Roll me in designer sheets

Good news, for me, at least. I'm out of my stupor! The exclamation point is there for extra convincing in case you need it.

I came to in time to take a robocall from Newt Gingrich yesterday.

I was just out of the shower when Chloe hammered on the door and rushed in without waiting for my response. Thank goodness I'd reached the panties and bra stage of redressing, but poor Chloe. She got a horrifying glimpse of what her future could hold.

"Newt's calling!" She held out the phone like it might have cooties.

I gave her a puzzled look and put the phone to my ear.

With all the charm of a long-term untreated urinary tract infection, Newt began his appeal by telling the lucky recipient of the recorded call  how he would dismantle the European-style socialism rammed down America's throat by Obama.

"But I like European-style socialism and how about calling him President Obama, you tool," I said, forgetting that I wasn't talking to the real thing.

He went on to say how intelligent and effective he was, how he'd led and innovated and saved the planet from Communism, welfare queens not of the corporate variety, Bill Clinton's schlong and the Morlocks. He didn't mention Greek cruises, Tiffany's, his lucrative lobbying businesses, or his disgraced departure from the House of Representatives. I wish I had recorded it. It would have provided a cheery background for the holidays. Hell, I could have set it to autotune and created the next dance craze.

Near the end of the call, my new friend Newt urged me to stay on the line to speak to his representative. My mind shifted into high gear for the first time in days and all the condescending and dreadful things he's recently said that I worried hadn't enraged me sufficiently rallied front and center.

"Oh my god, the things I want to say to this guy," I stage-whispered to Chloe.

Sensing impending calamity, or at the very least, an ugly scene where I'm left foaming at the mouth and screaming expletives into the receiver, she held her hand out for the phone. Time to let her have a say. She's been listening to me yammer on about politics all these years.

The representative came on the line. Chloe smiled. "Hi, hello.," she was all sweet tea and apple pie. "Yes, thank you. But we're actually anarchists so you should probably call another family." She paused. Nothing. And then click.

"Anarchists?" I said. "I would have said registered Democrats. Or European-style socialists."

She shrugged. "As far as Newt is concerned, it's all the same."