Mitt Happens
Mitt Happens
Margaret, I just called my friend Patricia to apologize for dipping her hair into that inkwell back in grade school. I feel bad that I did it and I feel even worse that she no longer remembers who I am or that she one time had hair long enough to put in pig tails. We’re getting old, Margaret. And you know what else is getting old? The parade of schmucks who keep running for political office.
The population of the United States is now over 300 million people. That means that every four years, one person out of 300 million gets the honor of being President of the greatest country on the planet. With those odds, you would think the Republican Party could have found someone who wasn’t a dry drunk like George W. Bush… or the bully in high school like Mitt Romney. I know. I know. We all did dumb things when we were young. Youth. I miss it like I miss my waistline. Shit happens… or in this case Mitt happened. “Back in high school, I did some dumb things,” Romney said. “And if anyone was hurt by that or offended, obviously I apologize for that.” Me too. I really do feel bad about dipping Patricia’s hair into that ink well.
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Helen, dear, I think this all has to do with the length of time little Mitt was allowed to breast feed. Or maybe he’s just a asshat. Probably the latter, dear.
