Boston-Mitt Romney awoke on Tuesday, September 11, 2012, and like millions of Americans, turned on the TV to catch the latest polls and election news. He was very worried Americans were beginning to realize how much he sucked, and what a mistake it would be to elect another mean rich kid as leader of the free world.
As Romney was getting his toenails buffed by one of his house-slaves, he scanned the TV, waiting for himself to appear standing in front of a bunch of people who "do something that makes them dirty," while promising to yank their healthcare if they lose their jobs. He also waited on pins and needles to see how he sounded rolling out his latest attack against his opponent: The claim Obama wants to remove the words "In God We Trust" from the U.S. currency. The same currency Romney collected by the millions without giving a token thought about religion or his fellow man.
But suddenly, the reality of the day sunk in. The World Trade Center was on FIRE and one of the towers was collapsing before his eyes. Romney jumped to his feet and yelled, "Eureka! This is it! The end of Obama! How could he possibly survive a national tragedy like this? This is our moment! The Republicans can wear this for a hundred years and beat the crap out of the Dems every time we mention this date 9/11! 9/11, 9/11! Jeeves! Bring me the phone!"
The butler rolled his eyes and brought Romney's phone on a silver platter. Romney set the heavy black rotary phone in his lap and frantically dialed-up his election team. He was so excited, his fingers slipped out of the holes twice, causing him to chip a fingernail, which his house-slave swooped in to fix with a pair of platinum nail-clippers and an emery board made of ground diamonds.
Romney was so excited and bursting with ideas and excitement, his election team, nursing massive hangovers as they try to blow through their $100,000 per diem before the campaign collapses under its own stupidity, didn't have time to think, before Romney, being the astute businessman he is, quickly put together a plan to use the attack on the World Trade Center as a way to rid Israel of that "pain in the ass" Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, using all the money the US could print, and hand Iran, a country with the world's third largest oil reserves, over to America's biggest oil companies.
"We'll kill hundreds of thousands of people! We'll burn kids alive in the street! We'll smash them with our Hummers! The arms, legs, testicles and boobs of our servicemen and women will fly everywhere! I'll make billions as my "blind" trust will know every move we make and can play the oil futures like a virtuoso! And during the whole mess, we'll buy tons of stock in the company that makes Tamiflu, create an avian flu hoax, and hold a press conference telling everyone Tamiflu is the only way to cure it! Jumpin' Jehoshaphat! Israel will keep their nose clean while we hang the leader of a sovereign nation by the neck. My blood buddy, Benjamin Netanyahu, will come out smelling like a rose, while the American middle class will drown in debt and poverty when we come to collect on this disaster they'll pay for in absolute misery. We will kill 300 times more innocent people than died in the trade center attack! This is all moving so fast, let me sit down for a minute and think what we can call it. It must have a name to give it some ooomph."
Ann gave her husband a paper bag to breathe into so he wouldn't hyperventilate. Suddenly, a light bulb went off in his head. He jumped up, stood on an ornate gold-plated chair, pointed his finger in the air like a noble scholar and announced, "We will call it Desert Storm III" Then he lowered his voice and asked Ann, "Iran is a desert, right?"
Ann looked vacuously into thin air and shrugged. Then, she became so caught up in the moment, the "suffering in her heart" she felt for the 9/11 victims was blotted out by the storm clouds of blackened evil and war. She jumped up and down like an excited schoolgirl and screeched, "Since Obama is black, can we draft him first? Like back in the sixties, when we drafted Cassius Clay?"
"I don't know who Cassius Clay is Anney," Romney replied. "But I'll call Donald Rumsfeld, he'll think of something. He knows how to control the unknown, known, unknown, unknowns know-it-alls!."
A few minutes later, you could hear Romney in the shower, chanting like a prep-school cheerleader, "9/11, 9/11, 9/11 Whatup Obama? Whatup Whatup? Whatup? 9/11! Yeeeaahhhhhhh!" Then he called out, "Does anyone know where I left my megaphone? I am going to need a megaphone."