You may have noticed that earlier this week the American people just said no to former Massachusetts governor and Magic Underpants wearing Mormon curse chanting all around fun guy Mitt Romney during what was advertised as some sort of election.
Since that time everyone of Karl Roves chins has come up with a different excuse for the presidents re-election, from voter fraud to misspent wealth to over 390 billion dollars spent on high class donuts.
If you ask me it all comes back to Winter in Iowa. It comes back to me. I am sorry to say this, but back then I was following the inept and insane republican hopefuls around the barren and boring cornfields of the once proud state of Iowa as these craven white people went begging for acceptance and a vote. During the primaries these "candidates" will do almost anything to get attention and at some point I ended up speaking via cellphone to none other than Willard Mitt Romney, who did everything he could to cast a secret Mormon curse on me.
Sure, I may have dated Tumbleweed Romney, even got him drunk, all of which is against some scary and sacred Mormon rule of some sort, but if Tom Cruise can do it, so can Tumbleweed, at least that's what I told Tumbleweed.
Either way, Mitt was upset and during our conversation, which follows, he did everything he could to toss a curse of Mormon hell right onto my lap. Of course, having had Mormon curses tossed my way numerous times, I did what any right thinking American would do, I tossed them right back, which probably cost the sweet natured and always likable former Mr. Utah the election. For that I am kind of sorry.
Here is the chapter from "Dancing With Mannequins and Idiots, One Lone Reporters On the Ground Coverage of the Republican Primary Race 2012."
“Ishkabbibble?” I asked. “Is that what you said?”
Mitt Romney, the handsome former governor and possible robot (suspected) on the other end of a long distance phone call replied, “I just think we have a bad connection, what was the question again?”
“Well, it seems that everyone keeps bringing up the Mormon issue and I was…”
“Ishkabbibble.”
“Yeah, see, there it is again.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Well, I asked you about Mormons.”
“Look, I’ve addressed this countless times, it really isn’t an issue anymore, either people are going to get over the whole Mormon thing, or they are not.”
“Right, and I guess my point is”
“Ishkabbibble.”
“Yeah, there it is. What is that you keep saying?”
“Didn’t catch your question. Ask again.”
“Where did you say you were today?”
“We left Iowa City this morning, now we’re approaching Splendid, town of I’d say 500 people. Good people, like most of the people we meet in Iowa, and heck, around this great country.”
“I’m sure that’s true sir.”
“You should join us sometime.”
“Is that an invitation to join your campaign on the bus Governor Romney?”
“God no, you said you were a Jew right?”
“No, I did not say that.”
“Ishkabbibble. Wait a second, I read that. Right.”
“Read it?”
“Ishkabbibble. I had it somewhere. What was the question?”
“You keep saying Ishkabbibble. What does that mean?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I can tell you this, the good people of Iowa are more interested in jobs and cutting wasteful spending in Washington DC than they are about silly negative campaign tricks. That’s what I keep hearing.”
“I’m sure that’s the case. But I keep hearing you wear magic underwear.”
“Ishkabbibble.”
“Yes, of course. How do you plan to create jobs if elected presi…”
“Ishkabbibble. The key is listening to the people. Of course, we have to cut taxes and once we cut taxes, we will know how to cut things, so we may as well cut the regulations that are really slowing job growth, you know what this country needs more than anything right now?”
“Ishkabbibble?”
“What’s that? No, what this country needs is less Obamacare and more Romney Magic.”
“Is that a new campaign theme?”
“Don’t know yet, we were just throwing it around in the bus, what do you think?”
“I like it.”
“So other than continually running for president, what do you do for a living?”
“Is that a joke question?”
“No. Well, kind of.”
“Ishkabbibble. Here’s the thing, Matt, is that you’re name?”
“Ishkabbibble, yeah, that is. But you can call me, Ishkabbibble.”
“That’s funny.”
Right here, right at this very second over a bad phone connection as the Mitt Romney for President 2012 bus was driving down some God forsaken lonely highway in a terrible rural area of Iowa, a state not known for much of anything, this is when affable Fred McMurray like robot Mitt Romney dropped his nice guy persona. All of a sudden, right there at that instant, it was as if nice guy Fred McMurray handed the phone to 1970’s Clint Eastwood in full Dirty Harry persona, I get this.
“Hey Matt, you listen, and you listen good. You must think it’s all about asking these stupid fucking questions and trying to make me sound like some sort of elite pompous pussy, which is all you liberal wankers do anyway. Then you keep pointing out my little speech defect, that Ishkabbibble I say every now and then. But what you don’t understand, what a punk like you could never understand is that I am a proud Mormon, and yes I am wearing magic underwear, and what you might not comprehend is that those magic underwear you like to make fun of, Ishkabbibble, well, they do indeed give me a power, and one of those powers is to cast curses. Did you just snicker? Listen to me punk. I say Ishkabbibble three, well, now make that 2 more times and you end up spending all of eternity in Mormon hell. So, giggle away sissy boy. Cause what you just have to be asking yourself right now is did old Mitt count how many Ishkabbibble’s he already said, or might you already be damned to eternal Mormon hell.”
“Ishkabbibble, let me just say this. Ishkabbibble. As you can imagine. Ishkabbibble. I too understand how much fun it is to wear kinky undies, right now I am wearing a pair of my lawyers Victorias Secret edible, yet earth friendly, athletic wear undies. Ishkabbibble. Now, at some point, while you were rambling on about your campaign or your kids or something about how pretty your hair is, I Googled Ishkabbibble, and realized you were, well, putting some sort of Mormon hex on me Ishkabbibble – even though Jews don’t get all hung up on silly religious games, well, other religions silly religious games. Ishkabbibble. The point is, I Googled it, and just by chance, I discovered that I can cancel out your obnoxious hex and send it right back at you, Ishkabbibble, just by repeating the number of Ishkabbibble’s enough times. Ishkabbibble. Catch my drift? By the way, Wikipedia describes Mormon Hell as Donny and Marie singing Chrismas carols 24-7. My lord, that really is hell.”
“Oh, that’s getting Mormon Hell Provo style on your ass. We take that shit seriously, Ishkabbibble.”
“Well governor, Ishkabbibble, thank you again for the interview. Ishkabbibble.”
“Ishkabbibble. Oh, and keep in mind, if elected, there is no way I would name another Jew to the Supreme Court.”
“I never gave it a thought. Ishkabbibble”
“Ishkabbibble.”
With that the phone from the Romney bus went dead and Robot Romney rode off into the cold wilds of a desolate and barren state that no one really can find on a map. While Robot Romney smiles and sends out evil curses to unsuspecting, and might I add innocent interviewers, he continues his feckless and hateful campaign. I did recheck the latest on Mormon Hell and apparently you can have as many wives as you want. Which is, of course, just another version of hell for some of us.
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