The 2012 San Diego Fireworks Implosion as Metaphor for a Trump-Gingrich Ticket
Look, we know we’re tempting Fate here, that Donald Trump’s election may be the spark that launches our planet into Your Favorite Cinematic Dystopian Hellscape, that the only acceptable attitudes among Responsible Adults are scorn and dismay…
But: We can’t help it. The merest rumor that Trump might choose Newt Gingrich for veep fills us with the kind of joy that’s only attainable by driving a convertible at full speed off a scenic cliff, and freezing the frame before the part that ruins the moment.
Don’t judge us. You would be just as eager to impress your friends by reciting all the Ex-Wives’ names. And we know you’re already thinking about a gag involving Trump plastering his name on Newt’s moonbase.
We grant that this reveals a flaw in our judgment, that despite our well-earned cynicism, we simply can’t imagine that America would elect a Trump-Gingrich ticket, and so we are at liberty to take great amusement at the spectacle.
But if there is truly no hope, if we are inevitably doomed to the Dawn of Idiocracy on January 20, 2017, then for God’s sake, let’s go out in style.