To the American People:
Recently, it has come to my attention that certain factions of the liberal media machine do not believe my husband really represents you, the people. With my husband’s signed permission, I am writing this letter in order to dispel myths and to assure you that nothing could be further from the truth.
As some of you urge my husband to release his tax returns, you people need to understand that, as President, Mitt’s job won’t be to give you information. It will be to hoard all of the information so that your feeble minds don’t get confused or overwhelmed. Then he can make the sort of level-headed decision that only a straight white land-owning male can make.
That’s what this country was founded on. That’s what a President is for.
I haven’t made one decision during our entire marriage. My name’s not even Ann. Mitt just decided it was. I once suggested adding an ‘e’ to the end of it and Mitt made me sit in the Time-Out Chair for two weeks. Just as I have come to love my name, you will come to love not having health insurance. The next time your son Pablo breaks his leg and you have to set it with two branches and some off-brand Saran Wrap, consider it a lesson. Not only does this teach Pablo not to fall down the stairs when he’s moving my armoire up to the master suite, it also adds a little excitement to your undoubtedly dull life of poverty. It’s like Russian Roulette without the communism. There’s nothing more American than that sort of risk-taking spirit.
Despite accusations to the contrary, my husband truly feels connected to the working class. Just the other day, he went down to the soup kitchen to visit Herman Cain. Mitt may be worth millions, but he could be worth billions if he put his mind to it. But no, he chooses to spend his time giving speeches to the NAACP and generally trying to make you people understand how much he truly cares about our country. To my husband, it doesn’t matter what nation in Europe your people are from or what Ivy League school you went to. We’re all Americans. Some of us are just more American than others.
At the end of the day, we Romneys are just like you. Sure, we may have a car elevator and you may live in your car, but what’s important is that we know what’s best for you. Even more important, we know that what’s best for us is what’s best for you.
Yes, we wrote off $77,000 in taxes for our dressage horse Rafalca. But do any of you people know how much it costs to dress a dressage horse? No, of course you don’t. You people just look at that number and think, “I can’t even count that high” or some nonsense about not being able to feed your family. But consider all of our expenses: the fancy horseshoes, the trips to Europe, the mud baths. She’s an Olympic athlete, for crying out loud. That horse lives better than I do, and I haven’t washed my own hair in thirty years.
As the election nears, I encourage you people to stop calling for my husband’s tax returns and start calling for some of Obama’s documents. Maybe he released a “birth certificate,” but is Hawaii even really a state? Has anyone checked lately? These are the sort of investigative efforts you don’t see from the flag-burning God-hating leftist yellow journalism that pervades today’s media.
This election is about more than getting a possibly illegal immigrant out of the White House. It’s about defending the very bedrock of this great nation, a bedrock laid by hardworking brown people with low expectations combined with the cunning and wealth of men like my husband.
I urge you people, come to your senses.
Vote Mitt Romney this November.