In an alternate universe, DMB and Gingrich are married to each other, with the former sincerely thinking he can impregnate the latter with thrice-weekly raids on Gingrich's doughy, pale buttocks and prolapsed rectum. Alternate Universe Gingrich, on the other hand, understands how biology works, but is content with letting his paramour mount him at will because he figures there's a pot of gold at the end of the cornholed rainbow.
Wait till he finds out that DMB's business model is mostly predicated on stiffing creditors, shareholders, subcontractors, and employees alike, just because he can. By the time Gingrich gets all the spray-tan wiped off his ritually abused ass-cheeks, the election will be over and DMB will have gone back to the tower to plot his next mega-grift.
They are both useless cocksuckers who would seriously be doing the world a favor if they self-exiled themselves to a polluted Siberian outpost, never to be heard from again. As such, they would be the perfect ticket for what's left of the Republican party.