We're already seeing signs that, despite his smarmy bravado, the reprehensible Willard Mitt Romney has in fact planned for the possibility of defeat. He's already planning to visit Democratic strongholds in Pittsburgh and Cleveland today, no doubt to drive Mr. Bus and the rest of his private-sector security entourage around the busy streets in an attempt to gum up traffic, just because he can. He's put out the word that he's charging a fee for the press to hang out at his Boston campaign headquarters tonight as the results stream in. Next, we'll hear that he cashed in all those canned goods and pocketed the money for his dynastic brood.
Like the witless fraternity boys who trash the frat house before leaving for the summer, Mitt can't resist gumming up the works with more juvenile hijinks. Life for Mitt is just semester after semester at the Cranbrook Academy for Sociopathic Rich Boys. If he can't have the presidency, then gosh darn it, he will sure as heck mess it up for Obama. Some have speculated that his real end game will be challenging the results in key swing states with the help of their Republican governors, so that we'll have to wait days or weeks to settle the electoral score. Believe in America? Not so much. America can lie bleeding in the gutter, and Mitt will come back in his faux military uniform and bayonet it a few more times, laughing maniacally through it all.
Some people are gracious in victory and in defeat. Mitt is a pain in the ass either way. In victory, he's the guy who still thrills at the prospect of smiling and reaching out his hand to the loser, then throwing him to the ground and stomping him repeatedly. In defeat, he's the wounded beast, lashing out with all the forces his millions and minions can muster. If he's going down, he's going to to take as many other people with him as possible in a spectacle of shock and awe.
After all, he's got nothing to lose. He still has more wealth than many small countries, more than enough for generations of Romnoids to launch life-draining criminal business ventures while living in splendor. Queen Ann has already decreed that, if victory eludes them, they won't be running again. No, you people have yourselves to blame for that. While it's true that he regards her pronouncements as little more than dust in the wind, even Sheldon Adelson won't be doubling down on his bet another time, and Mitt won't spend a penny of his own hard[ly] earned wealth to launch another campaign.
If he's defeated, even by a wider-than-expected margin, Mitt won't make a gracious concession speech with his family by his side. He'll be scheming and backstabbing and sputtering and cursing until he's finally hauled off and hospitalized for nervous exhaustion or until months of acrimonious election reviews have elapsed resulting in a definitive result.
In the fetid swamps of his mind, Mitt sees this as two-fer: venting his perfectly justifiable outrage at being cast aside by an uninformed, unwashed, and ungrateful electorate, and crashing the victory party for Team Obama, robbing them of the chance to celebrate by dragging the process out and deepening the painful ideological rifts that have divided communities and families and friends.
America needs to be healed after this long, divisive, and vicious siege, but Mitt will be the one ripping off the scab again and again, just because he can. We'd expect nothing less from the crass creature of Cranbrook.