Beware of Tweaks Wearing Lifts

I can't watch the news anymore. I can't believe the Paul Ryan-GOP budget, the one President Obama called Social Darwinism and a trojan horse. Ryan's budget basically allows the rich to use the poor as fuel for their houses, their cars and their lives. And once again Obama tries to make a point by obscuring it. When he brings up Social Darwinism and the trojan horse, I assume about half the country conjures up images of a bunch of monkeys sitting around having tea and cake near some gigantic wooden toy from the pre-FAO Schwartz-era.

So, since too many Americans are just gullible and do not comprehend their own self-interest, and the rest think "carcinogenic" means having the charisma of a late night talk show host, the other night I shut off the TV, closed my laptop and stretched out on my sofa with a good book, It Can't Happen Here, the 1935 chiller by Sinclair Lewis. But first, I ate a Greek salad with lots of Greek olives.

Before too long, I fell asleep and witnessed the following.

I am transported to the world according to the GOP. In a gated community where everyone is a Republican, it is bedtime. Everyone is exhausted with the smell of a November victory in the air. The next day will be election day. Mitt Romney is their presidential nominee. And all's right with their world.

As they are about to retire, a league of gentlemen head back to their homes from the club -- George H. W. Bush, Jeb Bush, John McCain, Chris Christie, George Pataki, Marco Rubio and Paul Ryan -- all Romney endorsers. They turn a corner and spot an unusual sight in the visitor parking lot -- the biggest limousine they have ever seen. An extreme Royal Stretch that looks like it can hold just about all the registered Republicans in Massachusetts.

As the men ooh and ahh and examine the vehicle, they note its features: shiny black paint job with polished chrome, white-wall tires, tinted windows, power-locked doors, a silver cage containing a stuffed dog on the roof and a huge pink bow tied on the driver's side mirror. Under the bow is a card that reads: "Thanks for all your support -- Mitt."

They slap one another on the back and agree that they were right in forgiving Romney for his sins and embracing him. They also agree to go home now and take the limo for a test drive after they vote tomorrow.

In the middle of the night I am alone in the visitor parking lot when suddenly the limo becomes a deluxe clown car -- all its doors fling open and dozens of tiny men jump out. They look identical -- dark suits, nondescript ties, white shirts and their hair brushed back. In fact, they all look like little Romneys. As they run toward the iron gates enclosing the community, I engage them in conversation.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"We're tweaks," says one. "Together we make up Mitt Romney. We're tweaks because that name reflects our job -- reaffirming while refreshing our principles, or your principles. A little tweak here, a little tweak there, and there you have it."

"We make up the original Mitt. Now that his job is done, ours begins," says another.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Meaning has nothing to do with it," says a third. "I am Mate Romney and I believe in same-sex marriage for all."

"I am Meet Romney," says a fourth. "I make money because I have an expertise in meeting and greeting."

"I am Might Romney," says a fifth, "and there might be a lot of good reasons for a woman to be in control of her reproductive rights."

"I am Moot Romney," says a sixth, "and I say there are at least three sides to every issue, but we should all have health care. This guy next to me might agree except we'll never know for sure. He's Mute Romney."

After I take a guess that the dog on top of the car is Mutt Romney, I notice these little men are all wearing lifts in their shoes.

"Why do you all wear lifts?" I ask.

"It's always best to be taller so you can overlook anything at a moment's notice," says the first one. "Now if you'll excuse us, we have a mission because we hear opportunism knocking."

With that, they rush the gates, swing them open and usher in millions of voters. The noise is enough to awaken all the Romney endorsers. The men clutch at straws and stab them randomly into the crowd, asking folks who they are and what do they want. Quickly, shock and awe wrinkles the faces of the endorsers.

"They say they got in here because little guys came out of that limousine and opened the gates," quakes Christie.

"They're all Democrats and they're hell-bent to vote for Obama," shrieks McCain.

"I'd say we've been hornswoggled by the likes of that limo," gnashes Bush senior.

"That's no limo," sneers Ryan. "That's a trojan hearse."

Then I woke up.