Oliver Willis

Mitt Romney, The Novel

Inspired by a somewhat overwrought New York Times lede discussing Mitt Romney’s decision not to run for President for a third time, I wrote up some purple prose starring George Romney’s boy:

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The blinding white snow reflected in Mitt Romney’s eyes as he dismounted Rafalca, his bible glistening with early morning dew.

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The eagle broke away from its flock, lightly landing on Romney’s shoulder. It leaned into his ear. “You tried,” it whispered.

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Romney methodically folded the plans he had drawn up for a personal ski lift, neck muscles straining against his Oxford collar

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A single tear escaped Romney’s eye. As it slid down his face the sunlight caused it to turn every color of the American flag.

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Romney looked out the magnificent window from his ski chalet and thought: the trees are just right.

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Romney finished washing his hair with his custom bottle of rain water and put away the sonnet he had been composing

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Romney playfully stroked Ann’s hair. She looked at him lovingly. “To me, Rafalca!” he bellowed.

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Romney ran his fingers across the canvas of the 70 foot tall Reagan painting in his foyer. “We had a time, Gipper. A time.”

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“But governor…” Romney placed a well worn index finger on his aide’s lips. “Our time is done. Let us pass the torch.”

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“When the GOP needs me, they’ll call me”
“How, Master Romney?”
“I gave them a sign.”

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“Should I destroy the inaugural suit, Master Romney?”
“No, Alfred. I may need it… someday.”

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“Will you tell us of the time you were nearly president, grandpa?”
“Maybe someday. But now, Spongebob,” Romney replied.

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As he hung up from the conference call, Romney once again rearranged the plastic army men. “It could have been.”

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Mitt and Ann looked into each others eyes, embraced. “You’ll always be my commander in chief,” she whispered. His lips quivered.

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Romney opened the plain brown case and took out his saxophone. Crying, he played taps. For America.

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Sam Beckett looked into the mirror and saw Gov Romney looking back at him. Over his shoulder he saw Al. “You can leap now.”

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“And then he said ‘please proceed’.”
“And what did you do?”
Romney sighed.
“And then I proceeded. Darn it all to heck.”

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“Is that binder what I think it is, Ann?”
“Yes, Mitt. It’s the zingers you never got to use.”
“Pity.”

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