Romney Says Obama Weak, Should Have Invaded Pakistan, Libya, Syria, etc.

Mitt Romney will win tonight’s foreign policy debate with Obama.  Period.  End of story. 

How will Mitt win the foreign policy debate?    Mitt will show how Obama’s weakness in Pakistan, Libya, Syria, Egypt, Palestine, North Korea, Iran, Lebanon, Cameroon, Thailand, Lichtenstein, East Timor, Anglia, Kenya, Poland, Bermuda, The Cayman Islands, etc., has severely damaged America’s stellar reputation as world leader.   

“Obama will gracelessly brag about taking down Bin Laden,” Mitt said, angrily.   “Obama didn’t do that.  The Seals did that.  A real president would have shot Bin Laden all by himself, danced on his corpse on a battleship, then later in the Rose Garden.”

Mitt gave me the inside scoop the other day when he and I were running with the wolves at the Central Park Zoo.  Mitt also told me that Obama had maliciously squandered the many gains made under George W. Bush’s leadership. 

“Obama should have put boots on the ground in Pakistan, too,” Mitt said, barely suppressing his contempt.  “I would have committed 500,000 troops in Pakistan to get Bin Laden.  Then, I would have sent 100,000 more to secure the compound in Benghazi, Libya, another 200,000 to Syria to do whatever needs to be done there, and sprinkled another 600,000 around the world to teach real respect for American values.” 

“I would have bombed Iran, too, of course,” he added. “And North Korea, too, of course.”   Of course, I agreed.  That goes without saying.

When I asked Mitt if he was concerned about adding a couple more trillion to the deficit with all these boots on the ground, he reminded me, a little curtly, that “when it comes to American values, no price is too high to pay.”

I had to agree with him on that one.  Liberty, you know. 

Romney, Ryan, Rock Al Smith Dinner, "Run with Wolves" in Zoo

Who says Republicans don’t know how to party?   Not me.  Not anymore.  Not since my Becoming Republican.

Last night after the Al Smith dinner at the Waldorf, me, Romney, Ryan, Bloomberg, and Trump wound up totally wasted in the Central Park Zoo pissing into the polar bear exhibit, howling at the moon.  Good times, man, good times.

Turns out Trump, (who, by the way, likes to be called Bossman Trumpman, which, believe me is hard to say when you’re loaded), is a party animal.  He was swilling vodka from a gold flask in the shape of a trumpet at our table all night, forcing his phone number into the hands of every waitress and waiter in the place, insisting they come see Trump Tower.  Lame, but kind of funny.  You had to be there for that, I guess.

Then when Obama got up to speak, Trump started chanting, “Kenyan, Kenyan, Kenyan,” softly at first but then louder and louder until finally, Paul Ryan kicked him under the table and told him to shut up.  Ryan is a numbers guy; I guess he figured 50 Kenyans was more than enough.  For a second I thought Trump was going to punch Ryan, but after a tense moment, Bossman Trumpman shrugged and offered everyone a hit from his flask.

Ryan spent most of the night complaining about why Obama got the top speaking slot at the dinner over Romney.  “Scholarship to a top prep school, at top of his class at Harvard, president of the Law Review, he gets everything handed to him on a silver platter," he said, shaking his head.  "You know what?  He didn’t build that, somebody built it for him."  Ryan likes to be called Def Jam.

I kept looking around for Rush Limbaugh, but he wasn’t there.  Chris Matthews was there, but no Rush.  “What kind of crap is that,” I asked Bloomberg in the bathroom.  He was standing next to me using the kid’s urinal.  Even then he had to stand on his tippy- toes.  

“It’s New York, kiddo,” Bloomberg said, zipping up.   “The liberals still cling to power.”  

Nice enough guy, Bloomberg, but he bummed cigarettes off me all night so that by the time we got to the zoo, we were forced to scrounge for butts off the sidewalk.  By the way, he hates being called Shorty. 

Romney is totally cool. He was the one who said we had to go to the zoo.  He was pumped about how his kick-ass jokes had totally blown Obama away.  “Let’s run with wolves, my brothers,” he said, leading the charge up Fifth Avenue into the park.  When we couldn’t find the wolves, we settled on the polar bears.

The Secret Service stopped us from climbing into the exhibit with the bears. They were even drunker than we were, but still, it was the four of us against fifteen of them.  Also they had handguns and, because we were in New York, we didn’t.

One last thing – Mitt gave me back my George W. “Mission Accomplished” belt buckle.  He was more than happy to give it back actually.  He slapped it into my hand, glared at me and said, “I don’t ever want to see that thing again.  That thing could lose me the election.”

Mitt Romney and "Mission Accomplished"

I loaned Mitt Romney my George W. Bush “Mission Accomplished” belt buckle for the debate on Tuesday night, but I’m not sure if he wore it. 

Although Mitt showed his usual strong disregard for the liberal niceties of debate – liberal rules designed to keep Republican power in check – he didn’t interrupt the Marxist moderator anywhere near as much as he should have.  Nor did he intimidate Obama as thoroughly as he did in the first debate.  

No, something wasn’t right about Mitt on Tuesday. 

There is another possibility, and a dreadful one at that.  It’s possible that Mitt did wear “Mission Accomplished.”  What I’m thinking now is that it’s possible “Mission Accomplished’s” powerful force field might have somehow conflicted with Mitt’s own force field.  

There could have been some kind of “neutralization” effect.  Here's what I mean: In the same way that two wrongs don’t make a right, “Mission Accomplished” might have played havoc with Mitt’s undisputed, world champion Master Debater mojo.   

The power of the “Mission Accomplished” buckle is well-known.  In a 3-hour period, the buckle secured me a position on the board at Nieman Marcus and a flight back to New York from Dallas on Donald Trump’s private jet.

But I guess I didn’t think that in the wrong hands, or more accurately, around the wrong waist, “Mission Accomplished” could have untoward effects.   It never crossed my mind that “Mission Accomplished” could be anything but a powerful force for good.

I hope Mitt isn’t mad at me. 

I hope I get “Mission Accomplished” back soon.

Romney to Win Debate Wearing "Mission Accomplished" Belt Buckle

I am here today at Hofstra University in Long Island where the second debate between Mitt Romney and the Kenyan is to take place tonight.  

My plan is to loan Mitt the “Mission Accomplished” belt buckle that George W. Bush gave me in Dallas two days ago. I’m loaning it to Mitt as an insurance policy against the Kenyan.   I don’t think Mitt will need it, but better safe than sorry. 

I have to say I wasn’t big on the whole Kenyan “birther” thing until yesterday. But then I got a ride back from Dallas on Donald Trump’s private jet.   Such a wonderful gesture on Donald’s part.  Also, another testament to the power of “Mission Accomplished.” 

You see, when I arrived at the airport in Dallas yesterday, “Mission Accomplished” began to vibrate.   I was in the Sky Club waiting for my Delta flight when suddenly two men in black suits escorted me through a special passageway leading to Donald Trump’s private jet.     

Watching four hours of video clips of Mr. Trump talking about Barack Obama’s attempts to hide his birth certificate was very instructive.  Watching the clips on a huge screen that took up most of the front bulkhead made it extra impactful.  Watching the clips for four hours really made it sink in.

By the time I arrived at La Guardia, I was convinced that not only was Obama born in Kenya where he absorbed radical Muslim teachings at a madrassa, but that his entire college career is a fabrication.  Why won’t he release his student transcripts?  The answer is obvious to any thinking person. 

I’m in the student union now, drinking a Starbucks coffee.  I wonder how many of the students wandering about here are taking advantage of the American people and adding to the trillion dollar deficit with Pell Grants and how many had the decency to take tuition money from their parents.

Although I’m not sure where or when Mitt Romney’s motorcade will arrive, I’m confident that “Mission Accomplished” will draw him to me and me to him. 

I just have to make sure Mitt understands that I’m only loaning “Mission Accomplished” to him, that it’s just for insurance against the wily Kenyan, that I need it back. 

I’m sure George W. has plenty of them, but it would a little embarrassing to have to fly back to Dallas and ask him for another.   

The Power of "Mission Accomplished"

I wasn’t prepared for the power of George W.’s belt buckle. 

The other day in Dallas, George W. Bush, “Dubya,” gave me his very own “Mission Accomplished” belt buckle as a gift.  Little did I know that the belt buckle was a heckuva lot more than just a belt buckle. 

Here’s what happened.  After leaving George W’s place, I went to downtown to buy some “common man” jeans at Nieman Marcus.   I was met at the front door by the head of security, a giant of a man named, in perverse Texas fashion, Tiny, who immediately escorted me to the offices of Joseph Weber, SVP, Chief Human Resources Officer. 

Mr. Weber, insisted I call him Joe W., and then cut right to the chase.  He offered me a seat on the company board paying $2 million a year.   “You don’t have to come the meetings,” he assured me.   But, he told me, I did have to pass a test.

Just then, a beautiful blonde, Cindy, who I later found out was a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader, swept into the office, carrying a tray with a bottle of Lone Star beer and a bottle of Dom Perignon White Gold champagne. 

“If you choose the right one, we'll make you board member,” Joe W. told me. “If you choose the wrong one, we’ll put you on retainer as a consultant for $1.75 million a year.  And you’ll have to make a PowerPoint presentation to the board once a year, too.”

Just then, at my waist, George W's “Mission Accomplished” belt buckle started heating up. I felt a tingling in my fingertips, followed by a throbbing in my head and groin.

What would the Decider decide, I asked myself. The Lone Star sure looked good, but then so did the Dom Perignon. 

“Well, you know, I gave up drinking,” I told Joe. W.  after a moment. “Drinking interfered with my deciding, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just have some coffee.”

Joe W. grinned, reached across his desk and offered me a firm handclasp.  “Of course, of course,” he said grinning.  “Welcome to the board.”  Then turning to Cindy he asked her to bring out a bottle of 1907 Heidsieck. 

Joe, Cindy and me, we killed that bottle in less than five minutes.   And when it was gone, we drank the Dom Perignon, then did scissors, paper, rock for the Lone Star. 

I’m happy to say I won.  Terrible beer really, so following Joe’s advice, I chugged it.    

George W. Nickname for Paul Ryan: Rathole

George W. had heard about my search for a "Don't Tread on Me" type of belt buckle.  He still has friends at the NSA and so I got a text message just as I landed in Dallas inviting me to meet with him.

Over at his place we had a great talk about how Obama just wasn’t up to the job of being POTUS.  "He takes all this credit for getting Bin Laden," he said, his eyes blazing with righteous anger. "People seem to forget I made it possible for him to do that by starting those wars in the first place."

I  asked him how he thought the Ryan/Biden debate would shake out.  

“Ol’ Rathole is gonna take him easy,” he said, flashing that winning f-you smile we all miss so much.

“Rathole” is George W.’s nickname for Ryan.   George has a nickname for everybody. Turd Blossom for Karl Rove is one of my favorites.  

“Why Rathole?” I asked.  “How do you come up with these great nicknames?”

“I just do,” he said with a jaunty shrug.  “I just look at a person and a name pops into my head. Ryan just makes me think ‘Rathole’.”

“What’s my nickname going to be?” I asked, hoping for the best.

“I’m havin’ a little bit of trouble with you,” he admitted.  “Maybe cause you’re such a recent convert and all.   When I get it in my mind, I’ll text you.”

Then, to my utter surprise, he abruptly stood, whipped off his belt, and handed it to me.  

“That’s yours, my man,” he said, grinning at me.  “Now I got some sh*t to do, and you need to put that on and get to work becoming Republican.”  

Ripping off my belt, I threaded his around me.  It was thick and wide and I could barely get it through my pant loops.   You could just tell the leather had come from a big ol' mean son-of-a-bitchin' rodeo bull.

Fastening it, I felt a ferocious white heat encircle my waist, burning hottest at the buckle.  

Ah, yes. The buckle.  What was depicted on the buckle you ask?  

A battleship.  And emblazoned over the image of the ship, italicized in capital letters the words MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Wow, right?  

I can hardly wait to get my nickname!

My "Common Man" Clothes Delayed Again

Yesterday my flight to Dallas was cancelled.  Today it’s delayed due to rain.  So here I sit languishing at La Guardia again.  

Public air travel is the worst.  Reagan should have privatized the whole thing when he busted the air traffic controllers' union.  Once Mitt is elected I won’t have this problem.  

Anyway, to pass the time here in the SkyLounge, I’m researching Western-style belt buckles for my second set of Republican clothes.  As I said yesterday, Becoming Republican isn’t as simple as I thought it would be.  You need both $3,000 suits and  “common man” get-ups.  For the latter -- per George W. -- big shiny belt buckles are key.

At this point, I’ve definitely decided to get Don’t Tread on Me and Lone Star buckles, and, of course, the Screaming Eagle. Those are pretty much givens.

I’m not sure about the Southern Cross of the Confederacy – as a Northerner I have some squeamishness about wearing the Confederate symbol.  

I wonder -- is my squeamishness regional or is it holdover from my former life as a Democrat?  Since Becoming Republican, I find it difficult to engage in self-reflection.

Also I wonder if it would be considered gauche to wear the Don’t Tread on Me and the Southern Cross buckles at the same time.  

I’ll have to ask George W. when I get to Dallas.