So, by extension, Romney is saying that he could be President but not be responsible for what happens to the nation.
Perfect.
So, by extension, Romney is saying that he could be President but not be responsible for what happens to the nation.
"The Cheney vision of foreign policy, the neocon vision, the very hawkish vision, that still prevails in the Republican Party. ... If you listen to Mitt Romney talk right now, you're listening to Dick Cheney talk."
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Most Americans by now have a passing familiarity with the way the anti-choice movement has grown past attacks on abortion and is moving on to attacks on contraception access, from defunding Planned Parenthood to fighting the Obama administration on an HHS requirement to make contraception available without a co-pay to women with insurance. What they may see less of is the war on contraception that’s going on in the culture. Anti-choice activists have been turning up the volume on misinformation campaigns aimed at creating doubt in the public, especially among young people, about the efficacy of contraception. These efforts started in earnest under the Bush administration, with the explosion of federally funded abstinence-only programs. As those programs have mostly receded due to utter inability to convince kids to abstain from sex, efforts like 1 Flesh and the Pill Kills have stepped up to try to sow doubts about the use of contraception.
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NEW YORK (The Borowitz Report) July 11, 2012 – Republican presidential nominee Mitt Romney today released this letter to the American people:
Dear American Person:
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Let's say you met the love of your life, and you wrote her a series of passionate love letters. In these letters, you told her how you intended to protect her, cherish her, and always keep her safe. And then let's say somebody went and told you that you had to make those love letters available for the world to see. If you're even half the man I am, you'd say, "Heck no."
Well, in my case, the love of my life is my money. (If you don't believe me, ask Ann.) And my tax returns are like my love letters to my money, detailing the lengths to which I'll go to keep my precious money from being taken away from me. If you think I should make those love letters public, then I'm sorry, my friend, but you don't believe in love.
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In conclusion: if refusing to release my tax returns and having foreign bank accounts is wrong, I don't want to be right. I did it all for love. And as your President, I promise I will never, ever come between you and the thing you love. Unless you're gay. (Laughing Out Loud.)
Pastor: ‘God wants Ron Paul to be president… We must obey’
NAACP boos Romney for promising to kill ‘Obamacare’
At what point in yesterday's bacchanalia on the beach did Mitt Romney think things had might have gone too far? Held at the ocean-kissing home of billionaire David Koch, it was a $50,000 a head fundraiser for the ostensible Republican nominee for president. Really, one well-placed drone attack and the moral balance of the world would have instantly improved significantly.
At Koch's joint, Romney's lips were already chapped because of all the moneyed dick and clit he had engorged in the first two gatherings. He turned to Ann, who smiled and knew her job for the rest of the evening. God, it was an awful spectacle. Ann Romney was handed around like a blow-up doll during hazing time at a frat house filled with pledges. Mitt watched, loyal husband, as the financiers and corporate CEOs and executives took turns, sometimes two or three at a time, and Ann graciously, even lady-like, took it all, all the pricks and twats, all the fingers and tongues, all the juices and jizz, like a fountain in reverse. If Mitt didn't know better, he'd think that Ann enjoyed it. When the hosts, David and Charles Koch, were done tag-team fisting her, they said they had a surprise, one that they knew Mitt would go along with. When they brought out the horse, Mitt didn't even feel queasy. How else would he earn enough filthy lucre to surpass the vaunted Obama fundraising machine? He winked at Ann and, oh, a splendid time was had by all. Especially the horse.
Of course, there was no alcohol or caffeine. You have to draw the line somewhere.
We must agree on a basic framework. We must share a semi-coherent baseline of common understanding. Gravity. Relativity. Evolution. White wine with fish. Radiohead. That sort of thing. Otherwise it’s all tiny-brained creationism, lizard overlords from the fifth dimension and thinking God hiccuped one groggy morning, and boom, gazelles. And no one wants that.
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And isn’t this, ultimately, the entire point? Are we not are like Scheherazade herself in 1001 Nights, spinning our fanciful, cliffhanger stories to the universe every night in the desperate hope our tales, our discoveries, our bosons will earn us just one more pardon?
So the Democrats write a Senate bill giving tax breaks to small businesses for hiring, figuring it's a cinch for Republican support. Ha ha ha ha! Charlie Brown, will you ever learn?
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The House's planned vote Wednesday to fully repeal Obamacare ultimately amounts to little more than political theater, given that House Republicans have made 30 previous attempts to repeal all or part of the law, all of which have gone nowhere in the Democrat-controlled Senate. But this week's vote does offer several politically vulnerable members a new chance to distinguish themselves on this hot-button issue.
Ahead of Wednesday's vote, at least two House Democrats have indicated plans to side with a majority of Republicans to reject portions of the law. Both face uncertain re-election odds.
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[...] The current Willard, of course, is opposed to mandates because he is the nominee of a party full of crazy people. [...]
I'm Mitt Romney, bitches, and I'm all you got left.
Stop sweating me, okay? It's time for my nap. Tell Kristol to shut up or I'll look under the lawn chairs until I find enough loose change to buy that little magazine of his and sell it to the publisher of Biker Mamas for a 200-percent profit. Let Kristol go cover Bike Week in Laconia next summer if he wants to run his yap. And Murdoch? He doesn't like me? Tell you what: How about I get in there and revoke that tin citizenship medal that he's got and let him go back to selling titty magazines to sheep farmers in Queensland. He's over here because people like me allow him to be over here. Goddamn immigrant. I hope the senile old fool is tapping my phone, because I won't have to shout at him that,
I'm Mitt Romney, bitches, and I'm all you got left.
In case you haven't noticed, they're still all coming to me. I've been running them through the obstacle course up here all week. Jindal's parking cars, and Pawlenty's almost got the entire pool cleaned out, and Portman mixes a fine dark-and-stormy for the cocktail hour every day. Ann's got Portman cleaning out the stalls. Fine man with a shovel, that Portman, but, Jesus H. Christ Come To Arkansas, he's boring. Ayotte was around this afternoon, but she has to be back on the pole by 8:00 because I promised one of the kids — Tagg, or Tripp, or Tybalt, or Queequeg or whatever the hell his name is — a show for his friends tonight. They will do anything just to be the person I get to send to the funerals of the presidents of countries I could buy for what I've spent on alfalfa for that damn horse, because, well:
I'm Mitt Romney, bitches, and I'm all you got left.
Today, like the rest of the world,
when I woke I wrapped myself in myths.
They are comfortable and warming in what can seem like such a cold world.
Yes, they are old and worn but they are familiar
and even the most fashion forward find comfort in this thread-worn garb. ...
They tell me that the rich shall inherit the Earth,
and that they will be beneficent rulers.
The myths that I wear tell me
that giving to the rich is better than giving to those in need,
so we as a nation heap blessings upon the rich
expecting 'trickle down' to make it rain on those of us below.
Yet, we remain drenched in our inability
to pay the rent,
pay for college,
save for the future...
at times, even believe we have much of a future.
...
They tell me that the least of these deserve what they get,
that “But for the grace of God, there go I,”
believing that somehow God's grace falls more abundantly on me.
They tell me that I must shut off who God created me to be
and live into the image the world expects of me
because who I am on the inside won't be accepted on the outside.
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Loving God,
take from me this earthly garb,
for not only are they old and thread-worn...
but they reek.
They stink of the stench of power, money and greed.
They have the foul odor of prestige, self-importance and control.
They fill my nostrils with an offensive aroma
that smacks of a history of abuse, belittlement and pain.
They exude with the suffering they let me ignore.
They ooze with the memories of the blood that has been lost.
They smell to high heaven and point to my complicity
in the lies of this world.
...
Help us, O God.
Should Jeep build the `Old Man Truck’?

A New York City donor a few cars back, who also would not give her name, said Romney needed to do a better job connecting. "I don't think the common person is getting it," she said from the passenger seat of a Range Rover stamped with East Hampton beach permits. "Nobody understands why Obama is hurting them.
"We've got the message," she added. "But my college kid, the baby sitters, the nails ladies -- everybody who's got the right to vote -- they don't understand what's going on. I just think if you're lower income -- one, you're not as educated, two, they don't understand how it works, they don't understand how the systems work, they don't understand the impact."
Two Arrested Trying To Crash Romney Fundraiser