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Newt Gingrich: Everything You'd Expect From A Slimy, Swamp Creature Devoid Of Human Emotions Trying To Slither His Way Into The White House

Slimy, bigoted, power-starved Republican presidential hopeful (or just another Grand Ol’ Pretender?) Newt Gingrich, is the esteemed subject of a new Esquire profile in which his spurned, totally not pretty enough to keep, second-wife dishes the dirt about their 2000 divorce, leading of course to his third (and maybe even last!) happy marriage with a new wifey, and how Newt simply adores cheating on his various wives, special bonus if they’re bed-ridden in a hospital dying from cancer. Hotttttttt!

And after a self-imposed twelve-year exile into silence, you better believe Marianne Gingrich is ready to diiiiiish on all sorts of awful, disturbing things you kinda wish you didn’t know about Republican’s Numero Uno amphibian adulterer, and if all goes well, possible White House occupant come 2012. Ooooh, keep your fingers crossed!

Because who better to lead this blessed country back from the Obyss than that special kind of asshole, the kind that only comes around every precious few years as a cautious reminder about the dangers of power in the hands of incomprehensibly selfish, morally-devoid, self-serving hypocritical egomaniacs, with all the integrity you’d expect from the rest of the insane, scary people currently calling themselves Teabaggers (or is Republicans? I can never tell anymore!) proving themselves patriots by spitting on the constitution, randomly throwing out as many Nazi and Hitler references as time permits, warning America against the evil threat of Comrade Barry’s Socialist Democratic plot to insure poor people, and of course, the scourge of all no-good minorities, like terrible A-rabs, Mexicans, Homos, and anyone who so much even look like
gross, terrible Muslims.

So, while Newt is off scaring people about Muslims and Mexicans, like a real patriotic American, ex-wifey number 2 sat down with a magazine reporter in Florida to give the American public some insight into the slippery man behind the ridiculous Salamander name.

It is no secret that a couple years ago, Newt finally admitted what everyone already knew: He had been messing around on his second wife, Marianne, with his soon-to-be third, much younger, hotter wife, Callista, all the while leading the Republican moral crusade to impeach Bill Clinton for catching a couple of BJ’s in the Oval Office from a certain very eager intern whose skill sets included a special kind of lip service and one-on-one attention to detail.

Which I suppose isn’t too far out of character for a man who not only cheated on his first wife, but was chivalrous enough to present her with divorce papers while she was laid up in a hospital bed recovering from uterine cancer. Or even better, kindly asked his second-wife Marianne to “tolerate” the tiny, little affair he was having behind her back, like a good li’l Stepford wife who keeps her mouth shut and speaks only when spoken to.

He wanted to talk in person, he said.
“I said, ‘No, we need to talk now.’ ”
He went quiet.
“There’s somebody else, isn’t there?”
She kind of guessed it, of course. Women usually do. But did she know the woman was in her apartment, eating off her plates, sleeping in her bed?
She called a minister they both trusted. He came over to the house the next day and worked with them the whole weekend, but Gingrich just kept saying she was a Jaguar and all he wanted was a Chevrolet. ” ‘I can’t handle a Jaguar right now.’ He said that many times. ‘All I want is a Chevrolet.’ ”
He asked her to just tolerate the affair, an offer she refused.
He’d just returned from Erie, Pennsylvania, where he’d given a speech full of high sentiments about compassion and family values.
The next night, they sat talking out on their back patio in Georgia. She said, “How do you give that speech and do what you’re doing?”
“It doesn’t matter what I do,” he answered. “People need to hear what I have to say. There’s no one else who can say what I can say. It doesn’t matter what I live.”

Ummm, okay, the whole cheating thing aside, what kind of mega-creep uses some f**king car metaphor to describe anything, let alone his reasons for abandoning his “closest advisor” and old-hag-of-a-wife after 18-years to go play house with his newest prize, a hot li’l blond 23 years his junior, who apparently is very much like a Chevy when you get to know her??

Seriously gross, but yeah, judging by his vehicular analogy alone, divorce was probably a good idea.

Anyway, Marianne goes on to say that despite Newt’s public preaching “family values” and constant shrieking about President Obama’s “secular, socialist machine” threatening to destroy America, the former House Speaker never really cared if he was a walking contradiction who would do and say anything to get ahead.

“He believes that what he says in public and how he lives don’t have to be connected,” Marianne said.

Perhaps this ability to freely commit the very sins he so fervently rails against comes from the “fabulous” childhood he conjured up, complete with “lots of relatives, lots of complexity, lots of sugar pies, when I could talk my aunt and grandmother into making them. They had an old-fashioned cast-iron stove where you cut wood…”

In reality, Newt grew up on a series of Army bases in Kansas, Georgia, France, and Germany, with a mother who left his father shortly after marrying him, struggled with manic depression most of her life (which may help explain his name?), and a stepfather, who as an infantry officer, viewed his “plump, nearsighted, flat-footed son as unfit for the Army.”

Mmmmm, sure sounds like a sugar pie filled with deliciousness!

“I wouldn’t be able to describe what his real principles are,” former Republican Rep. Mickey Edwards said of the former speaker. “I never felt that he had any sort of a real compass about what he believed except for the pursuit of power.”

And this time, his compass is pointing due East from his home in McLean, Virginia, 8.796 miles away to his final destination (God-willing!) at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.,Washington, DC.

“Will he run?” Marianne asks. “Possibly. Because he doesn’t connect things like normal people. There’s a vacancy — kind of scary, isn’t it?”

Eh, only if you don’t much care for slimy, bacteria-laden swamp creatures who undergo metamorphosis no less than three times throughout their lives, produce enough toxins in their skin secretions to kill an adult human, and thrive in dank, murky wastelands like say, the nation’s capital.

But, one thing is certain—Newt Gingrich simply loves being asked the presidential question. “That’s up to God and the American people,” he says, in the calm, cool, detached tone of a slimy swamp lizard who already knows what God thinks.

And, as it turns out, He’s so fond of the warty li’l buggers, he can’t help but drive their population to near extinction, almost ridding rid the entire planet of ‘em.

Probably ’cause He selfishly wants to keep all the adorable, Salmonella-carrying, toxin-oozing critters all to Himself!

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