Our kids' social studies teachers have asked that we help make social studies come alive at home by discussing current events--especially the election--as a family. With the RNC in full swing and anticipation high for Mitt's big re-introduction to the American people tomorrow, there's no time like the present, right?
So tonight at bedtime, to celebrate Mitt-mas Eve--the night of Mitt's rebirth--we'll be snuggling up with our kiddos, some hot cocoa, and their teddy bears ("Fredo" and "Turd Blossom") to read aloud this heart-warming tale from the 2012 RNC:
(to be read to the meter of "A Visit from St. Nicholas,"
with apologies to Clement Clark Moore)
'Twas the night before Mitt-mas, and in a swing state
We righties were meeting to gin up some hate.
The flat-screens were hung from the rafters with care,
To show every angle of Mitt’s perfect hair.
The pundits were breathless, replaying the tape
Of Akin who’d mentioned “legitimate rape.”
While Mitt, with his programmers writing new code,
Had just settled down into hibernate mode.
When out on the trail, ol’ Tom Smith lit up Twitter,
With words that were sure to make women-folk bitter.
“From a father’s perspective it’s all the same thing
If your daughter is raped or has sex with no ring.”
For how you conceive shouldn’t matter at all
But what happens next should be government’s call.
A cluster of cells that can’t live on its own
Should have the same rights as a man fully grown.
Then after nine months when the baby arrives
That’s when we’ll step back and get out of your lives.
The baby needs health care? And schooling? And food?
Stop asking for handouts—you’re being quite rude!
No health care! No clean air! No safe water now!
No rules to make sure that you don’t get “mad cow”!
No fire or police who will come when you call!
Now slash away! Slash away! Slash away all!
If you can’t survive, why, that’s all your own fault.
For we have decided it’s time to go Galt.
Grab hold of your bootstraps and give some hard yanks,
We have our priorities: tax cuts and tanks.
Get lost in the twinkling of Paul Ryan’s eyes
And then you’ll forget our campaign is all lies.
“Obama cut Medicare! He’s such a jerk!”
“He’s giving your money to those who don’t work!”
Forget that it’s we who want seniors to pay
Forget that we’re taking full coverage away.
It’s merely an annual six grand to bear
And hey!—we will still keep the name “Medicare”!
Forget that it’s our plan that’s lacking detail,
Forget that economists give us a “fail.”
We cannot allow you to see all our cuts
Because if you did you would know we are nuts!
We cannot afford to campaign on the facts
And worse is the stuff that our candidate lacks.
He’s Gekko from Wall Street with none of the charm
His permanent setting is “odious smarm.”
Mitt’s boorish, elitist, insulting and rude:
“These gas-station cookies do not look like food.”
“Hey, losers, your rain ponchos look awfully cheap.”
And “Who let the dogs out?” (Good lord, he’s a creep!)
His money is parked in exotic locales
And NASCAR team owners are some of his pals.
And then there’s Rafalca, his wife’s dancing horse,
A “business expense” on Mitt’s taxes, of course.
He flip-flops, he waffles, he flexes, he bends,
He says “corporations are people, my friends!”
Unscripted exchanges he tries to avoid
We work to protect him, our candidate droid.
He won’t show his taxes—not ever, no way!
He can’t let the peasants see he did not pay.
He may yet reveal it—he is Mr. Gaffe—
His "tell" is that horrible, fake, hollow laugh.
But we’ll focus on race: "Born in Kenya, I hear!”
And hope that our poll numbers somehow stay near.
We’ll smear and we’ll lie, and we’ll even swift boat
Then do what we can to suppress the Dem vote.
So enjoy our finale, it’s going to be grand
This great celebration of all things Ayn Rand!
From here, where the palm trees are just the right height,
"Happy Mitt-mas to all!" (And remember—Mitt’s white!)
(But if you do not want the wealth gap to widen,
Please donate and work for Obama and Biden!)