If I Were Romney
Posted on March 10, 2012 by CHC   ᐃ ᐁ

If I had the mitt-fortune of being Mitt Romney….

  • First of all, I would wish I weren’t, because my wife would be named Ann.
  • Also, my wife would be Mormon and, come to think of it, so would I.  This may present a conflict, as my underwear is from Sears.
  • I would allow corporations to vote.  Corporations are people too.  If Obama were a corporation, he might have some idea how bad it is for people, I mean, for corporations.
  • I wouldn’t visit Mississippi for the first time ever and then say how much I like grits.
    • RomneyI would dye my gray sideburns.  Look folks, I’m trying to become President, not Paulie Gualtieri, no offense to my Italian-American friends.
  • I would talk more slowly and not jerk my arms like a tin-man.  More oil, please.
  • I would have four more kids so I could claim to be the real anti-contraception candidate in this election, my friends.
  • I would move out of Massachusetts, telling my supporters, “I have just found out that there is ASS in Massachusetts — this is objectionable to me, and to my family.  So I have decided to move to Utah.  There is no ASS in Utah.  And I promise you, as long as I am in Washington, there never will be.”
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Too Much to Dream
Posted on March 10, 2012 by CHC   ᐃ ᐁ

“That’s what faces us, the danger of compromise.”

Said by one muscular man fighting another man over a car (with a little girl inside) in a post-apocalyptic movie I was dreaming this morning.  They were using spiked billy clubs on each other and on the windows of the car.

I woke up right after that line was spoken, so I’m afraid I can’t say who won the fight or what happened to the little girl.  If you can dream up an ending, let me know.

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Twenty-Nine
Posted on February 29, 2012 by CHC   ᐃ ᐁ 
If I don't tell you what I'm doing,
I have my doubts you would ever find out.
Am I your mystery worth pursuing
or just some rhyme for twenty-nine?

If I could climb upon the framework
 you build around you, as if it were your soul,
 and looked inside, what would I find?
Some somethingness or only twenty-nine?

There are times I see the present
 but so rarely am I there, then barely.
 Maybe I'll open that wine you sent:
 a fine wine, not some cheap twenty-nine.

God help me if there were a God
looking down to assess this terrible mess --
He would dispatch his thunder as his sign
how displeased he is with twenty-nine.
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