.
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