Mitt Romney and Other Cunts: A Dog on the Roof is Worth Two in the Mouth

Well, now that Michele Bachmann and Rick Perry have proven themselves to be lobotomized corndog-eaters even by Tea Party standards, and since that pizza guy has less political experience than Monica Lewinsky's gullet, folks seem to be looking to Mitt Romney as the only realistically viable cunt candidate in the race for the 2012 GOP presidential nomination.

That said, the fiscal cuntservative who managed to woo otherwise generally "liberal" Massholes a few years back still faces obstacles as he vies for the presidency. For one thing, he's changed his position on everthing from gay marriage to taxes to abortion more frequently than Sarah Palin changes job titles. And then there’s always that magic Mormon underwear that has gotten the fundy undies of Christians like Pastor Robert Jeffress all in a bunch.

Of course, it goes without saying that I don’t intend to vote for any of these Mad Hatter wannabes.  What may come as a surprise however, given frightening hate speech "politics" the likes of Michele Bachmann's and Rick Santorum's, is that even though Romney is arguably the most "moderate" of the GOP candidates, the sight of his game-show-host-looking ass makes me sicker than any of those clowns.

That’s because I can’t see Mitt Romney's face without remembering how, back in 1983, he strapped his dog carrier---with his dog "Seamus" inside-- to the roof of his car while he and his family drove 12 hours to their vacation home on Lake Huron. Romney also refused to stop for potty breaks (for the dog or his five children) unless the car was in need of refueling. The poor dog, undoubtedly terrified atop the roof of the speeding station wagon, suffered profuse diarrhea which, in midst of high freeway winds, splattered the car, the carrier, and the dog itself.  The Boston Globe:

As the oldest son, Tagg Romney commandeered the way-back of the wagon, keeping his eyes fixed out the rear window, where he glimpsed the first sign of trouble. ''Dad!'' he yelled. ''Gross!'' A brown liquid was dripping down the back window, payback from an Irish setter who'd been riding on the roof in the wind for hours. As the rest of the boys joined in the howls of disgust, Romney coolly pulled off the highway and into a service station. There, he borrowed a hose, washed down Seamus and the car, then hopped back onto the highway. It was a tiny preview of a trait he would grow famous for in business: emotion-free crisis management.

One might argue you don’t have to have a heart to be a politician (indeed, heartlessness is a virtue in the eyes of those cunts who view emotions as a sign of authoritative weakness), but what about common fucking sense?

I’d sooner vote for Herman Cain. At least he lets the pizzas ride shotgun.

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