"Sure is dusty up here."
"I said IT SURE IS DUSTY UP HERE!"
Where is that coming from?
"UP HERE, BIG STUPID!!"
I looked up at a little shelf high up that separates my living room from my kitchen…and saw Mini-Mitt. Staring at me.
"What the Fuddruckers are you doing up there?"
"I’m watching you, like the Elf on a Shelf."
"Yup," he said proudly. "I watch you, and then I report back to Reagan Claus. If Reagan Claus likes what he sees then he brings you lots of stocks and bonds! Do you people ever dust?"
"No," I said. "So how am I doing? Is Santa Reagan pleased?"
"Are you nuts?" Mitt sneered. "You’re not nearly greedy enough! At this rate you’ll never be part of the 1%. I don’t even think you’re part of the 99%. Is it possible to be part of the -1%?"
"You’re a jerk," I said.
"Yeah, but Santa Reagan has promised me lots of valuable stocks!"
"Reagan is dead."
"Not dead how you know it. He is with us always," he said creepily.
"You’re freaking me out. And I’m not getting you down from there."
Just then a high pitched voice cried out, “There he is! The jackass who tried to steal my job!”
Mitt screamed as he was knocked from the high shelf and what looked like an elf jumped down after him holding a pair of locking pliers.
"Dude, now what?!" I yelled.
The elf clamped the pliers down around Mitt’s throat.
"You don’t mess with the Elf on the Shelf, punk!" the Elf screamed.
"Big Stupid! Help me!" Mitt screamed.
"Forget that, I’m getting out of here!" I screamed, running out the front door.
I came back in once the screaming stopped to find Mitt alive but breathing heavily.
"DUDE!" he gasped. "You freaking abandoned me!"
"Because the Elf on the Shelf is real and he’s FREAKING PSYCHO!"
So Mini-Spock is horribly insulted that nobody seemed to like the blog about him, but he’s not nearly as interesting as Mini-Mitt anyway. So Mini-Mitt will return as the star of his own show here along with Mini-Barry, Obamahead, and many others about to be added to the mix. So it’s not really Mitt & Me anymore. More like Mitt & Friends. But I’m not renaming the blog at this point. So stay tuned for the return of Mitt & Me! And yes, Mini-Spock will be in it too.
"Hey, Big Stupid, we need to talk."
"Huh? Oh…hi…I forgot you were still here, Mitt."
"Yeah, I know. I’ve been trapped in the baby’s closet for the last two weeks."
"Oh! So you finally came out of the closet, Mitt?"
"You’re not funny. Look, it’s been fun and all, but I really think it’s about time I moved on. There’s really not much for me here anymore. There’s a whole world for a stuffed doll of a failed presidential candidate to explore."
"Wait, you’re leaving?" I asked, suddenly exasperated. "But…but…where will you go?"
"Oh, I dunno," Mitt said, looking off distantly. "I’m a leaf on the wind, baby. I go where the wind carries. Who knows where I’ll end up? Not even I know where I’ll go. And so I find myself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong and hoping each time that my next leap… will be the leap home.”
"That’s the opening to Quantum Leap."
"Oh right. That was a good show!"
"Seriously, Mitt," I serioused. "What are you going to do?"
"Well, I already have my bag packed," Mitt said. He had a handkerchief packed with baby doll clothes and Monopoly money hanging off a stick.
"Riding the rails, are we, Mitt?" I snickered.
"Hey, I can take care of myself," Mitt sneered. "I’m a grown doll."
"Seriously, Mitt, you look like a well-dressed hobo with that thing."
"I know how much you’re hurting, Eric," Mitt said. "That’s why I wrote a song to remember me by…"
"Oh please don’t sing. PLEASE…"
It was too late…
"I know you’ll miss all the times you were pissed
At all the things that I would do to you.
And I know you’ll be bored because you’re all poor
But what else can I do?
There’s a world out there that needs me to share
My genius and my sense of style
But you’re all the best and I can attest
That I’ll be missing you all for a while…”
"Okay. Goodbye, Big Stupid."
"Goodbye, Mini-Mitt. We’ll…we’ll miss you. Well, my wife won’t. She hates you. But I’ll miss you…for some unknown reason. You’re kind of an ass. But an endearing ass…" I rambled.
"Okay, that’s enough. You’re depressing me," Mitt grumbled.
He walked out the door. I went to see him off, and he’d disappeared. Like a leaf on the wind…
That’s when it occurred to me to check my wallet.
The little jerk took my credit card again.
Well, folks, with the end of the election and all interest in Mr. Romney completely dead, Mitt & Me will also be coming to a formal end. Don’t worry, Mitt will be going out in style. Just as soon as I get around to writing it.
It’s been a lot of fun writing this, and hopefully I can come up with another fun idea to entertain everyone. But stay tuned for the finale.
So, what are you guys looking forward to in 2013?
Mini-Mitt: Nothing. I failed for the first time in my life. I have to start all over and do everything anew. Next time, I’m not going for President. Next time I’m going for Supreme Emperor of Earth.
Mini-Barry: Now that we’ve avoided the Fiscal Cliff, I’m going to see who else I can unnecessarily give a raise to! Congress was just the beginning. I’m sure the American people didn’t have a problem with giving Congress a raise, right?
Eric: I look forward to hopefully getting a real job so Mitt stops calling me his “hobo friend.”
Obamahead: Not getting eaten by the dog.
Mitt found himself alone in the kitchen, but something had changed. The furniture was still there, yet the house still looked abandoned. What was going on?
"Is this the future?" Mitt gasped. "Is this what I’m being shown by the ghost?"
As if to answer him, a shadowy figure emerged from the hallway wearing a cloak, which it then shook off to reveal…a dog. More specifically, my dog Lily.
"Lily? What are you doing here?" Mitt asked. "Where’s the rest of the family, girl?"
Lily just stared at him and in a sinister tone said, “Woof.”
Mitt then realized that Lily was the final Ghost.
"Really?" Mitt asked. "The Ghost of Christmas Future is a portly puggle?"
The Pug-ghost growled at him.
"Okay, okay, I’m sorry," Mitt said. "So what are you showing me here? Clearly the family moved out of the trailer park. That’s good. Where are they now?"
Pug-ghost gestured toward her back. Mitt got the hint and climbed on.
They suddenly appeared over the White House…or what was left of it. Washington looked like it had been decimated.
"Oh my God, what happened?!" Mitt shrieked. "The White House! The Capitol! The Pentagon! They’re all destroyed! Did something destroy America?! I bet it was the Russians! Our geopolitical foe!!"
"Woof," was all the Pug-ghost said.
They disappeared and reappeared again, this time in the New York Stock Exchange. The NYSE was being run by…velociraptors? When Mitt looked to see who was running the show, he saw Tiny Stupid, no longer hobbled by his crutch. Instead he was barking orders at the raptors.
"Ericland’s economy doesn’t run itself, you know!" he screamed. "You worthless clones have to keep the economy moving now that we’ve killed off all the stock brokers!"
"Ericland?" Mitt asked. "What the hopscotch is Ericland? Oh no. There’s no way…"
Mitt was transported outside where everywhere he looked he saw a familiar face wearing a red beret-ish looking hat and staring menacingly at all passersby.
"Big Stupid?" Mitt whispered under his breath.
Well, maybe menacing is an overstatement.
New York was also a shambles. There were people rioting and looting, building falling apart and on fire, crime in the streets, you know, basic dystopia stuff. An armored tank rolled down the street and stopped. The top opened and a familiar looking face popped up: Big Stupid’s daughter Hailey.
"Clear the streets, you cretins! It’s after curfew, and if you are late to work at Ericland’s factories you will be made into soylent green!"
She sounded pretty vicious.
"If you don’t disperse, my father, the Supreme Overlord of Ericland has given me permission to use lethal force. Using this tank. Because tanks are FUN. Oh, by the way, Merry Christmas, losers!"
With that, Hailey climbed back into the tank and blasted a nearby apartment building, reducing it to rubble. That did the job of scaring away the people in the streets.
"This is insane!" Mitt yelled. "How could this happen? Big Stupid is a good guy, he’d never do this! This is impossible!"
"Woof," said the Ghost.
They appeared in my evil future self’s office in the middle of a bunker in the middle of nowhere. On the wall of the office was a portrait of Mini-Mitt. Evil Eric was talking to the portrait.
"Ah, Mitt, if you could only see what you inspired," Evil Eric said.
"I didn’t inspire this," Mitt whispered.
"Money, power, you taught me to want it all. Now I have it all. BARRY, GET IN HERE!!"
The door opened and Mini-Barry slunk in.
"What kind of visitors do I have today?" Evil Eric grinned.
"A man who claims he submitted most of the questions to your old blog is looking for mercy from the Mitt-bots that have been hunting him down for being late on his mortgage."
"I remember him. Good guy. Funny. Have him killed. Who else is here?"
"Your childhood friend who also helped to support your blog when you wrote about…you know."
"That blog was fun. He’s a good guy too. Have him killed. Anyone else?"
"Your wife is here. She brought Chinese food."
"Woohoo! I loves me some Chinese food! Send her in."
"Wait, Barry is Big Stupid’s servant now? Okay, that I can get behind," Mitt grinned.
"Woof," the Ghost woofed.
Suddenly something dawned on Mitt.
"Wait, he said if only I could see what I inspired," Mitt said. "So where am I in this future, anyway?"
Suddenly they were in a cemetery. Mitt’s blood ran cold.
"Oh no. Not this."
Pug-ghost lead him to a small gravestone with the inscription:
"MINI-MITT ROMNEY ??-2013"
"Oh my God! I die next year?! How do I die?"
"Karma," Pug-ghost suddenly said.
"Holy crap, you can talk!"
"You try to get the dog to tear up Mini-Barack like you did the Obamahead pillow. Instead, he rips you to pieces."
"Wow, what a stupid way to go," Mitt lamented. "Can these events be changed, Ghost? Ghost? Hello?"
Suddenly he found himself trapped in his own coffin.
"C’mon, I don’t wanna die! Let me out! Please! I’ll change! I promise, I’ll change!!!!"
When we all got up on Christmas morning, there were a surprisingly large number of packages under the tree. My wife and I were rather confused as we didn’t buy a lot of them.
"What the hey is going on here?" I asked.
"SURPRISE!!!" screamed Mitt as he popped out of the Christmas tree.
"Wow! Mitt did you buy all these extra gifts?" we exclaimed.
"I sure did! I’ve had a change of heart, and I’m all about the giving not just the getting!" Mitt said in the happiest voice imaginable.
Mitt jumped into the pile and started waving his arms around.
"Look, I’m making a present angel instead of a snow angel!"
"That’s great, Mitt, but you didn’t have to buy us all this stuff," my wife said.
"Hey. I just want you guys to know that you’re great the way you are, and you should be proud of your middle class-dom," Mitt said.
"Oooookay, this is getting creepy," I said.
"And there is absolutely no reason for you to change your life to become a cruel, evil dictator," he continued.
"Dictator? I can’t even get the kids to clean their rooms," I joked.
"I’m serious," Mitt serioused. "Don’t be a dictator."
"Okay, okay, no problem. Hey, wait a sec…how did you buy all these presents?"
"Your credit card."
That’s our Mitt!
"God bless us everyone!" said Tiny Stupid, er, my son.
"And that’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown," Linus said.
Mitt sat scared in the living room. He didn’t know what the next ghost had in store, but the previous ghost seem to leave a foreboding warning to him. Suddenly the television turned on by itself. Mitt jumped, but relaxed. It was only Sesame Street. No big prob…SESAME STREET?!
Oh crap, if Big Bird gets a hold of him, there won’t be a need for the Ghost of Christmas Future! Mitt turned to run away, but he walked right into that most vile and evil of all Muppets…Big Bird, the Ghost of Christmas Present.
"GAH!!! Don’t hurt me!" Mitt screamed.
"Why would I hurt you?" Big Bird said soothingly. "I am merely the Ghost of Christmas Present in Big Bird form. We ghosts take familiar forms to you. I assure you that I pose no threat to you."
"Oh. Oh that’s good," Mitt said.
"Nothing, let’s get going," the Ghost said. "I want to show you your good friend Eric right now."
"He’s asleep in the next room," Mitt said. "I can hear him snoring."
"Oh my God, shut up," the Ghost grumbled. "Fine, I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present or Extremely Near Future."
"Can you be the Ghost of Christmas Presents?" Mitt said. "I really want a new Rolex for Christmas and Big Stupid’s poor butt can’t afford that."
"Just. Shut. Up," the Ghost warned. "Come with me. I have a special way of traveling. It’s up on the kitchen stove."
"This is odd. I don’t feel like I’m going anywhere," Mitt said.
"Wait for it. You’ll be going somewhere soon," the Ghost grinned.
"Say, that smells good. What’s cooking?" Mitt asked. "Oh crap, it’s ME!"
Mitt jumped out of the pot and realized that the Ghost had turned the burner to high.
"Yowwie!! You jerk! I knew it! You are just like Big Bird!"
"Kwitcher whinin’ and come see Big Stupid’s family at Christmas dinner."
Suddenly they were hanging from a bungee cord from the light in their dining room.
"How did you do that?" Mitt asked in awe.
"We Christmas ghosts have amazing powers," the Ghost said. "We can do pretty much whatever we have to in order to get you in the Christmas spirit. Whatever. We. Have. To."
Mitt gulped and looked down at the family below.
"Too bad Mini-Mitt is too much of a jerk to share Christmas with us," I sighed.
"Yes, despite the fact that he always treats us like dirt and looks down on us, I almost feel like he’s family," my wife said.
"Everyone has family that does that, so the analogy totally works," I joked.
"They think I’m a jerk, but they still like having me around?" Mitt asked.
"That’s right, butthead," the Ghost said. "They actually care about you. Sometimes, they even find your greed and arrogance cute and endearing."
"That sounds like the plot to a bad sitcom," Mitt sighed.
"I’m pretty sure it’s most of the premise to ALF," the Ghost said. "Except substitute alien for doll and ‘want to eat the cat’ for greed."
"Sometimes I wonder if Mitt is right," I said. "What if there’s more to life than being middle class? What if I applied myself more? Would I become successful?"
My wife shrugged.
"Aw geez," Mitt said. "I always thought Big Stupid’s poverty was always sort of endearing. There’s no reason for him to be like me. I never wanted him to do that. Besides, there’s no way he could ever be as successful as me."
The scene swirled and faded and Mitt found himself outside a local unemployment office.
"Why are we here?" Mitt asked.
"Because when you lay people off in droves and reward other companies that do so, this is where they end up. Right now I’m the Ghost of Recent Past. Let’s listen in."
"I have to do my four weeks reporting so I can get my check and make my car payment before they repossess it," Unemployed Guy #1 said.
"Got anything for your kids’ Christmas?" Unemployed Guy #2 asked.
"A few things from my mom, but we couldn’t afford anything. They’re gonna be heartbroken."
"What? How can they not afford presents? What about their savings? What about their investments?"
"He’s been laid off for the last 3 months and hasn’t been able to find a job. He and his wife have gone through their savings just trying to keep their house. This is the middle class today, Mitt."
"Well, he probably isn’t trying hard enough."
"That’s not true, and you know it," the Ghost said. "You know these people are trying, but the only thing that lets you sleep well at night is telling yourself that they’re lazy and want to live off the government."
"Okay, okay, I get it," Mitt said. "You’re trying to make me feel guilty for encouraging people to do better."
"That’s not it at all," Big Bird said. "It’s…ugh, you really are hopeless."
Suddenly they were back in my kitchen, and Mitt found himself being choked…by Big Bird and a pair of locking pliers!
"Let’s try this again," Ghost Bird said with an eerie calmness. "What is the point of all this?"
Mitt tried to talk but just spurted and gagged.
"The point is that people are trying their best, and your message of greed and selfishness only hurts people. Trust me when I say it will truly come back and haunt you in the future. Speaking of, the final ghost comes next. Good luck."
With that, the Ghost released the pliers and disappeared.
TO BE CONCLUDED
Previously on Mitt & Me…
“This is no dream,” Reaghost said. “Expect the first ghost as soon as Hannity is over.”
“Oh thank goodness, it was just a nightmare,” Mitt said. “I’ve really got to stop watching Christmas specials with Big Stupid. I’ve got Dickens on the brain…Big Stupid, I can hear you snickering from the other room. It’s not that funny. Aw man, I missed the end of Hannity!”
Just then the TV shut off, as well as all the lights in the room. Mitt froze. The first ghost was here.
…And now, we’ll join Mitt & Me already in progress.
The room was filled with an eerie glow.
"Who’s that? Who are you?" Mitt whimpered.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," an eerie voice boomed.
"Oh my God, you’re real," Mitt gasped. "You’re real, and you’re…Barry?"
"I’m not Barry. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past."
"Yeah, well, you look like Barack Obama," Mitt pointed out.
"SILENCE!!" the Ghost demanded. "You will come with me. We will look back at your life so you can see how you became the miserable old miser you are today."
"Oh yippee," Mitt snarked. Suddenly the room faded away and they found themselves in another room. The pair saw another Mitt sitting on the floor playing with blocks.
"Oh, sorry," the Ghost said. "We apparently didn’t go back in time far enough."
"What do you mean?" Mitt asked. "This is me as a child on Christmas Eve."
"But you look…wait…how…never mind. Yes, this is you as a child enjoying playing with toys on Christmas Eve. Don’t worry, he can’t see or hear us."
"Duh," Mitt said.
"I’m such a happy child," Young Mitt said to himself. "My parents have so much money and they love me. Christmas is such a happy time. I’m so happy."
"Wow, this is sickening," Mitt said. "Can we move on?"
They moved ahead to Mitt as a missionary in France.
"Here we see you knocking on doors trying to convert people to Mormonism," the ghost said.
"Merry Christmas," Young Mitt said. "Have you heard the good word about The Claw? Oh wait, I’m sorry. Have you heard the good word about Le Claw."
"Sacrebleu!" the Frenchman who answered the door exclaimed. "Tu est une poupée minuscule!" (Google translate it.)
"Did you just call me a tiny poopy?" Young Mitt snarled. The man slammed the door in Mitt’s face. "This is the worst Christmas ever!"
"But it wasn’t the worst Christmas ever, was it, Mitt?" the ghost asked.
"Well it was for me, Barry," Mitt said.
"I’m NOT Barry," the ghost reiterated.
"Shut up, Big Ears," Mitt sneered. "Let’s keep this party rolling."
"As you wish," the ghost said. They appeared in Mitt’s office at Bain Capital. "As a stuffed doll, you were never actually here, but we’ve digitally enhanced this part to put you in Bain. It kinda screws up the continuity, but it’s a humor blog, get over it."
Mitt was sitting at his desk when some employees of a company he bought and laid off walked in.
"What do you people want?" Mitt asked.
"Well, guv’nuh, we was hoping that you may take pity on us working folk here and let us keep our jobs. We’ll work extra hard, we will," one of them said.
"Why are you talking like that? You’re from Cleveland, not London."
"I was hoping sounding like that would help you feel sorry for us and not lay us off."
"Look, the deal is done," Mitt said. "Your jobs are already in China, and Bain is about to bail on what’s left here so you might as well just hit the unemployment line. That way you could at least mooch off the government for a while."
They turned sullenly and walked away.
"Oh, one more thing! Have a Merry Christmas!" Mitt snickered.
"I know what you’re gonna say," Mini-Mitt said. "That was really cruel and mean. Well, business is cruel and mean. It happens. It’s part of the economic cycle."
"Earning a profit by ruining other people’s lives is not part of the economic cycle," Barry Ghost explained. "Are you happy with the choices you’ve made, Mitt? With the lives you’ve affected?"
"Yes. Yes, I am," Mitt yelled. "And I’m not a tiny poopy, Mr. Ghost of Christmas Passed Gas!"
"Well, hopefully the next ghost will have better luck," the ghost sighed. "Trust me when I say he’ll be more…assertive than me."
"Why? Who is the next ghost?" Mitt asked worriedly.
Barry just smiled and disappeared, leaving Mitt alone in the living room again.
Twas the week before Christmas and all through the house, everyone kept freaking bugging me about when I was gonna write the next Mitt & Me. Well, I’ve been busy, so sue me. But there’s a tale of Mitt and the Christmas spirit that I must share with you. You see, Mini-Mitt is a greedy old miser, and, well, I probably don’t have to tell you that. But the spirit of Christmas likes to go after people in a very cliched and Dickensian way. A way that has affected everyone from Alex P. Keaton to Bill Murray.
It all started yesterday. Mitt was being unusually greedy and jerky, which now that I say it, doesn’t really sound that unusual.
"Mitt, are you going to celebrate Christmas with us?" I asked.
"Christmas? Why bother celebrating Christmas? My life is in tatters. I wish I was never born!" Mitt wailed.
"Wrong Christmas special, dude. That’s ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’"
"Oh right. Uh, I don’t care about your stupid Christmas. I just want to get rich again! Christmas? Bah Limbug!"
"You mean humbug." I corrected.
"No, I mean Limbug. It’s Limbaugh without the ‘a’ or the ‘h’ at the end. Bah Limbug," he explained.
"Ooooooh, got it."
Just then my son came limping in on a crutch.
"What’s wrong with Tiny Stupid?" Mitt sneered.
"I told you not to call him that," I snapped. "And he’s just being dramatic after stubbing his toe."
"God bless us, everyone," he said.
"You don’t say that yet," I said. "Seriously, learn your lines, people."
My son looked in a box of toys we were donating this year.
"Hey, Mitt," he said. "When they say they want a new, unwrapped toy, I’m pretty sure they don’t mean Mini-Barry bound and gagged with duct tape."
"Dang it, I almost got away with it," Mitt sighed.
"Mitt, broseph, you need to get some serious Christmas spirit," I lectured. "You’re greedy nastiness is gonna come back and bite you if you don’t stop."
"P-shaw," Mitt said. "That only happens in the movies."
But that night, after all of us went to bed, Mitt was staying up to watch Hannity when he heard an ungodly moaning sound.
"Oh lord," he said. "Hey, Big Stupid, can’t you two do that more quietly?!"
Mitt thought for a second and realized he could hear me snoring in the next room. What could that sound be? He looked next to him and was alarmed to see the Ghost of Ronald Reagan! And he looked MAD!
…not to mention flat.
"Ronald Reagan!" Mitt gasped. "What are you doing here?!"
"Well, Mitt," Reagan said. By the way, I know you’re reading this in Reagan’s voice. "I’m here to warn you about something."
"Wow, really?" Mitt regasped. "What is it?"
"I don’t recall," Reagan stammered.
"I can’t remember."
"Wait! I know! It’s because you have lived your life consumed by greed! You have no concern for your fellow man!" Reaghost accused.
"But that’s the model that was set for the Republican Party!" Mitt said. "I was only following your lead! You set the standard for greed in the 80’s! You made America great for business again!"
"MANKIND WAS MY BUSINESS!!" Reaghost shrieked. "Their common welfare was my business!"
"What exactly does that mean?" Mitt asked quizzically.
"I’m not really sure," Reaghost said. "It’s in the book. Dickens is hard to understand. But the point is, a life of greed and not looking after your fellow man will lead you to torture and turmoil in the afterlife."
"I look after my fellow man!" Mitt retorted. "I donate huge chunks of money to charity!"
"You donate huge chunks of money to the Mormon Church," Reaghost said. "Not exactly the same thing. Besides, that’s what the real Romney does. What do you do, Mini-Mitt?"
"Uh-oh is right! For my actions in my life I have to suffer in the next life!"
"What do you mean, Mr. President, er, Ghost President?"
"I have to spend an eternity as JFK’s golf caddy! There is no torture greater!"
Mitt screamed, “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
"Yes," Reaghost hissed. "And if you’re not careful, you shall suffer a similar fate. I’ve heard FDR is looking for a new caddy."
"Not the most liberal president of them all!" Mitt gasped in horror. "What can I do? What is going to happen?"
"You will be visited by three ghosts tonight," Reaghost said. "Listen to them. Pay close attention to what they say. But don’t lend them any money because they won’t pay you back."
"This…this has to be a dream," Mitt shook his head.
"This is no dream," Reaghost said. "Expect the first ghost as soon as Hannity is over."
At this point, I walked out of my bedroom to see what was going on. I saw Reagan’s ghost, peed my pants, and went back to bed desperately trying to convince myself it was a bad dream.
"This is your last chance, Mitt," Reaghost said. "Don’t screw this up like you screwed up the election."
"Oh you just HAD to throw that in, didn’t you?" Mitt sneered.
And with that, Reagan disappeared.
And Mitt woke up.
"Oh thank goodness, it was just a nightmare," Mitt said. "I’ve really got to stop watching Christmas specials with Big Stupid. I’ve got Dickens on the brain…Big Stupid, I can hear you snickering from the other room. It’s not that funny. Aw man, I missed the end of Hannity!"
Just then the TV shut off, as well as all the lights in the room. Mitt froze. The first ghost was here.
TO BE CONTINUED
We were all a little surprised this morning to hear Mitt so perky and happy. He was humming to himself as he came into the living room. He was humming “Hail to the Chief.” That seemed odd.
"Uh, Mitt? Buddy? Why are you humming that?" I asked.
"Well why shouldn’t the President Elect be humming ‘Hail to the Chief’ to himself?" he asked cheerfully.
"Are you okay, dude?" I asked, a little fearful.
"Of course. I’m so excited about January! Next month, I become the leader of the free world!"
"Dude. No. No, you don’t," I said, shaking my head. "You lost. Don’t you remember?"
"Don’t be silly," Mitt said. "The American people are too smart to reelect Big Ears. I easily won the election. 325 electoral votes for me!"
We just stared at him, more than a bit uneasy.
"He’s finally had a psychotic break, hasn’t he?" Mini-Barry whispered.
"I heard that," Mitt snipped. "I’m not psychotic. I’m the next president. Period. Now, I won’t hear another word from you poor liberal hippies about Barry winning. Do I make myself clear?"
We continued to stare at him as he turned and left the room.
"We don’t have a mini-strait jacket, do we?" my wife asked.
Later I found Mitt standing on the couch, talking to a large cartoon character pillow.
"Hey, Big Stupid, you’re just in time," Mitt said enthusiastically. "I’d like you to meet the woman who has agreed to be my Secretary of State. Molly Rice, this is Big Stupid."
"That’s my daughter’s pillow of a Bubble Guppies character," I said. "I don’t think it can be in your cabinet."
"It’s because she’s black isn’t it?" Mitt sneered. "You’re such a freaking racist."
"Actually there are several reasons why this doesn’t work," I said.
"Huh? Oh I actually have to explain them? Okay…
1. She’s a pillow and not alive.
2. Even if she were, she’s a mermaid creature thingamabob.
3. On her show, she’s in preschool and thus too young to be on your cabinet.
4. You lost the election and you don’t get a cabinet.”
Mitt’s face turned into a snarling sneer and he screamed, “I DID WIN THE ELECTION! When I take office, you’re going to Gitmo, pal!!”
He jumped down from the couch.
"Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to offer Big Bird the job of Secretary of Defense or else he’s gonna put me in the microwave."
Anonymous said: As a mad scientist , might I suggest a atomic death ray to hold over big stupids big stupid head? Then hold the city for ransom! THEN THE WORLD!!!
Mini-Mitt here. Don’t be stupid. Nobody is pay a ransom to save Big Stupid’s head.
Anonymous said: we will leave the US and start our own country in some yet to be discovered land! you can be our president there! President of angrywhitemanastain. you will live in a mud hutt and eat only the finest tree bark till the nation has time to rise to power.
Mini-Mitt here. Don’t be silly. I’ll let you in on a little secret now that my political career is over: we rich white folks have no intention of going anywhere. Like it or not, we’ve got it pretty good here. We’d get taxed even more in Europe and Canada, and the other countries…well…they’re kinda lacking in other white people. Just sayin’. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Those other countries are great for hiring underpaid workers. We just don’t want to live there.
Anonymous said: i think now is a fine time to become very bitter, blame the liberals the media and america for your lose. encourage CEOs to close down shop and move to another country that loves freedom.
Mini-Mitt here. I actually blame Big Stupid. Seriously, that moron destroys everything he touches, and since I’m associated with him, the real Mitt was tainted.
Eric here. I could have sworn he just said “Mitt was a taint.” That would be completely true.