“You lost this time, kid. It doesn’t mean you have to like it.” ~ Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
Mitt Romney fumbles yet again. A mega-donor whine and cheese conference call this time. Reporters in tow. Repetitive face-falling is a bit rough on the ole schnozzola.
After writing a column on the Petraeus scandal’s Tampa “socialite” Jill Kelley, multiple hot, scrubbing showers were required to cleanse the gutter gossip grime. Memories of nuclear submarine decontamination drills of thirty-odd years ago to get rid of the alpha radiation particles.
Our Girl Jill still hasn’t learned that being an “honorary consul” to South Korea might get one little more than a free Hyundai test drive under the 1961 Treaty of Vienna. Starbucks venti skim lattes will still set one back about $4 with the McDill AFB gate pass Ms. Kelley used to have.
At least the Norwegian honorary consul in Honolulu is actually a native of Bergen, and her biz gig arranging romantic beach nuptials have a public benefit. I’ve been to Tromsø, above the Arctic Circle, in February. Not exactly outdoor garden “wedding weather.”
Upon learning of Jill Kelley’s twin wackaloon sister, the Georgetown Law grad with a judicially-noted veracity deficit problem, I was never so happy to find that unsuccessful Prez candidate Bishop Myth got himself caught again complaining about We the “You People” to the moneyed “his people.” I would have preferred radiological contamination to more sun-baked Florida bimbo tales. Easier to get rid of.
The “Bain” (pun intended) of Mitt has been that we pesky Fourth Estaters of $arah Palin’s “lamestream media” keep remembering Romney’s own words. Remember the infamous Wall Streeter donor Romney surreptiously-recorded fundraiser in oh-so-tony Boca Raton, ironically courtesy of President Jimmy Carter’s grandson and Mother Jones? After last Tuesday, the moocher “47%” apparently found some friends who helped keep Mittens et familie out of a certain District of Columbia public housing unit on Pennsylvania Ave., N.W. I don’t know whether the American Psychological Association lists compulsive gaffes as a DSM-IV listed malady, but Queen Ann’s Quarter Billion Dollar Man is the poster child. Michele Bachmann, too, to maintain gender equality. This time, the Mittster included reporters from The New Yawk Times and the L. A. Times in the comical conference call.
I haven’t laughed so hard since McCain-Palin 2008.
The Republican post mortem churns on ad nauseum. An Irish wake would have run out of Bushmills and Jameson’s whiskey (or livers) by now. What’s the latest? Mitt telling the moneyed he lost because President Obama gave the unwashed “gifts”? The “gift” of lower interest on mountainous student loan debts? Remediated debt interest is the province of Bain companies facing bankruptcy, not “you people.” Health insurance under parental policies up to age 26 as our offspring make their way in the world eating something more substantial than ramen noodles? Envy of the melanoma-challenged country club set of proletarians of color getting a “free ride” saving on tanning bed seshes taxed by Obamacare?
Don’t go away mad Conservatives. Just go away. Come back when you grow up.