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Posted June 23, 2016


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Bulletin: Mitt Romney Comes Down from Mount Elephant


By Arelya J. Mitchell, Publisher/Editor-in-Chief

The Mid-South Tribune and the Black Information Highway


I don’t know what to make of this boy. Yes, my favorite white boy is at it again. The poor little rich boy can’t believe the renegade rich boy has claimed the Republican Presumptive Nominee title. Now my favorite little white boy has decided ‘him’ wants ‘him’ own party. Boohoo.

            Yes, people-linos, I am talking about my boy, Mitt as Mitt Romney. That 47% Mitt who cannot believe he has been beaten once again, and this time by the politically incorrect upstart Trump and that Trump has essentially told him to kiss his rump.

            If my boy Mitt hadn’t been so rich he would have been locked up as a bona-fide nut job under the illusion that he is king of America. All others regardless of party affiliation are mere pretenders to the throne.

            While the ruckus was going on about Trump, the Mittster was donning on his long red robe. He then went before his subjects (I mean citizens) to deliver a televised speech to denounce the Donald. He turned and waved his wand, pronouncing that the Donald must go, that he is not fit to be the nominee, that he is not fit to be President, that he is not presidential. Yes, my boy came out and rattled on in a long forgotten speech before the American public that this must not happen… but, alas, by the time King Mitt came out, the Donald had whipped the behinds of nearly a dozen or more contenders. Yes, what Mitty had thought was an arrogant jester was now the Republican Presumptive Presidential Nominee.

            My little white boy held up his arms to part the ‘Red’ Sea to get the Republicans to see the right light. I was there. I witnessed this.

            Then I looked up – and behold—there was Mitt climbing Mount Elephant. I along with others waited for Mitt. America waited for Mitt. The world waited for Mitt. We all waited for Mitt with the same belief that Pluto would once again become a planet.

            My beloved Mitt… Come back, Mitt… Come back, Shane—I mean Mitt—come back!

            I sat and wept along with the rest of America. What sin had we committed for Mitt to go up to Mount Elephant?

            Yes, we are now waiting and waiting… It is getting near Republican Convention time…

            Lo! Lo!  I fall on my knees! I believe I see my beloved white boy coming down from the mount to save the Republican Party—to save America! Alas! But who is with him? Is it Ryan’s Hope? Yes, there is a group following him. They’re wearing ‘Dump Trump’ armor.  Mitt is still wearing his long red robe. His hair has turned white! He looks elegant! Magnificent! A figure to behold!

            Mitt is now passing a group known to many as the Elephant Elites…he is now passing a group known as the Elephant Establishment… The EE’s they are called. They are screaming, “Mitt, save us! Save us! The Donald will destroy what the Republican Party stands for… He will destroy what the Elephant stands for…what America stands for… Mitt, Mitt! We beg of you!”

            But I cannot scream. I am in awe of Mitt as he passes. Yet, somehow I find the strength to look up at Mitt. He is carrying a tablet made of platinum. I can see there is something written on it.

            Mitt pauses. He turns toward the crowd.

  “Thou shalt not have Donald Trump as the Presumptive Nominee!” His voice thunders across the sky.

            “But, Mitt—Mitt!” I scream, yell to the top of my lungs. “He already is!”

            “Then I shall destroy the Republican Party!” Mitt declares. “I shall destroy the world! I shall make Pluto a planet again!”

            “But, Mitt, my little rich, Ritchie Rich, angry little rich white boy, The People who voted for him in the primaries have already spoken. They want the Donald!”

            “People?” Mitt yells. “What people? Who are The People to tell me what to do? I shall gather my troops, and we shall march into the Republican Convention and do what is necessary and what is best for the peasants!”

            “What’s that, Mitty? My old pal, my rich spoiled lovable pal, my rich pal who is filthy rich and thinks nothing of the 47%, my old pal who loves the One Percent, my favorite white boy in the world!”

            I see Mitt turning to me with a scowl. I shiver. I quake in ‘me’ boots!  Then he glares at us all. “I shall sacrifice the Republican Party Elephant, because we all know the truth and the truth shall set you free.”

            “What truth, Mitt? Tell us the truth, so we can be free!” someone in the white Middle Class yells out. “We have tried to remain Middle Class, but we cannot hold on!”

            Mitt holds his head higher as he looks over this white middle class person. He turns and looks above the heads of the peasants. He turns yet again and climbs a little upwards on Mount Elephant, stops, then lets his eyes roam out over the sky in the direction of Pluto.

“Mitt, Mitt! What shall we do? Oh, what shall we do?” someone pleads.

 Mitt sneers down at him and us all. He once again looks in the direction of Pluto then continues his climb. “We must replace the Republican Party’s Presumptive Nominee with one of ‘my’ own to defeat once and for all The People!”

“But, Mitt, we’re The People,” this lone voice whimpers in the wake of an avalanche.








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