Romney Plays Pocket Pool, Pumps Gas -- Parting Shots at Willard!

by Noah

Perhaps God intended something else for Mittens Romney. You don't always get the job you want. Post-election reports of Romney pumping gas -- the camera doesn't lie, even if the subject does. Was this disheveled turn at the pump the logical ending for Big Oil's favorite bitch? Does he really enjoy the smell of gasoline in the night?

I coulda been the president, instead of a bum, which is what I am. Well, you won't have Mittens Romney to kick around anymore. I am not a crook. My wife wears a good Republican mink coat with a white ermine collar and the kids' dog was a gift and we won't be giving the kids' dog back, even if we have to tie it to the roof of one of Ann's Cadillacs and drive away.

Enjoy your excellent vacation, Willard. Your parents named you after the boy loved by rats for a reason. Sometimes life just ain't fair, right? You know all about that, in your twisted psychopathic little mind. You see, you just couldn't buy everything, and even Karl Rove couldn't steal it for you. Turd Blossom tried his best, but there he was on FOX on Election Night, looking all flustered and freaking as the votes in Ohio really did stay true.

Instead of winning and going to Disney World, you only managed to whine about someone getting gifts; then you did that post-election romp to Costco in a last, pointless effort to convince us that you're normal. A TMZ film crew just happened to get a tip that you'd be there and "caught" you as you loaded up your bale of paper towels and that made-in-China toy and drove off in your imported car.

America looked at you and saw some kind of mechanical Hannibal Lecter who could talk about having given cancer-stricken children healthcare when you were a one-term governor one minute and then the next minute promise to take it away as president, all while swearing you're pro-life and promising to get rid of the places where most women go for cancer screening. You did it all with a stiff smile on your face and the eyes of a reanimated corpse in a fine suit and tie.

Willard, I suppose when the story of your wasted, malformed life is written, it should start with that story about you forming a posse at prep school and hunting down that gay kid, pinning him to the floor (fodder for shrinks right there) and cutting off his hair like it was a scalp. (By the way, what did you do with the hair?) Then you led a pro-war demonstration, before fleeing to France to sit out the war. It wouldn't surprise me if your story ended with the following headline:

Bain Secretly Owns Chinese Organ-Harvesting Cartel!

Company "cash for organs" program goes awry as harvested bodies turn up in alleys. Romney shrugs.

As president, you would have relished squeezing every last ounce of blood from us. You'd even send burger-flipping jobs over seas. You'd outsource fire departments and EMS workers if you could only find a way.

Now your little mini-me sons are passing on the family lying tradition, petulantly telling us you never wanted to be president anyway.

Yeah, that's why you ran not once but twice. You even thought you were chosen by God. You were so confident, you thought it would be handed to you. You could wing it. You could even hire an old man to talk to a chair in prime time. Nothing was going to stop the Duke of Earl. As the wifey said, it was your turn and we should feel grateful that you had even condescended to run to be our leader. You couldn't fool all of the people. You didn't even think you had to.

Well, voters are people, my friend, living, breathing, feeling people, with dreams, people who were willing to stand in line for eight hours to vote against you if that's what it took. I suppose you could now take your nervous laugh and your binders full of fellow greedy corporate thug-buddies and Wall Street assclowns and go hole up in some dry, dusty, toxic-waste-encrusted Mexican border town. Live in your handiwork, Mitt. This can be your hairshirt. Please make sure to drink plenty of the water. You could even build elevators for your donkeys, if the town has electricity.

By the way, Mitt, the only gift I got from President Obama was that he beat your arrogant, condescending, hateful ass, and I didn't even have to vote for him. He's just better than you, but then, most people who carry even a hint of humanity are.

#