"Up wit' Mitt! Up wit' Mitt! Up wit' ... "
"Red! Jeez, why are you making so much noise?"
"I'm practicin', Cope. Practicing for them primary carcasses what're coming up. And while I'm there, I'm gonna get myself picked to go to the big convention next summer. I'll be one of them, what they call, a 'delergrate.' And when them balloons come pouring out of the ceiling and all the other delergrates start doing the happy conga line around that convention center, I sure as tootinv don't want to be the only one there who don't know the words to all the whoopin' and hollerin'. So I'm practicin', Cope. Up wit' Mitt! Up wit' Mitt!"
"So why are you doing this practicing of yours on my front lawn? I have neighbors, for Christ's sake."
"Yessir, you do. An' before I get done with 'em, they'll all be Romney rooters. C'mon, cain't you feel the energizers in the air? Don't you feel that scintillatin' Mitt magic? Don't it just make you want to forget you were ever an Barack Obama backer and hop on the Romney fun bus wit' me and ride it all the way to the Winnemucca Mitt? No kidding, I gotta tell ya', Cope, this is the most exciting, exhilarating, exuberated experience I ever had in my whole life, being part o' Mitt's shoot to the top. I think of it like being on a rocket ship ... the Romney Rocket Ship, I call it ... what's about to carry this great country of ours back to where we'd be if we weren't here now."
"I've heard Romney called a lot of things, but 'scintillating' isn't one of them. And what's the deal, anyway? Last time we talked, you were a 100 percent Newt Gingrich man. And before that, it was all Ron Paul. Honestly, Red, you're getting to be almost as windsocky as Mitt."
"'Whensacky?' What you talkin' about ... 'whensacky?'"
"Not 'whensacky.' Wind-socky. You know ... like one of those big baggy things that shows which way the wind is blowing at airports and badminton tournaments."
"Oh yeah. Now I knows what you're saying. You're sayin' the same thing what all them Mitt-whackers say about him, that he spins around like a midget squatted down on a lazy Susan and whichever way he's pointin' when it stops spinning is his position for the time bein'. Is that what you're saying, Cope?"
"Uh, sorta. But don't get me wrong, Red. It's that pathological adaptability of Romney's that I like best about him, I think."
"Now what you talkin' about ... 'pastalogical adoptabilly?'"
"What I mean is, let's say Romney goes all the way and actually becomes president. I don't think that's going to happen ... not in a million years ... but if I'm wrong and he ends up in the White House, I will take some small comfort knowing that it's highly improbable he'll ever get around to doing any of that stupid horsepuckey the social conservatives want so much. You know, on abortion or gays or any of that ignorant culture-war crud.
"I imagine the people he puts in charge of the economic sector will piddle around until they get unemployment back up to 10 percent and they have the middle class strapped over a barrel like they would prefer, seeing as how a further reaming out of American workers is the fastest way for the super-rich to get super richer.
"But Romney's a dust bunny, can't you see that? He's neither substantial or committed enough to concern himself with much of anything beyond his own gilded experience. Think about it, how else could a guy born and raised like he's the prince of Salt Lake City make jokes about being unemployed or how the $375,000 he got for speaking fees isn't much money?
"Face it, Red, this guy is oblivious to normal, everyday living, and he could care less what reproductive choices women make or whether gays can serve openly in the military. Those reality streams don't empty into his river, get it? Those clouds don't float in his sky. He's a bubble boy. Only the bubble is made out of trust funds and Cayman Island accounts and beach houses in La Jolla."
"You're all wet, Cope. Mitt weren't born and raised up as no Salt Lake City bubble prince. He come up somewhere out east. Michisota, or some place like that."
"Yeah ... whatever. Truth about people like him is, they don't have homes the way you and I do, Red. Michigan ... Massachusetts ... Southern California, he just floats wherever his money blows him. Do you suppose he has any feeling of loyalty or warmth for one place over another? Nah ... neighborhoods, houses, even states ... those things are only opportunities to be used up and wrung dry.
"It's like the companies his Bain Capital outfit bought up and dismembered ... everything is fair game, everyone is expendable, every value is negotiable. That's why the big GOP money masters want him over Gingrich, see. He's the embodiment of what they live for. Newt's just a servant. A political lickspittle who shines their shoes and wipes up regulations at their pleasure but can never belong to their club."
"Cope, what makes you think you know what kind o' feller Mitt is? You ain't in his club, neither. An' I bet you never in your life knew anyone what had a quarter-billion bucks in their wallet. Sos why don't you just shut up an' stop messin' with my exhilaratin' exuberatude."
"Red, you aren't exhilarated or exuberated over Romney. I can see it in the worry in your eyes. You're just faking it."
"Oh yeah? Wull ... maybe so. But I got about nine more months to practice up, so come election time, I oughta be faking it so good, even you'll think I really believe it."