Win or lose, Mitt Romney’s got a 5-point plan

 

                       WIN

Ask Cesar Milan, “Who’s the pack leader now?”

Create cabinet-level department of 5-point plans.

Clear paintings out of National Gallery.  Replace them with pictures of Rafalca.

Retire campaign debt with gala “Night of 1000 people I pretend to give a shit about.”

Propose constitutional amendment to ban canine abortion except in case of rape or incest.

Meet environmentalists and tell ‘em to Frack this.

Convince American women I’m on their side.  Marry ‘em all.

Order Paul Ryan to stop calling me Zelig.

I got your 5-point plan right here.  

                        LOSE

Get a week-long pedicure.

Make an appointment with the sofa and some Pirate’s Booty.

Find a political philosophy and stick with it.

Get a dog that won’t complain about a little wind.

Develop a 5-point plan to determine the effectiveness of 5-point plans.

Prepare for 2016 Presidential campaign.  Moisturize.

Work on my compassionate grin.

See about the weatherman position at Fox News.

Join the touring company of “Book of Mormon.”

A Bourne humiliation

Light in the night (Castelldefels)

When “The Bourne Legacy” was filmed without so much as a single Bourne,  Jacob Bourne went into a tailspin.  He developed troubling symptoms.  Pools of stage light now lit him up like a tap-dancer.   Much more troubling was the sudden accompaniment of lush strings which made it impossible for him to sneak up on anyone.

Were the fates presenting a pink slip to a master spy?  Suddenly, there was no approaching a doorknob, a blind corner, or a window without a glare of klieg light and a foreboding musical chord.

No corner of Bourne’s life would ever be private again.  He fled to the dark of a movie theatre to consider his options.  During the trailer for whatever Bradley Cooper movie that was soon to come, Bourne decamped to the men’s room.  As he approached a urinal and unzipped his fly, the “Jaws” theme built deliberately, pulling the unfocused gaze of his restroom neighbors from their own square foot of tile.  Used to avoiding notice, public attention to his urine stream shook him to his core.

Bourne hid behind a toilet stall.  Maybe he could relax sitting down although the sight of his underpants at ankle height made him feel like anything but a superspy.  The music quickened.  John Williams’ infernal cello duel rattled the stall walls.  Growing louder, the music shattered Bourne’s porcelain refuge.  He had to recalibrate.   Fine leather shoes had become collateral damage.

This would take extreme measures.  Bourne dropped in on his brother, Jason, to ask how he’d handle the affliction.  That’s when a riot of strobe light forced his more celebrated sibling into a seizure and an Amnesiac relapse.  Or maybe Jason was just pretending not to know him.

Lights

A last-chance mission ended horribly when Bourne’s arrival on a penthouse ledge was announced by multicolored spotlights and the Tom Waits tune that opened “The Wire.”  A family of armed latchkey toddlers clubbed Bourne off their balcony into a high-speed encounter with a sidewalk.

He limped away with his booty of Hezbollah porn.  How much more proof do we need that Bourne’s life had gone sideways than the Dumbo the Elephant spotlight which showed his enemies a candy-colored path to his safe house.

Jacob Bourne had nowhere to turn except to the tender mercies of Dolores, a gorgeous VA psychiatrist.  Here was someone who must’ve paid rigorous attention to Oprah’s show on bras, someone who could also put a name to his ruinous condition: Melodramatic Orchestral Non-Traumatic Stress Disorder.  There was no known cure.

She tried to manage his condition pharmaceutically, but without luck.  Perhaps, she reasoned, Bourne could find relief in a MO-NTSD support group.  It was full of others—Cat burglars, pickpockets, IRS auditors, and rodeo clowns–whose careers, dependent on stealth and surprise, were sabotaged by their own ostentatious, noisy senses.  If not, Bourne reasoned, he could always find refuge in Dolores’ glorious nakedness.

The very sight sight of her triggered  something in Bourne:  the infernally happy whistling of the Andy Griffith Show soundtrack.    Annoying as it sounded, he could put up with it as long as they were exchanging bodily fluids.  Dolores responded therapeutically, insisting that a Doors tune, “The Spy,” spoke more honestly to Bourne’s identity.  She purred the lyrics, “I’m a spy in the house of love.  I know your deepest secret fears.”   Bourne certainly preferred it to the track that heehawed,  “Hey, I got a fishing pole here somewhere.”

Gaye performing live at the Oakland Coliseum d...

The condition evolved.  Now, Bourne infected Dolores.  When they carried on late night conversations of the flesh, Dolores was able to guide Bourne’s attentions by swiveling a small keylight from her face into a colored ray that pinwheeled brightly atop her breasts. Accompanied by artful halo light and psychoactive medication, Bourne sang along to Marvin Gaye’s aphrodisiac shuffle, “Come Get To This.”

“Ooh, remember baby how you made me feel just like a king.  I’m ready for you to do the things, drive me out of my mind.”  It didn’t take long for each lover’s musical theme to drown out the other.  His Marvin Gaye tune smacked up against her “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.”

1959 Series Logo

The next morning, Bourne was jarred awake by the coda from “The Twilight Zone” theme.   Did that suggest they were becoming incompatible?  Hell no.

The glint of light from her butcher’s knife said it better.

Obama challenges Romney to a duel

The Voice (U.S. TV series)

Following a savage rhetorical beating at the hands of his opponent, President Obama has taken the campaign battle to the Romney team with a daring, new challenge.  A one-night only singing competition between the candidates on “The Voice.”  Obama’s handlers laid out their strategy this way:  “If we can’t use actual sidearms, a free-market musical skirmish has got to be the next best way to settle this thing.”

English: Christina Aguilera sings "Can't ...

Deprived of his usual trick-bag of rhetorical traps, President Obama will have to rely on a silky falsetto and, to nudge the army of unmotivated millennial white kids, a knit beanie. With voting constituencies of challenger and incumbent hardened before the actual election day showdown, both candidates are confident a singing competition will connect them to the undecided portion of the electorate.  (Political demographers have analyzed and parsed this group into two subgroups:  1) People committed to their indecision.  2) The Re-undecided.)

English: Cee Lo

Hoping his hard luck story will resonate with the judges. Romney laid out his plan.  “I can’t imitate Al Green like Obama but I surely can make “Let’s Stay Together” my own by transforming it into a marching band piece.  It’s amazing how you can improve rhythm & blues by muffling the rhythm  with a high-velocity mixture of styrofoam and other petroleum-based products.”

Now, Mixmaster Mitt has to dig deep to find a song about deregulation that will make the chairs of Adam, Christina, and Blake spin in his direction. Until Cee-Lo Green supplies a picture I.D. and an electric bill, a Denver Boot will be clamped around his chair.

English: Blake Shelton at the 45th Annual Acad...

This will be one campaign event with no stump speechifying, debate zingers, scripted answers, or gotcha questions.  All that will matter to the judges are vocals that preserve their sense of hearing.   During the musical duel, expect to see dramatic cutaways to the campaign teams in the green room jumping up and down and imploring Blake Shelton to press his red button.  Others will simply implore Christina Aguilera to jump up and down.