Or else, per commentor Amir Khalid, Gail Collins wrote this column while BoBo wasn’t looking:
… Mitt Romney was born on March 12, 1947, in Ohio, Florida, Michigan, Virginia and several other swing states. He emerged, hair first, believing in America, and especially its national parks. He was given the name Mitt, after the Roman god of mutual funds, and launched into the world with the lofty expectation that he would someday become the Arrow shirt man.
Romney was a precocious and gifted child. He uttered his first words (“I like to fire people”) at age 14 months, made his first gaffe at 15 months and purchased his first nursery school at 24 months. The school, highly leveraged, went under, but Romney made 24 million Jujubes on the deal.
Mitt grew up in a modest family. His father had an auto body shop called the American Motors Corporation, and his mother owned a small piece of land, Brazil. He had several boyhood friends, many of whom owned Nascar franchises, and excelled at school, where his fourth-grade project, “Inspiring Actuaries I Have Known,” was widely admired….
… He had a pet rock, which ran away from home because it was starved of affection. He bought a mood ring, but it remained permanently transparent. His ability to turn wine into water detracted from his popularity at parties…
After his governorship, Romney suffered through a midlife crisis, during which he became a social conservative. This prepared the way for his presidential run. He barely won the 2012 Republican primaries after a grueling nine-month campaign, running unopposed. At the convention, where his Secret Service nickname is Mannequin, Romney will talk about his real-life record: successful business leader, superb family man, effective governor, devoted community leader and prudent decision-maker. If elected, he promises to bring all Americans together and make them feel inferior.
You know, I would bet a store-bought cookie that Mitt Romney managed to insult David Brooks by confusing him with David Gregory, or Jake Tapper, or possibly the hotel concierge who was supposed to be dropping off a freshly-pressed stack of mom jeans and temple garments. As I said over the weekend:
Mitt keeps making it obvious that, for him, anyone not a white male worth at least a few million is just an interchangeable cog. A member of “The Help”, as Charlie Pierce puts it. He doesn’t need to understand our quaint little folkways, honor our tiny vanities, even remember our names—we just aren’t important enough to take up that much space in Willard “Mitt” Romney’s beautiful mind…. Romney can’t manage to fake that GOP-standard wink’n’nod “we’re special, not like those horrible Democrats” bonhomie. It infuriates the very people he most needs to support him that he patently can’t tell the difference between Sean Hannity and Wolf Blitzer and the chairman of the tri-county RNC nominating committee and the counter monkey fetching Mitt’s hot chocolate.
David Brooks will not be treated like just another stenographer, handy to take dictation from whichever Mad Man front-office suit snaps his fingers! David Brooks, faithful courtier, expects to be treated with the respect due to someone who can brag that a sitting U.S. Senator once spent an entire dinner party fondling his thigh! His teeth may be tiny, but he is well positioned to sink them into cruel, oblivious Willard’s most vulnerable tissues!