From: Donna Banta
Subject: A nightmare come true
Yesterday afternoon I was at home minding my own business when my cell phone erupted with incoming texts and Facebook notifications. Seems some fiendish character hacked into my account and started sending bogus messages to my friends about a chance to win a free iPad. As I logged into my Facebook and stared lamely at the long list of spam sent by "me," my friend Donavan called:
Donavan: "Donna, you've been hacked."
Me: "I know! How can I go back and delete the messages?!!"
Donavan: (patiently)"You can't go back and delete them. Just change your password and post that you were hacked."
For a moment I was paralyzed by mortification. Sort of like in that scene where Uncle Billy screws up the bank deposit for the building and loan and George Bailey grabs him by the lapels and screams, "Where's that money you silly stupid old fool?"
But rather than drive off half-cocked and ram my Prius into a tree, I did as Donavan suggested. Then I braced myself for what I was sure would be a slew of angry messages.
But here's the thing. They never came. What came instead were sympathetic replies from people who knew the spam wasn't from me ("You would never start a message with OMFG"), good-natured jokes from people wanting to know where their free iPad was (one friend claimed his just arrived in the mail), and endearing notes from people who didn't know what to make of "my" message but were glad to hear from me anyway. At the end of the day, I climbed into bed wrapped in the warm karma of friendship.
Then I had a really really scary dream.
I dreamt I was at the Republican Convention. -- Told you it was scary. -- And the Republicans were going to nominate a self-righteous, full-of-himself Mormon prick who loves firing people, boasts about finding ways to avoid paying tax, has no real principles, and will say anything to get elected.
For years my dear friends in the Abbottsville Fourth Ward have longed for the day when one of their own would earn the Republican nomination. Finally their faith would be accepted as part of the religious mainstream. That might have been the case if the Republicans had chosen Huntsman. But I don't think Romney's going to deliver for them.
In the beginning reporters and commentators were careful to avoid the subject of Romney's religion. But after enduring an onslaught of the candidate's gaffes, misstatements, lame jokes, prolonged bouts of verbal diarrhea, offhand accidental insults, and bizarre moments of bursting into song, members of the media are finding the subject unavoidable. There has to be some explanation for this man's over-the-top oafish behavior. Even Republican journalists are incredulously weighing in. For example, David Brooks' editorial, "The Real Romney," in today's New York Times. The entire piece is a must-read, but for here I'll paraphrase:
"...After hearing Lou Reed's 'Walk on the Wild Side,' Romney decided to leave Mormonism and become Amish. He left the Amish faith because of its ban on hair product . . . Romney also went on a mission to France. He spent two years knocking on doors, failing to win a single convert. This was a feat he would replicate during his 2008 presidential bid . . . Mitt helped Ann raise five perfect sons -- Bip, Chip, Rip, Skip and Dip -- who married identically tanned wives . . . He barely won the 2012 Republican primaries after a grueling nine month campaign, running unopposed . . ."
Nevertheless, the Mormons continue to bravely keep their chins up. Over a Utah delegation breakfast entitled, "Omelettes with Orrin," Senator Mike Lee told the New York Times about an upcoming convention after-party featuring hamburger sliders and root beer floats. "When the Utah delegation is feeling really crazy, that's when they break out not only club soda but the Diet Coke," Mr. Lee said. "And for extra craziness, they'll add lime."
Call them crazy, all right. But aside from the Utah delegation, there has been little celebration among the Republicans.
You know, for a guy who plans on having his own planet someday, Romney sure isn't very good at controlling the weather. -- Not just the storms that blow through the Gulf, but also the angry gusts that stir within his own party.
Most nominees use the week leading up to their convention as a time for the party to rally around the candidate and his ideas. Romney took a different approach. Instead he and his party used these crucial days to debate what they seem to feel is a nuanced and complex issue that begs to be pushed to the forefront of our national conversation: Rape.
Then, worried that the whole "legitimate rape" discussion might cast him as something of a misogynist, Romney appeared before a rally of supporters and cracked yet another lame joke about the president's birth certificate. -- Thus, in one deft move, reminding Americans that the Mormon candidate's insensitivities extend not just to women, but also to people of color.
Next the Ron Paul delegates used the weather delay to stir up their own storm over their candidate not being offered a speaking slot at the convention.
~In response, a robotic voice from the heavens proclaimed, "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Ron."
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, Mitt whined and stamped his feet. "This convention isn't about delegates! It's about ME and Ann and Bip, Chip, Rip, Skip and Dip!!!"~
At this point in the dream, it would be great if the angel Frank Capra appeared before Mitt Romney and told him to drop out of the race. Unfortunately it would never work. Romney's about to be a god. He doesn't take direction from angels.
|Voters, do not click on this link!|