Oh, Mitt. Buddy, just stop. No, really. Do yourself a favor and just drop out. Do us all that favor. I gotta break it to you: nobody likes you, man. Nobody. Just being honest. Look, maybe it’s not your fault… We all have bad days (though usually not week after week after week after week). But you, you take the cake, pal! How is it possible that you are so spectacularly incompetent!? Seriously. Newsflash: running for president is not rocket-science. You show up, smile, say little, kiss babies, and make empty promises. You eat a lot of bad food, take cat naps, and pander in the manner of a local yokel insert sports team or weather here as often as you can get away with it without coming off as cloyingly artificial and out of place. But you can’t even do this. You make Al Gore look like a hot-bodied rock star. Shit, even Rutherford B. Hayes would tell you to quit being such a tightass.
At first, the way you held a position of everything about anything was laudable. After all, you’re running for president, which implies representing a rather wide array of demographics. So appealing to everybody by having no specific position on anything, but rather expressing support AND disdain for everything, made sense. It was kind of canny. It seemed to convey an appreciation for the nuances of issues. We admired that you understood the multifaceted nature of complex topics, such that some stories have more than just two sides. And that recognizing the attributes as well as the detriments of most philosophical arguments is an extension of one’s maturity and political acumen. But dude, you’re a little bit of an idiot. I don’t mean to suggest that you’re dumb; by the contrary, I think you are a perfectly intelligent, if not consistently intelligible, human being — indeed, probably a good deal smarter than those who have or who have sought the same office as you. Seriously, you might as well be a MacArthur award recipient next to Hermann Cain or Michelle Bachmann. And I would totally choose you over Rick Perry or Rick Santorum to be my Trivia Night partner. But running for national office? As my daddy used to say, “They may be less pretty ponies out there to put my money on, but at least they know how to run ’round the damn track.” And then he’d spit.
It’s like you just don’t get it. Which is kind of unbelievable considering we all know at least what not to say. Seriously, what you should be saying — like all the time — is nothing. You’ve got this one amazing thing going for you, like manna from heaven: you’re the white guy running against the black guy! This oughta be a slaughter, man! Look at the economy. Look at how much the Middle East and China hate our guts. Look at how no one on the planet except for some of the boorish morons in your party still thinks that America is the greatest country in the world. That and you’ve basically been running for this gig ever since losing in 2008. And you’re totally loaded! You’re rich, you’re white, and you’re running against the black guy in a shitty economy that can’t get its way out of the toilet if it had a plunger suction-cupped to a compass. How are you actually losing, I keep wondering?
I mean, after all, it doesn’t really take that much. C’mon! This oughta be a walk in the park, pal. You coasted your way through the primaries, mostly because your rivals were ridiculous idiots. That and you could afford to buy it. So then it comes down to you and one other, since no third party candidate will ever stand a chance. And not just any “one other,” but a black guy who half the country seems to think is either a socialist, a Muslim, an illegal alien, an inexperienced nincompoop, or all of the above. War on religion? His fault. Gas at $4 a gallon? His fault. Government-run hospitals? His fault. Israel facing obliteration? His fault. Fast and Furious? Yup, him. Good lord, look at the deficit! Totally his doing. Just be present and say nothing — all you need is 51 percent, man! This election’s yours to lose!
Which is just what it seems like you’re hellbent on doing, buddy.
Oh, it’s a lonely coatroom where the unremembered losers of past elections nurse their drinks together with bitter regrets. I know. They’re all looking at you now — McGovern and Mondale, Gore and Dole, Kerry and McCain, Dukakis and Dewey, Hubert Humphrey and Barry Goldwater, et al.– some pitying, others empathizing — all of them wishing they could have run against a black guy… If you look over there, George McClellan’s sauntering over to the bar to order you a drink. And he couldn’t beat Lincoln during the Civil War. Mitt, the angel of death hovers above the soft shoulder of your presidential bid. The time is nigh to just drop out.
Stop being so selfish; you might think of someone else for a change. Like other Republicans, particularly those running for Senate. We have an outstandingly real chance of reclaiming the Senate, while keeping the House. Let us at least get that much done. Don’t think you’re doing any favors for folks like Scott Brown in Massachusetts or Tommy Thompson in Wisconsin. And they’re running against women! Uppity, feisty broads at that — one of whom’s a lesbian…a lesbian in Wisconsin!?! And you’re actually helping her. Jesus!
Speaking of chics — you’ll see where I’m going with this in a second — your apparent apathy about winning this election makes me wonder, as others have, whether you even want to be president in the first place. Why are you even bothering if, as it seems, your interest in winning the election is at best half-hearted and fleeting? This got me to thinking: maybe you just like running for office, addicted to the adrenaline. Like a cat chasing a mouse, enticed by the flickers and tweets, who suddenly doesn’t care about sealing the deal when the poor thing is in its paws. That’s this election for you, in your hands, and all you do is yawn and look bored. The thrill of the chase is awesome, the pursuit, the challenge. But then what? Running for office is great; you get all the attention but have to take none of the responsibility. Sounds pretty sweet. I’m not gonna say I don’t understand or can’t relate. “The best part of sex is the trip up the stairs,” my ex-wife used to say. The actual experience in the bedroom, not so much. How much that had to do with me or was an astute observation on the human condition is neither nor there. Before her, I chased tail plenty. I loved to flirt, loved being a flirt. Winning over women, wooing them, breaking their staunch will to make them swoon — man, that’s what I lived for. To be sure, I really had no interest in becoming their boyfriend. In fact, that terrified me. I just liked getting their attention and to see whether I could, at least in the hypothetical, win them over. But actually getting the girl in the end could not have mattered less to me. It was just a harmless game.
Mitt, are you just a flirt with the American people? No judgment if you are — I totally get it. But you might want to man up to it, Mitt. And quit womanizing the electoral process.