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Call it the race to the middle.
For a GOP desperate to find a credible nominee, Mitt Romney is looking like the on-brand, très bland alternative to Obama’s class warrior. The more that rootin’ tootin’ Rick Perry gets riled up at debates, the higher Mitt seems to fly. But what’s behind that sinister, high-end jawline of Mitt Romney’s?
Let’s check Twitter for our first clue:
This tells us that Mitt thinks campaigning is very hard. Basically, everyone eats like shit on campaigns—it’s all cigarettes, bad Chinese food, late nights with the girlfriends, margaritas in the morning, Sarah Palin fucking a dude in the back of the “Restoring America’s Concentration” bus or some similarly named bus emblazoned with a bald eagle snorting Ritalin, etc., etc.
It’s also because Mitt wants you know that #Corporationsarepeople, and just like people, they happily serve you foot-long breakfast sandwiches (Cal: 900) at 7 AM.
An earlier dispatch:
Hear that @JetBlue? You’re not easy enough for the governor. In the digital race, the Stormin’ Mormon’s got brandwith. Even his logo looks exactly (refreshlingly?) like the Aquafresh logo:
Now it appears Jamie Dimon, Chase bank overlord and bailout recipient—and former friend of our Kenyan President—has left Barack’s Wall Street fan club for the Romney fundraising circuit.
It’s enough to assure GOP donors that the former Taxachusetts governor’s got Big Love for big business.
But is Romney’s generic GOP face/campaign/diet really the brand au courant?
Something tells me that what America really needs is a little less sponsored. Romney’s brand of brandedness is so calculatingly off that the GOP should be more than worried. Should he ascend to the general election, the Chamber of Commerce types will wring their wrinkly, pale hands at his propensity for flip-fucking, while the rest of us back slowly away from his queasy name-dropping.
On the other side of the digital divide, Michelle Obama is hawking a chance to stuff your face in front of her husband:
These dinners!! God, because if there’s anything FLOTUS wants you to know—it’s that all she and Senor Hussein do is eat, eat, eat. And frankly, she’s a little sick of it. Countless meals. Endless long pauses while he looks at the Teleprompter for his next cue: “pass this bill…. I mean, pass the traditional Maasai porridge,” and so on, and so forth.
Either way, FLOTUS is keen to stay away from name-dropping the brand you really associate with her Harvard mafia hubbie, which is probably some fancy Jean-Gorges catered, Washington, D.C. insider egghead professor know-nothing communist buffet. And that it is why his re-election is assured. Unless Michele Bachmann gets colored contacts. Then all bets are off.