Friday, August 31, 2012

Why Mitt Romney's Got My Vote.

I finally got him last night.

Or should I say, he got me.

Mitt Romney's hit some potholes along the way, no doubt about it, but he keeps coming back like a a grinning rash with graying temples.

Remember pretty early on, when he had to explain the whole dog misunderstanding? He handled it like any seasoned CEO would.

Apparently, it was son Tag's job to secure Seamus to the roof of the car anyway, but Tag had forgotten to pack the nail gun. Governor MittGyver deftly deduced that, while a nail gun is certainly the most reliable option for attaching a dog to the top of a car for a twelve-hour trip to Canada, a crate may work just as well.

Although the entire family believed Seamus would revel in a high speed joyride on the roof of the Family Truckster, he became so distraught that he lost canine muscle control all over the crate's interior.

Faced with few choices, Mitt chose to lead. He pulled into a gas station and hosed off both Seamus and his personal traveling compartment. Family vacation...on!

He's also experienced some difficulty relating to women's issues, actually, to women in general. I understand; he's got five sons. That's a six pack of non-caffeinated Romney beef locking horns with each other on a daily basis. No room for hens in that cockhouse.

For a while, as governor of Massachusetts, Mr. Romney was pro-choice, because after all, it's Kennedy country. He played their game masterfully, and once he broke free of those liberal New England shackles, he was free to represent the soul of America.

All along, he'd intuitively felt that women possessed too many rights, another point of which he and I concur. I know I'm not alone in saying that I really screwed up raising my first set of kids, and I'm aching for a chance to redeem myself by raising one or both of my daughters' children.

Thank you, my champion.

Same-sex marriage? Are you kidding? If it were legal, can you imagine what's next—a man and a donkey legally adopting donkey children?  It's good to know he can lean on his faith, one which has pretty much opposed non-traditional marriage since 1890.

Neither he nor I support federal legalization of medicinal marijuana, and once again Mr. Romney sacrificed for us. He freaked out really bad one time when he tried it in his dorm room, and he was sure his dad was just outside the door for four hours. Since then, he firmly believes that no American should ever have to be that paranoid or super hungry.

But he still hadn't shoved me all the way up his camp until last night., when he brought out the heavy artillery.

Clint Eastwood.

Mr. Eastwood utilized one of those tried and true acting exercises he learned to master while in drama school during the twenties. He spoke to an empty chair, pretending that Barack Obama sat in it.

When he wasn't stumbling over lines, Clint played the invisible president like a Duncan Butterfly. For an eighty-two-year-old, that guy can almost act.

By the time Governor Romney took to the stage, I'd already built up such a lather from Clint's stirring monologue and the video vignette of Mitt's magical family that I couldn't contain a quivering-lipped "Cmmfff," from escaping my mouth.

And just as with the dog incident, Romney seized command.

He promised twelve million jobs.

Twelve million! Finally, white people can pick my produce.

He pledged to yank healthcare from the 6.6 million Americans who became insured under the president's Affordable Healthcare Act. Good, because I'm sure at least half of those people let their kids take two suckers at the doctor's office.

Finally, he promised to assert U.S. might and influence worldwide, because "a free world is a more peaceful world." And since there's only a skeleton crew left over in Iraq and things are definitely powering down in Afghanistan, Iran looms as the next logical threat and business opportunity.

And I'm all in.

Mitt Romney sees America for what it is—a dirty, dirty place that could use a little cleanin'. And since it worked so well before, he's holding the hose again.

What do you say, America? Are you ready to be hosed?

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