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A Christmas Message From Mitt Romney

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The failed Republican presidential candidate was nice enough to drop by our comments section to give us the real story about his non-desire to win the presidency:

My friends, those of you who are parents can certainly appreciate the enthusiasm with which your children might rise to your defense and the defense of the vast monies and business contacts they stand to inherit. All five of our boys–Tagg, Nog, Zip, Korg, and Biff–are good boys, despite their near-pathological habit of lying to me at each and every turn. But I wanted to take this opportunity to speak to you all here, at my favorite blog of the 47% who are unstoppably bound to government largesse, and explain what Tagg meant.

Before I get to that, however, I am told that there is one among you who enjoys decaptiating his political opponents and placing their severed heads on spikes. Is he here?

Let me be clear: Tagg was speaking as to my desire to be elected President in this election only. In full candor, in 2008 I had absolutely determined that the Office of the Presidency was both the right height and the right magnitude in order to be filled by a person such as myself. Why, I still get a chuckle when I recall Ann and me, so giddy with anticipation, imagining what it would be like to bring the Mexicans who serve as caretakers of our various domiciles to the White House with us and watch them try to tend the Rose Garden without lacerating themselves on the thorns! Ann was particularly enthusiastic at the idea that one or more of them might contract sepsis from their wounds.

Ha ha! “Sepsis”! Terrific!

At any rate, my friends, when the Republican electorate saw fit to pass me over in favor of the older, but no whiter and substantially less wealthy, John McCain, I still maintained an enthusiasm for the possibility of running again four years later. Indeed, I began to hear from Corporation-Americans across this nation, speaking to me, and not in the usual “Please don’t dismember us and cut out our organs and sell the parts off to the highest bidder before dumping our shattered bodies into some overseas sex trade sewer!” way that I had become accustomed to hearing from them while I was at Bain. No, my friends, these corporations were large corporations, good corporations, and they were in pain. A…stain, if you will, had blotted the office of the Presidency, um, darkening it, as it were, and our country’s outlook seemed, uh, blacker by the…OK, they’re telling me I should just stop this here. I’m sure you get the idea.

However, the dream died for me late in 2011. I can still remember the words leaving my mouth like it was yesterday:

“Come on, Saul, I have to clear at least a 14% effective rate this year! I’m running for President, for Pete’s sake!”

Saul, for reference, is our lead tax accountant. Lovely man, he’s a Hebraic but insists that he’ll be honored when I posthumously baptize him into The Church.

Anyway, as soon as the words left my lips I realized how hollow I felt inside. Sure, being President would have been an interesting experience. But was it still the right height for a job that should be done by someone such as myself? I couldn’t in good conscience say that it was. What is the point of being the “Most Powerful Person in the World,” at least as far as the various less fortunates are concerned, if one has to forfeit one’s hard-invested monies to the government in order to win that office? When I think of all those 2011 millions, condemned to pay for some woman’s birthing control units rather than joining their would-be brothers in our various Cayman and Swiss accounts, why, there’s just no joy in that for me, my friends.

And so I say, no, take your elective office. I’ll be back down to my usual 3-5% effective tax rate next year, and that’s OK as far as I’m concerned. And don’t you worry about Ann and me. We’ll pull through this somehow.

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