This is an occasional rant that chronicles my disturbing obsession with Romney in the hope of a cure.
I was told by those who know me that my diatribes against the Romney campaign were not appropriate for the Facebook format. This was conveyed to me in the same tone that one uses for an eccentric shut-in who can no longer quite look after himself. The initial posts reflect the backlog of invectives and are dated accordingly.
THE MORMON CONQUEST
(from July 25, 2012, in response to the Guardian story "Romney campaign rolls back 'Anglo-Saxon' comments ahead of UK visit"):
As an Englishman married to an American living in the US, I like to think that I have a special insight into the so-called special relationship. But how are Ellen and I to account not only for the improbability of our meeting across thousands of miles, but also for our overcoming the enormous gulf between our two respective cultures? As ever, when faced with life's imponderable questions, we look to the Romney campaign for answers. And today they dutifully obliged, with an unnamed spokesperson helpfully informing us that the transatlantic bond is in fact founded upon our shared "Anglo-Saxon heritage." Of course. Now it becomes clear. This was why when we first met my future wife and I fell so easily into conversation over her book, an illuminated manuscript of Beowulf on vellum, written, of course in the traditional runic alphabet, or "futhorc." (Curse you, Internet, and your newfangled Roman characters.) And this was why our conversation naturally switched to our shared hatred of the Danes, and their bloodthirsty monarchs, those awful Cnuts. And why, eventually, Ellen and I were married before our kinfolk and in the sight of Woden, after I had paid the traditional brydcéap, and Ellen had undergone the ritual cleansing in the stánbaþ. And this is of course why I am off now to teach our two young sons, Bede and Theodoric, how to hunt boar. If anyone from the Romney campaign wants to drop by and learn the futhorc facts, our wattle and daub hovel is always open.
(from July 27)
The Romney "Rolling Blunder" World Tour continues to be far, far better value that anyone dared hope. After his campaign endowed the Special Relationship with all the inclusiveness of a Klan meeting, the candidate himself cast doubt on the preparedness and enthusiasm of the Brits vis-à-vis the imminent Games, and then revealed details of his hush-hush, oh-so-secret briefing with MI6. All he needs to do now is strap the family dog to the roof of a moving vehicle and the Brits will surely take him to their hearts. The only source of regret is that the oleaginous Cameron and the bumptious "Toad of Toad Hall" Mayor of London Boris Johnson got to score easy points making fun of this really rather rude Yank.
(also from July 27)
These are what I'm imagining are the headlines in my pun-prone homeland following the various gaffe attacks launched by the Romney campaign:
"Oh, Mitt!" "Admitt Defeat Now," "Unmittigated Disaster," and "Mittwit."
Other suggestions?
ROMNEY GAFFOMETER GOES UP TO 11
(from July 30, in response to the Guardian headline "Mitt Romney 'providence' comments in Israel outrage Palestinians."
After offending those notoriously prickly Brits at the powder keg that is the Olympics, thank goodness Romney now has the opportunity to visit a much more laid-back region of the world-- the Middle East. So far Romney has only deemed Jerusalem "the capital of Israel" and ascribed the relative economic success of Israel when compared with Palestine to "Providence" and the power of at least culture and a few other things." Hats off to Romney for insulting the Palestinians and the Israeli Jews in the same breath. On the one hand, the lack of economic development in the Palestinian region might have something to do with the systematic political and economic oppression perpetrated by the Israeli occupation. On the other, those Jews are pretty good with money, if you know what I mean (hint, hint.) It seems that Romney just views the world through a highly racialized lens (cf. the Anglo-Saxon reference from his campaign before he even left the U.S.) And if all this is music to the ears of his financial backer Sheldon Adelson, then who cares what the rest of the planet thinks?
I supposed Mitt's handlers can be grateful that he didn't do any of the following during the trip:
1) Ask the Queen if she's French Canadian.
2) Pretend to be goosed by Her Majesty, with hilarious consequences. (Both of the above are well-documented Romney behavioral habits on the campaign trail.)
3) Start casing the area for particularly frail, elderly Jews who may be likely candidates for posthumous conversion.
4) Use one of those funny little hats as a coaster/frisbee.
RYAN PICKED AS VP (OR SAD-EYED HOMUNCULUS JOINS ROBOT)
(from August 11)
Glad to see that the Republican campaign has gone back to basics with the three R's: Romney/ Ryan/ Rand (Ayn.) Who needs Florida and the senior vote anyway? But how will we be able to jettison the old and useless on an ice floe with all this pesky global warming?
MY RESPONSE TO A VERY PERSONAL MITTIVE
(Written on August 14th, a day that will live in infamy, in that I received an unsolicited letter from the Romney campaign asking for my support.)
Today I received a message from a certain Mitt Romney, which, oddly enough, was neither aflame nor embedded in dog waste, but in fact in a regular envelope. While I am deeply flattered to have my non-existent vote solicited in such a warm and personal fashion, I only think it fair to point out a few minor factual errors in the first two sentences. Here goes.
"Monday Morning"
Odd that the date is not more specific. Do I detect an echo of Reagan in the implicit claim that it somehow always "Monday Morning" in America? And if so, what is the appropriate response-- a Garfieldesque yawn, followed by a nice nap until more lasagna arrives?
"Dear Fellow American,"
Already with the salutation I am beginning to suspect that my correspondent Mitt may be labouring (and yes, that is with a "u"), under an unfortunate misapprehension. While I am a permanent resident in good standing, I am not, alas, as yet a citizen of this Blessed Land. The dread realization that this warm and personal epistle may have been mistakenly addressed to yours truly seizes my heart in its icy grip.
"I am running for President of the United States and because you are one of America's most notable Republicans, I want to personally let you know why."
Ah, now it becomes clear. It is now time to confess that I am indeed "one of American's most notable Republicans," or at least one of the most prominent in East Norman. By "Republican," I of course do not mean one of the members of that party dedicated to endless war, the systematic oppression of an entire gender, crypto-fascist nativism, and the permanent entrenchment of a plutocracy propped up on the rotting hulk of iniquitous capitalist exploitation. No, the ever-perceptive Romney campaign knows, by some inscrutable means, that I am a Republican in the British sense, i.e. in favour of the abolition of the monarchy. And I am frankly stunned to have found a stalwart ally in my campaign to overthrow the Queen and the do-nothing House of Windsor from such an unexpected quarter. I shall be responding personally with my Republican vision, the details of which I will not divulge here.
That's between me and my mate Mitt.
Mitt and Me:
A Correspondence with One of The Great Political Thinkers of Our Time.
And Romney.
Dear Mitt (if may be so bold),
You and I have a great deal in common. We are both men. Men of the world. Worldly men. Manly men of a worldy world. Of men. And we are both businessmen. Men of business, who, like Bachmann Turner Overdrive, know how to take care of it. Despite being Canadian. Bachmann Turner Overdrive, that is, not business, which is of course American. And free. Or at least it will be again under your leadership. Like you, I am a leader. Of men. A leader who believes in leading from the front, not behind, forwards not backwards. A leader who leads. And never apologizes. Whether it be to the laid-off steelworker selling his final kidney, the senior citizen boiling tree bark for nutrients, or the freshly minted orphan, you will not hear so much as a “May I?” from me. No siree.
As a fellow man of the world and of business, who leads, I have a proposition for you. Imagine that we are ensconced in a room of dark oak panels and deep leather armchairs, a room festooned with the hides of assorted endangered species. We are savoring a snifter of aged brandy and some fine cigars. (Well, I am savoring them, you are savoring a frosted mug of vintage root beer and cut-glass bowl of the rarest imported M and M’s.) I turn to you, swirling the amber in my glass, and say:
“Mitt, you are right to address me as “one of the most prominent Republicans in America.” I tick all the boxes—being, after all, white, male, overweight and old. I can assure you that these last two attributes will only become more prominent with the passage of time. And my wife assures me that I am also angry quite often. So there can be no doubt that my spiritual home is the Republican Party. However, and this is where the matter gets a trifle ticklish,” (here I raise my eyes from my brandy to gaze into your Nordic, impossibly blue peepers), “I must confess that I am not an American citizen. By some cruel twist of fate, I was raised in Britain, a country entirely given over to socialized medicine, gun control, and ironic word play. And now I turn to you, a second- generation immigrant, to help me in my hour of need. Despite being so attuned to the Republican philosophy, I am not rich. And the process of naturalization costs more than 500 dollars. So my proposal is that you sponsor my application for citizenship, and become, in effect, a vote creator. I hereby solemnly swear that I will cast my vote with the very same integrity and honesty with you yourself have protected American jobs during your time at Bane Capital.”
To make this process of citizen sponsorship simpler, I have devised a program entitled Lemon-Aid that includes three levels of support. They are named after different verses of “America the Beautiful”, a ditty that I know you are fond of warbling in your remarkable baritone:
“for spacious guys” = $680, the basic fee for the citizenship application, or enough to start the ball rolling with the bureaucrats (big government, pah)
“for ample wads of green” = $1680, enough to attain citizenship and acquire a controlling interest in my vote
“for purple moguls’ legacies upon the fluted plate” = $1980, all of the above, plus a Wii.
As a man of the world, business, and leadership, I expect your decision in the next fifteen seconds.
Sincerely,
Bob Lemon
The Private Sector
(from August 16th)
Dear Governor Romney,
I am sick and tired of the lamestream media hounding you over your tax returns. Your refusal to release more than two years of tax records is yet another heroic and inspiring display of principle. This isn't a matter of pressing public interest. It's not like demanding identification papers from anyone found to be swarthier than Julian Assange in the state of Arizona. It cannot be compared to the vital need to inspect the chemical content of the indigent poor's urine. And it's in no way similar to the pressing desire to thrust a transvaginal ultrasound on (or into?) a 14-year-old rape victim. No, this is a about TAXES. A matter of some delicacy, I'm sure you'll agree. A sacred covenant between a man, his attorney, and his offshore account. Think of the personal, no intimate, rituals that attend Tax Day itself. The internal bargaining that we undertake with our own conscience-- e.g. if I get my 1040Ez done, then I'm gonna get me some Krispy Kreme. The Walk of Shame to the the mailbox for the last mail collection. The very holy oaths that we offer up to our personal deity when Turbotax crashes. If you, Mitt, have decided in these prurient times to reveal the fiscal equivalent of an enticing glimpse of ankle, then more power to you. Leave something to the imagination, for Pete's sake.
Sincerely,
Bob
Mittogyny 101
(from Wednesday, August 22nd)
The details of how the Romney/Ryan ticket plan to win back women voters have been leaked. They appear to be derived from Mitt's own storybook marriage.
Sure, you may not be able to earn as much as a male, or have any ability to determine what happens to your own body. But look at the advantages:
1) He will vow to approach family car trips with all the scheduling flexibility of the Bataan Death March. He will also hose down the terrified family pet strapped to the roof of the car. It's these thoughtful gestures that make all the difference.
2) When you are diagnosed with a debilitating disease, he will personally pledge to eat nothing but peanut butter sandwiches. What a dreamboat.
3) All the Cadillacs you can drive, darlin'. And then some. On their own elevator. Is it getting hot in here?
4) Ponies! Prancing ponies!
5) Did I mention ponies?
BIRTH MIRTH DEARTH
(from today, August 24th, 2012):
Venture capitalism's loss has been stand-up comedy's gain. Romney's zinger hilariously and ingeniously highlights his own incontrovertible whiteness. As a man who finds the taste of vanilla rather too spicy and much prefers to simply suck on the silver spoon inserted in his mouth since birth, he has never been asked to produce his birth certificate, or do any of the following:
1) Earn scholarships to the most prestigious universities in the country on his own merit.
2) Fight with insurance companies as his mother was dying.
3) Contend with any kind of adversity whatsoever.
Don't listen to the naysayers, Mitt, who claim that resuscitating the tired old birther conspiracy theories is a racist ploy. It's just a pigment of their imagination.
Letter to Mr Homonculus
Bob Lemon
Founder and President of the Society for Homuncular Intra-Uterine Transmission
August 26, 2012
Dear Congressman Ryan,
I write first to congratulate you on being chosen as Governor Romney's running mate on history's first cyborg presidential ticket. Go Badgers!
Second, and this is the meat of the issue, if you'll pardon the pun(s), I write to applaud your heroic defense of the Culture of Life. If I may be so bold as to quote the splendid bill that you co-sponsored with the sadly maligned Todd Aikin “all the legal and constitutional attributes and privileges of personhood” accrue to the human egg at the moment of fertilization. Bravo, sir. This is a bold first step.
But we at the Society for Homuncular Intra-Uterine Transmission do not believe this goes nearly far enough. For too long now women have been muscling into the business of reproduction with their lady parts. It's time that we, the Y-chromosomed, took it back.
Sure, the naysayers may point out that a fertilized egg is just that before implantation, And at the moment of conception we do not yet know whether we are dealing with one individual Blastocyst-American endowed with inalienable rights, or two, or even more. To which I respond with first: twins have always creeped me out. (One of them has to be evil, right?) Second, and this is the nub of my gist, that's just science. And if recent history has taught us anything, it's that the GOP does not have to kow-tow to our lab-coated would-be overlords. No, just as with "evolution." "climate change," and "economics," we Republicans do not have to be bound by the tyranny of facts. I propose a Homuncular Platform be added at the forthcoming Convention. Here you will assert that the Mighty Man-Seed contains all that is needed for life and that the "uterus" is really nothing but an internal incubator, the genetic equivalent of an Easy-Bake Oven.
Indeed, one could go further: human life begins with the idea of sex, or in the Lemon household, the moment my wife (or as I like to call her in our more tender moments, "My Li'l Incubatrix") and I realize that there is no re-run of "Deal or No Deal" that night. They call it conception for a reason.
I have taken the liberty of illustrating my concept of Homuncular Personhood. Please see the drawing below:
Congressman Ryan as Homunculus
I have taken the further liberty of attempting to endow this "little man" with your own dreamy, sad-eyed features, in order to convey the semblance of personhood.
Please do not worry that you have no "scientific authority" to support this theory. Noted luminaries throughout history have susbcribed to the Homuncular Hypothesis, from Paracelsus to Aristotle ( and let's face it, those Ancient Greeks knew their sperm.)
Finally, do not believe the lamestream media's claim that the Society for Homuncular Intra-Uterine Transmission is merely a figment of my fevered imagination. I would never just make S.H.I.T. up.
Sincerely,
Bob Lemon