It pains me to admit it, but a weekend playing basketball against a team of angry and bitter midgets has left me in more pain than I can fully describe. Probably worse than childbirth, but I am a man, I can only imagine what child birthing feels like, although I have witnessed numerous babies being born. I was there when all 17 of my own children were born and for a short while I pretended to be a chiropractor/gynecologist in a small Montana town and while there I must have witnessed 12 other babies being born. Most of the time it was not that big a deal, really.
At least for me.
The point is, when you are in as much pain as I am, and I was not joking, you play physical basketball for a weekend against some seriously angry midgets and you will no doubt know what its like to feel a serious amount of pain, much more pain than child birth would cause, of that I am sure. When I am in this much pain I like to do a few yoga poses to help my body relax, and there I was deep into a squatting dog with wet bisquit and my phone began to vibrate.
At times of deep meditation I like to turn my phone onto vibrate and sink it into my back pocket. It just so happens that in Deep Dog with Wet Bisquit you end up with the phone right in the middle of your butt cheeks and your face right next to it, so I let it ring for a few seconds while I thought about who might be so rude as to call while I was in such a fragile state. I could make out the image on the screen and it was a giant tumbleweed and I knew immediately it was one of the forlorn sons of the republican candidate for President of the United States, one Tumbleweed Romney.
We had met months earlier while I was covering the silly, retarded and contentious republican primary and he was, well I am not sure what any of the young zombie Romney boys do but stand around and hope against hope that a casting agent for the adult JCrew magazine happens by. No such luck, but my phone continued to seduce me with its innocent vibrating and I reached around and pushed a button, “hello Tumble, what’s up?”
Mitt: “It’s Mitt, not Tumbleweed. Why do you call him Tumble, I don’t even call him Tumble.”
Me: “Mitt? Why are you using Tumbleweeds cellphone?”
Mitt: “Technology has me all messed up. I need some advice, off the grid if you know what I mean.”
Me: “ I don’t.”
Mitt: “I have a debate against the worst president in history and if you believe the liberal media I am about to lose the election and I need some advice from someone who is not stealing me blind.”
Me: “Good that you called. I’m the perfect guy for the job.”
Mitt: “Great. Let’s hear it.”
Me: “Let’s hear what?”
Mitt: “I need zingers for the debate, something to throw old Mr. Cool off this game.”
Me: “OK, First, admit right off the top that you’re an idiot.”
Mitt: “What’s that again?”
Me: “Look, over the past few months you seem to have gone out of your way to look like a foolish idiot not ready to run a neighborhood McDonalds, much less president of the fading last great super power. Use that in your favor. Admit you might not be the smartest guy on the stage, nod at the president and smile that fake smile of yours, and then say, “then again, the president has a big giant remarkable brain and all he has done is ruin our country.”
Mitt: “That might just work. I’m writing that down. Anything else?”
Me: “Yes, always refer to the president as “the first black president of the United States,” every time you say anything to him, say that.”
Mitt: “I don’t get it.”
Me: “Play the race card Mitt, all those rednecks and crackers need to be reminded, this man is Black. After a few times reminding them, start with a little more, like, “as much as I respect the opinion of the first Hawaiian born black president of the United States, I disagree. See how that works?”
Mitt: “I think so.”
Me: “Then, next chance, “see, there you go again and I expected more from the first non-Muslim, Hawaiian born, black president of the United States.”
Mitt: “Oh my.”
Me: “By the end of the debate you will fill you final statement just by thanking the “socialist, possible Kenyan, cigarette smoking, bisexual, gun-toting, gang member, Christian hating, over-educated, smug, possibly non-Muslim, Hawaiian born, first black president of the United States. I promise he will be completely off his game. Later, when people accuse you of being completely insensitive, just remind them how stupid you are.”
Mitt: “Brilliant.”
Me: “For debate two I would recommend you wear a wife beater t-shirt to show off your full upper body tattoo, that should win over the Cholo and illegal Mexican vote right there.”
Mitt: “I’ll have to get more tattoos. Any suggestions on winning over the women vote?”
Me: “Call congressman Todd Akin, he seems completely tuned in on the women’s issues.”
With that I hung up and reminded myself of the troubled history I had with the Romney clan and the terrible Mormon curse Mitt had put on me by chanting the word Ishkabbile 17 times during a cold Iowa winter. Oh those were the days.
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