“No one’s ever asked to see my birth certificate.” —Mit Romney, speaking at a campaign rally in Michigan, Aug. 24, 2012
At what was billed as Willard “Mit” Romney’s “Mormon Coming Out Party,” the newly ordained Republican presidential nominee solidified his birther credentials by producing his celestial birth certificate. The golden document, written in Reformed Egyptian, attested to his “spiritual birth” on a planet somewhere in the vicinity of the star Kolob in a celestial galaxy far, far away. The document was signed by God, Jesus, Michael the Archangel and Donald Trump.
To the delight of the assembled Republicans, all of whom were waving their birth certificates, nominee Romney proceeded to lay down a challenge to Barack Obama: “Match this, Mr. Foreign Man European Socialist with a Dark Skin who doesn’t know what it’s like to be a real American. You may or you may not have been born a patriotic American, but we know of a surety that you were not valiant in the Pre-Existence. Otherwise, you would have a spiritual birth certificate signed by God and his three assistants.”
Mr. Romney then announced that one of God’s assistants had made a special trip to Tampa to verify his heavenly birth certificate.
“Here he is, brothers and sisters, the special assistant to God in charge of disinformation and duplicity, the man who makes it hot for Lucifer, the only man with a better head of hair than me, give it up ladies and germs for the despicable Donald Trump!”
Mr. Romney and the Donald appeared to be exchanging some sort of secret handshake, after which Mr. Romney, as is his wont, favored The Donald with a shoulder massage. The Donald gave him a funny look and then launched into a sneering put-down of Barack Obama, observing that he never once saw the guy up in Heaven and speculated that he was obviously some kind of alien being, even though he was much more human than his “friend Mitch Romney.”
“But in addition to being in the delivery room, along with the Big Guy, his kid Jehovah and this dude calling himself Michael the Archangel, I can tell you Mit is more human than he looks. The test for me is his hair, which is almost as good as mine.”
Next up after Trump was Utah’s own Mia Love, the singular sensation from Saratoga Springs. The Donald looked her up and down as she ascended to the podium. He elicited many murmurs from the congregation when he greeted Ms. Love with a very enthusiastic and form-fitting hug. But Romney authorities later explained that The Donald was merely performing a special embrace known among the cognoscenti as the Five Points of Fellowship.
The fervent Ms. Love told the congregation that she wanted to second the emotion expressed earlier by Sister Romney, who had testified that her husband, Mit, had come to Earth to get a body and save the United States of America.
“I know that the Republican Party is true, and I know that Brother Romney is the true candidate,” said Ms. Love. “And another thing,” said Ms. Love, warming to her subject. “We all know how often Brother Romney puts his foot in his mouth when he gets off script, like last week when he joked about no one ever asking for his birth certificate. But you have to know him to love him and his special sense of humor. It used to bug me when he called me Gladys Knight, but now I know I just have to cringe and bear it.”
After Ms. Love spoke, several other luminaries mounted the stage to “re-introduce” Mr. Romney to America. Gov. Chris Christie of New Jersey promised that if the nominee ever flip-flopped again, he would personally take it upon himself to go the White House and sit on him.
The highlight of the evening was a heart-warming video showing a softer side of Mr. Romney. Old classmates from Cranbrook fondly reminisced about how gentle young Willard was when he gave them a haircut, and that the gay kid whose bangs Willard snipped off would have had a better haircut if he hadn’t struggled when he was pinned to the ground.
The video ended with a re-enactment of Seamus’ famous ride on top of the Romney station wagon across the windy plains of Canada, with Jason Chaffetz playing the terrified canine.
“Apart from the insects smashing into my face and some minor pooping, it wasn’t so bad,” confided the windblown Congressman.
D.P. Sorensen writes a satire column for City Weekly.