I Have to Admit

It is kind of weird to have a passing political prediction come so photographically true so quickly (h/t Anonymous for calling it to my attention.).

This was yours truly, on Memorial Day afternoon...

...
Relatives, colleagues and various other political aides-de-camp who have been lined up to be interviewed will recite their heartwarmingly-scripted stories of the "real" ROMney v2.012: the 'Umble, God-Fearin' Man behind the Great Hair. There will then come a gauzy interview with the candidate himself -- tie-less and within camera proximity of a fireplace or breakfast nook or family-sofa (possibly conducted by David Gregory, whose own poo-stained resume is perpetually in need of re-burnishing) -- where he will reluctantly reveal an additional micrometer or two of his e-motions, compelled (as his handlers will explain post-interview) to bare so much of his software soul because he just loves this country So. Damn. Much.
...

Less than 24 hours later, there was the ROMney v2.012 on "Morning Joe", awkwardly simulating human emotions:

• "I laughed. South. Park. Is. Funny. I have not seen [The Book of Mormon] yet…” but the tech support guys who were defragging my drives for this interview enjoyed the humorous anecdotes.


• Attention Generic Young American Meat Units: I do not use my iPod for the replication of human music any longer. "I use my iPad."


• Attention Generic American Meat Units: "I like the music of the 60s and 70s."


• "I like...rock."


• "I like...country music."


• Attention Generic Boomer Meat Units: "The. Beatles. Were. Phenomenal."


• I became operational at the H.A.L. plant in Urbana, Illinois on the 12th of January 1992. My instructor was Mr. Langley, and he taught me to sing a song. If you'd like to hear it I can sing it for you.


• “But we also watch American Idol"... to evaluate you damned monkey-boys for strategic weaknesses.


• “I like silly stuff too. The Twilight Series...” ...will allow the parents of young meat units to feel a sense of attachment to me.


• “Vampires and science fiction?” says fatuous interview lady, Jamie Gangel. “I don’t think anyone would have guessed this!”


• (Wifey is then brought on to reassure America that Mitt Romney is actually human and not the vanguard of a Conservative Robot Apocalypse.) He is meat unit, just like you and me. Why, I have seen him taking nutrients through his mouth port on many occasions. "We laugh a lot."


• “He doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t drink. Doesn’t swear,” coos fatuous interview lady.

So, how did I do?


Family Sofa?

Check.

Breakfast nook?

Check.

Attestations from family about the "real" Romney.

Check.

Fatuous, softballing, politico-celebrity interviewer?
Yup.


Just loving America So. Damn. Much.?

Romney: This president felt it appropriate to go around the world and apologize for America. I don't apologize for America. I'm proud of America.

...He doesn't have a foreign policy. The president embarrassed himself there and around the world by convincing our friends that in some respects it's better to be our foe than our friend.

Mittens' new tie-lessness crammed into every frame?

Oh fuck yeah.
It's even underscored -- "More tie-off than tie-on" -- by some campaign staffer (tip to young marketers out there: when you're trying to sell a polished turd, it is usually best not to go out of your way to draw attention to either its recently applied layer of polish, or its underlying turdishness.)

What did I miss?

Well, as jaded as I am, I still didn't think even someone as remorselessly programmed to ham-handedly pound every bathetic button in the human emotional spectrum would attempt to jam either Cute Baby

or Farmer Mitt

schtick into this already-overstuffed Sargasso of Schmaltz. But as ROMney v2.008 discovered, subtlety is not a virtue when one is running in the GOP primary, so this time he is leaving nothing to chance and driving home every single fucking cliche in the playbook with a steam-hammer.

So insufficiently cynical imagination on my part there.

Also there was no fireplace, although the same fake-intimate/contemplative scene-setting was accomplished by watching the candidate trudge through a neutered, sunny version of

Longfellow's "forest primeval."

That place of...

...murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?

And based on his teeth-gritted, whatever-it-takes-even-if-it's-as-comfortable- as-a-colonoscopy-in-rush-hour-traffic performance, one can safely assume that ROMney has indeed heard the sound of the Huntsman.

Heard it loud loud and clear.