Is it just me, or does this election year have newspapers and online news sites even more saturated with election news than normal? It’s everywhere.
Even my cats have started having heated discussions about foreign policy and other things cats have no business discussing.
Because it’s almost impossible to miss any of the election news, I’m sure you know who Mitt Romney is. He’s the one with the strong jawline who looks horribly uncomfortable in a pair of jeans. Yeah, that guy. He just can’t seem to keep himself out of trouble, can he?
So, I thought I’d help him out and volunteer to be a campaign adviser for him. Not because I want him to win, but more because I almost feel sorry for the guy. He’s kind of like Thurston Howell III — if you took away the likable things. He’s the unfeeling, socially inept, robot version of Thurston.
So, Mitt, as your newest adviser, I have to say you need to turn over your taxes, dude. However, I’m not saying you have to turn over the real ones.
In fact, I happen to know someone who’s pretty darn handy with Photoshop and for the right amount of cash she could probably be talked into making you a year or two of returns. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Seriously though, Mitt, either turn over your taxes or tuck tail and go home to one of your handful of houses.
The next thing you need to show is your magic underwear. OK, maybe just tell us about it, because we’re all making fun of it, but don’t really know what it does. Maybe I’m the only person who’s curious, but I’m dying to know if it actually deflects bullets. And, is it true it has a built in parachute? Is that why you never see a nervous Mormon on an airplane?
The next thing may hurt a little, but you have to either keep your wife, Ann, off television or you’re going to have to muzzle her when she does make an appearance.
When she refers to the rest of us as “you people,” well, it kind of makes her look like a word that I’m not allowed to write in this column. I’ll give you a hint. It’s not “bitch” because, see? I just wrote that. You see, Mittsy, when she says “you people,” I imagine her saying things like, “You people just don’t understand how frightfully distressing it is to find a strand of pearls to perfectly match my dressage horse. Now run along while Mama rolls around in her money, again.”
I know you don’t understand why that bothers people, but trust me, it does. It also makes you seem out of touch with anyone who makes less than a million a year. Yes, Thurstonbot, there really are people who make so little.
Finally, you’ve shoved a lot of money in foreign bank accounts to avoid paying taxes. We understand. No one enjoys paying taxes, but some of us realize we must pay our fair share so everyone can have things like roads, libraries and drinking water that doesn’t put us on the toilet for a week straight, or worse, kill us.
So, I suggest because it’s so painful for you to pay your taxes, just put all of your overseas money into a bank account here in the United States in my name and I’ll pay your taxes for you. Of course, I’m going to have to take a small commission of a few million, but you’ll hardly miss it. Now get out there and wear those jeans like you mean it!
Rachel Birdsell is a freelance writer and artist. You can drop her a line at rabirdsell@gmail.com
Mitt Happens!
Even my cats have started having heated discussions about foreign policy and other things cats have no business discussing.
Because it’s almost impossible to miss any of the election news, I’m sure you know who Mitt Romney is. He’s the one with the strong jawline who looks horribly uncomfortable in a pair of jeans. Yeah, that guy. He just can’t seem to keep himself out of trouble, can he?
So, I thought I’d help him out and volunteer to be a campaign adviser for him. Not because I want him to win, but more because I almost feel sorry for the guy. He’s kind of like Thurston Howell III — if you took away the likable things. He’s the unfeeling, socially inept, robot version of Thurston.
So, Mitt, as your newest adviser, I have to say you need to turn over your taxes, dude. However, I’m not saying you have to turn over the real ones.
In fact, I happen to know someone who’s pretty darn handy with Photoshop and for the right amount of cash she could probably be talked into making you a year or two of returns. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Seriously though, Mitt, either turn over your taxes or tuck tail and go home to one of your handful of houses.
The next thing you need to show is your magic underwear. OK, maybe just tell us about it, because we’re all making fun of it, but don’t really know what it does. Maybe I’m the only person who’s curious, but I’m dying to know if it actually deflects bullets. And, is it true it has a built in parachute? Is that why you never see a nervous Mormon on an airplane?
The next thing may hurt a little, but you have to either keep your wife, Ann, off television or you’re going to have to muzzle her when she does make an appearance.
When she refers to the rest of us as “you people,” well, it kind of makes her look like a word that I’m not allowed to write in this column. I’ll give you a hint. It’s not “bitch” because, see? I just wrote that. You see, Mittsy, when she says “you people,” I imagine her saying things like, “You people just don’t understand how frightfully distressing it is to find a strand of pearls to perfectly match my dressage horse. Now run along while Mama rolls around in her money, again.”
I know you don’t understand why that bothers people, but trust me, it does. It also makes you seem out of touch with anyone who makes less than a million a year. Yes, Thurstonbot, there really are people who make so little.
Finally, you’ve shoved a lot of money in foreign bank accounts to avoid paying taxes. We understand. No one enjoys paying taxes, but some of us realize we must pay our fair share so everyone can have things like roads, libraries and drinking water that doesn’t put us on the toilet for a week straight, or worse, kill us.
So, I suggest because it’s so painful for you to pay your taxes, just put all of your overseas money into a bank account here in the United States in my name and I’ll pay your taxes for you. Of course, I’m going to have to take a small commission of a few million, but you’ll hardly miss it. Now get out there and wear those jeans like you mean it!
Rachel Birdsell is a freelance writer and artist. You can drop her a line at rabirdsell@gmail.com