As the democrats look on in feigned horror, there is visible evidence something has gone "pffffttt" in Romney's presidential campaign. After waking from a nap in the back of his gaudy tour bus Sunday afternoon, Romney looked in the mirror and was shocked to see his Brylcreem and Just for Men-saturated noggin replaced with nothing but a large question mark. His brain had been hacked by the super-secret internet vigilante group, Anonymous.
After letting out a muffled scream, he hurriedly tip-toed to the front of the bus, and demanded, "Whoever played this practical joke better fess up now or as Joseph Smith is my witness, you will never reach the celestial kingdom, if I have anything to do with it."
Then he went silent and bent slightly forward at the waist. His rigid back topped with the question mark gave him the look of a half-stuffed scarecrow with a scythe for a head. After he whirred, clicked and let out a series of loud smacking noises, he said in a hollow robotic voice, "We are Anonymous. We are Legion. We do not forgive. We do not forget. Expect us."
Then a data dump began that would make a deathbed confession by J. Edgar Hoover sound like a fairy tale. First of all, there was the confession that each of the 5 ugly dumplings Romney calls his children are a collection of first born sons from business partners, who were unfortunate enough to see the "business end" of Bain Capital, when they didn't pay Bain's outlandish management fees, or sign where they were told.
Then he offered up reams of data including an incredibly long series of numbers, safe combinations, debits, credits, return on equity and cost-benefit ratios, percentages and quantifiable differences, various depreciation techniques, meeting minutes with entire colonies of capitalist vampires, and an admission that yes, he was a tax-evading felon and Paul Ryan is the first thing to give him a boner in 38 years.
Ann, who was just getting used to the question-mark-as-a-head Romney was now sporting, because she thought it complemented his empty suit, screamed in horror at the last revelation, because she never thought Romney actually had a penis, since she had never seen him naked and thought her children were brought by storks. She only had a vague idea of a penis as something that looked like a serpent with two eyes, long fangs and big hairy jowls. It flashed through her mind that one morning years ago, she thought she saw something wink at her from an opening in his boxer shorts as he sat down on their chesterfield and snapped open the Wall Street Journal.
The malicious Anonymous attack didn't stop there. Without the requisite spoiler alert, Anonymous told Romney how Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged ends, and forced him to watch images of the reality of war.
After a few panicked phone calls, Romney's tech team showed up with a handful of floppy discs, a half-roll of scotch tape, a pair of tweezers and a dog-eared copy of Popular Mechanics from March, 1978.
When they walked in the door, Romney fell to the floor and began spewing pinkish white goo from his head-hole and emitted a series of panicked beeps, each one softer than the next. His light began to fade and after a spasm or two from his delicate "never worked hard a day in his life" hands, a loud smacking sound echoed from inside his hollow neck, then silence.
Ann screamed, "Mitt!" And it must have been a Mormon miracle, because when he heard her voice, he stood up, walked over to the mirror, looked at the big question mark and exclaimed, "You know, I think the new look is me. In fact, it underlines everything I've stood for in this campaign-a big fat bunch of absolutely nothing topped by a big question mark.
He stepped out of the bus and used a series of stuttering steps to access the crowd of adoring white-breads. Once again, Mitt's acumen was right-on. After a couple of denials that it existed, not even the press noticed the big question mark between his shoulders. A couple of protester's began shouting about it, but they were quickly ushered from the rally as the white-breads chanted "USA, USA" over and over.