A Visit with Mitt Romney – September 2011
An incensed Donald Trump loomed over a wilting Mitt Romney as David and Charles Koch watched from their seats behind the ornate polished oak boardroom desk. The lights were dim, the curtains were drawn and testosterone hung heavily in the air like the fetid decay of a corpse left to rot for a week or so.
“Whaddya gonna do? Nice college boy, eh? Don’t wanna get mixed up in our family business, but you want us to “take care” of Ricky because he slapped you in the face a little bit, huh? Made you his bitch at the last debate and now you‘re looking for retribution? Whataya think this is, the Army, where you shoot ‘em a mile away? You gotta get up close like this… bada-BING! You blow their brains all over your nice Ivy League suit.” Donald closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then walked around behind Mitt, putting both of his meaty paws on Mitt’s shoulders. “C’mere… you’re taking this very personal. David, give him a mint.”
Mitt swallowed hard. Real hard. “I don’t want a mint, Donald. But thanks.”
“Have a mint,” Donald insisted.
“I don’t wa—”
“Have a fuckin’ mint.”
Donald’s fusty breath wafted into Mitt’s ear and traveled around to singe his nose hairs. Mitt nervously reached over the desk to retrieve a red-and-white mint from the Baccarat crystal Architecture Bowl; $2,300 dollars’ worth of sleek-lined, forty-five degree angled blown glass. When he knocked it to the floor at his feet and it shattered into a few dozen pieces, Donald harrumphed loudly with disgust.
“That’s gonna cost you, Mitt.”
“Just write it off as a campaign expense.” David Koch chuckled maniacally.
“Well, what did you expect me to do?” Mitt whined. “It was a live debate and the guy wouldn’t stop talking over me and getting in my personal space.”
Donald pivoted quickly around to face Mitt, slapping him hard across the face. “You could act like a man! (Slap, slap) What’s the matter with you?”
“I just need a little more time, guys. I promise I can bring those poll numbers up. All I have to do is give Rick a bit more rope to hang himself.” Mitt leaned as far back in his chair as he could, away from Donald’s raised hand.
“Make no mistake, I don’t like violence. I’m a businessman. Blood is a big expense.”Charles Koch warned.
“What is it you want me to do?” Mitt’s voice climbed a few shaky octaves. “I won’t get out of this race. I know—”
“Oh, you’ll get out of this race if you know what’s good for you. You’ll answer that stupid immigration question a few more times with as much of that idiotic ‘I didn’t know the lawn guys were illegals’ bullshit to require the media hold you accountable. Sfffffft,” Donald whistled through his teeth, “…and you’ll disappear like that.” He punctuated his last statement with a pert snap of his fingers.
“Mitt’s a reasonable man, gentlemen. He’ll make the right decision.” Charles Koch pulled out his blackberry and began checking his e-mail.
“Guys, come on. You don’t mean this. Charles?” Mitt Romney stood up, looking from one man to another.
“My brother is no different than any other powerful man — any man who’s responsible for other people, like a Senator or President,” David Koch replied ominously.
Mitt stood with his mouth open, aghast. “You know how naive you sound? Senators and Presidents don’t force people to—”
Charles Koch looked up from his blackberry. “Who’s being naïve now, Willard?”
Hey, you! Yeah, we’re talking to all you feeble-minded cadgers, down-and-outers, guttersnipes, freeloaders, paupers, vagrants, laggards, slugs, lollygaggers, sloths, homeless, wastrels, entitlement seekers, moochers, slackers and all around non-personal responsibility takers. You know who you are. And so does Mitt Romney.
We have to assume that in those brief moments you shake off your apathy, you’ve wanted to read Waiting for Karl Rove. But unfortunately for you, food stamps cannot be used to purchase great literature.
For a few days you HAD a chance to get Waiting for Karl Rove free on your Kindle. (Sure, don’t feed your kids or pay your taxes, but make damn sure you have a Kindle.) But it looks like you blew that. That free offer is OVER! From now on, you’re going to be out $2.99. Hell, you tip more than that for your coffee at Starbucks!
After you read it, take some of those tax dollars you don’t pay and buy the sequel: Kat and Jeni’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, Kindle version now available on Amazon.
And Karl Rove? Remember that dinner party where that guy told you about our book? Remember how you said you’d check it out? I bet you took advantage of of our free offer, you cheap bastard!
You Nook owners have been crying in your beer, your sleep and your local confessional because Waiting for Karl Rove has only been available on Kindle.
“What about us?” you’ve wailed. “Don’t we deserve a chance to read the funniest political satire in the entire universe?”
“Yes, you do,” say Jeni Decker and Kat Nove in perfect harmony.
Click here to get your copy for the low, low price of $1.99.
Be warned though. Nook owners who have already flocked to be the first to purchase copies have also purchased Fifty Shades of Grey. This makes sense because there are some similarities.
Both books cause women to soak their panties, if for different reasons. (Hint: One of the books makes readers wet their pants due to excessive laughing.)
After reading the Mommie porn, women toss their overweight, befuddled husbands and boyfriends on the nearest flat surface and give some little used penises a good workout.
After reading Waiting for Karl Rove, liberals of both sexes can’t wait to whip out their credit cards to stimulate the economy by buying it for all their friends and relatives.
Even conservatives love to hate this book; which also stimulates the economy. After reading it, they grind their teeth and dentures so hard, visits to local dentists are a necessity. Trips to doctors are required to obtain prescriptions for blood pressure medications. Antacid sales skyrocket. Comedy Central ratings go up, causing advertisers to masturbate while imagining Jeni Decker and Kat Nove naked.
Now that Waiting for Karl Rove is up on Barnes & Noble, it will only be a matter of weeks before this terrible recession is over.
You’re welcome, America.
I feel bad about Nora Ephron’s neck. Her astute observations about aging in women are personified by this quote: “Our faces are lies and our necks are the truth.”
When I found out Nora Ephron died this week, I cried. That got me to wondering about the last time I cried upon hearing of the death of someone famous. The answer to that is…never. I cry while watching the news all the time. It’s usually over some tragedy involving average people. But while it saddens me if an actor or writer I like dies, I don’t cry. Or at least I didn’t.
Nora Ephron was different. My silly bucket list of people I’d like to meet would have always included her. I would have loved for her to like me and say, “Never give up, Kat. You have what it takes. And even if you didn’t, you hate purses so that makes you okay in my book.”
I’ve lost the opportunity to meet Nora Ephron, but I’ve added something new to my bucket list. I want to be more like her. I can scratch that one off starting today.
I feel bad about Nora Ephron’s neck. She deserved to look in the mirror on her last day and see the most beautiful neck in the history of necks.
Goodbye, Nora. You’ll always be with me and I thank you for that.
How I Intend to Win the 2012 Presidential Election by Changing my Position on Every Issue and Pretending to Love Grits but Not Sex – by Mitt Romney (a private, inter-office planning memo revealed…)
FROM: ROMNEY CAMPAIGN MANAGER
TO: MITT ROMNEY
Sir, we’ve been asked by the press to address some issues. I’ve bullet-pointed them below. Thoughts? Just jot some notes down beneath each point and I’ll forward them to the speech-writing team for… filtering..
While I firmly believe abortion should be safe and legal in this country, I am firmly pro-life. I’m against it, morally speaking, for the purposes of this election, but I’ll happily set up drive-thru late-term abortion clinics next to the kiddy play area of every McDonalds to get the poor, Hispanic, African-American and female votes. How do we get this across without actually using those words?
~ On Reagan.
I support every one of his shining policies on the hill, except when facing a room full of people who are not amenable to such support. In which case, I’d be hard-pressed to say anything other than “That Nancy. She loved the gays, didn’t she!” Or something to that effect. What’s wrong with liberals? Why are they so gay-crazy?
~ The No-Tax Pledge.
As a Massachusetts gubernatorial candidate I refused to sign it, but as a presidential candidate I have come to understand which side of my Norquist needs buttering. Why don’t they understand that I can’t lead this great nation with a cap in my ass!!
We should control them, in the manner and speed with which the NRA deems fit.
~ Health care reform.
I reformed Massachusetts, but in doing so, realized it was terrible, horrible, no good, very bad reform. It was not wise to make health-care easier and more affordable for one tiny state when the outcome would result in making the rest of the country feel inferior. Romney Care won’t work anywhere but Massachusetts. Why does everyone keep asking me how I know that? I just do.
~ The whole “Let Detroit go bankrupt thing”
That was just a high-stakes game of chicken. In the end, that one line scared the shit out of so many people, it prompted action for which I take full credit.
~Your firing of Richard Grenell.
I did not fire my former homosexual foreign policy advisor. I merely evolved regarding my need to have him speak during interviews with reporters, conference calls, and at any internal meetings. I doubt his resignation had anything to do with that. Some people just aren’t team players.
~Your “I’m not concerned about the very poor” flub…
I’m not concerned about the very poor. I am concerned with the very, very poor. And the middle class. The rich will be fine – we’ve got built-in safeguards for them; namely the middle class, the poor, the very poor, and very, very poor. (Wait, don’t put that last part in.)
It’s none of my business how rich people spend their money. If they want their polo ponies to wear platinum-plated horseshoes, who cares if those horseshoes might have fed a dozen starving children for a year?
This week Mitt Romney attended a fundraiser at the home of Texas developer Harlan Crow. The photo of Crow’s library makes it appear that he hijacked the Sistine Chapel and brought it home to Texas because Jesus loves Texans more than anyone else.
The difference between Mitt Romney and me (other than his penis, his millions, and his being a pathological liar) is that I might have taken issue with the two original paintings by Adolph Hitler hanging on the walls of Crow’s home. He’s a collector and I’m not accusing him of being a Nazi sympathizer. But I’m outspoken (some would say rude) and I might have asked him if the seller donated all the proceeds to the Simon Wiesenthal Center. Then I would mention that’s the only way I would own original paintings by Hitler.
I admit I occasionally daydream of the things I would or wouldn’t do if I tripped and fell into a huge freaking pile of money.
I would quit my job, never get a nose job and call for a moratorium on blow jobs.
My white trash Toyota would be honorably retired and replaced with a Toyota that doesn’t have two hundred thousand miles on the odometer. I might even splurge and hire a cute college student to flirt with me while he drives me to the grocery store.
I would probably buy that thick cookbook I’ve had my eye on for years. Once it’s placed on a chair, I’d finally have the height needed to change the light bulb in the kitchen. Then I could read the labels on the cans of soup I’d be heating up in the microwave.
Even though my cats are in desperate need of therapy, I won’t shell out one hundred bucks an hour for a pet therapist. I might consider buying them a few cans of cat food to alleviate their depression.
I would become a world traveler and convince every single person in every other nation that all Americans are as fabulous as I am. After achieving world peace, I would be suitably humble in my Nobel Peace Prize winning speech.
I won’t buy a mansion or a fur coat. I can’t be bothered to clean the first and overwhelming guilt would cause me to make reparations to the descendants of the second.
I really don’t need or want most things people with money seem to find necessary. Of course I could be wrong because it’s been said that money changes people. Once I’m filthy rich I might go on a crazed spending spree. But I can emphatically state that the one thing I definitely won’t be buying when I’m filthy rich is a real product which is advertised on the Internet. I was astounded to learn there are inch long edible capsules filled with gold flakes. Each capsule costs $92 and the pure gold passes straight through the body and ends up in your stool. The end result is sparkly shit. I can only imagine rich people oohing and aahing over their sparkly shit as they toss back glasses of overpriced wine. No thanks. I’ll just avoid looking, flush and go have a cheap beer.
This election season, I hope there’s an intrepid reporter out there who has what it takes to sneak into Mitt Romney’s bathroom with a camera. Geraldo?
I got home late this evening and prepared to stay up all night to watch what was supposed to be a close recall election between Governor Scott Walker and Mayor Tom Barrett in Wisconsin. While watching the Rachel Maddow Show, NBC called the election for Walker with only 22% of the votes counted. What…the…fuck? At this very moment I’m watching a laughing, anaconda-jawed woman at Scott Walker campaign headquarters. And here I always thought Republican women couldn’t give good blow jobs; thereby explaining why their husbands always end up getting arrested in airport men’s restrooms.
I’ve never been a union member, but I do understand their importance to this country. I applaud the citizens of Wisconsin, and particularly the public sector union members for working so hard to recall Walker, the only governor in the country with his own legal defense fund. Walker transfers $100,000 to legal defense fund.
I’d give anything to have a legal defense fund. I’d use it to buy something to eat other than peanut butter. Somehow I doubt Walker is using his to upgrade his dinner menu.
Scott Walker outspent Tom Barrett by approximately seven to one. Most of Walker’s money came from special interest groups located out of state. Our old pals the Koch brothers, whose annual income is estimated to be $100 billion, contributed $6 million to help bust the unions in Wisconsin. These two guys are the worst siblings since the Menendez brothers.
Which reminds me, did anyone do an autopsy on old man Koch? Did Charles and David Koch have alibis for the day of his death? Just wondering.
Oh, fuck. The Daily Show just ended, I switched back to MSNBC and Scott Walker is giving a victory speech. Okay. That’s better. I turned off the tv. Silence is golden, or in my case – copper.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. I suppose you’re wondering about the title of this blog entry. (I don’t suppose any such thing because that would imply someone is reading this and I’m not stupid enough to believe that will ever happen.)
On January 21, 2010, with its ruling in Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission, the Supreme Court ruled that corporations are persons who are guaranteed free speech. I’m paraphrasing here, but this means a shitload of money can be anonymously spent on tv and radio ads. These ads contain whatever lies and distortions are deemed necessary to completely crush candidates not being supported by the corporations and billionaires paying for the ads, i.e. Democrats. Democrats also receive contributions from corporations, but are mostly financed by small donors and unions. If the unions go, most of us will go as well.
Karl Rove’s lifetime wet dream of permanently placing Republicans in the White House, Congress and the Supreme Court is close to becoming a reality.
My vote never counts because I live in Texas. But I vote anyway because I believe voting gives me the right to say, “The Supreme Court can bite me!”
I never vote against my own self-interest and it almost tickles me to see how many people do. Drink up tonight, middle-class Americans who support these types of policies. It won’t be long until you’ll be joining me in my drink of choice (chosen for me by the corporation I work for) – tap water.