Lapdog

Here Mittens, here boy. Come on, where are you Mittens?

I’m right here.

Ok, come on boy, over here to the far right.

I’m actually comfortable where I am.

No, no. Remember, you said you were “severely” conservative. Now get over here before I smack your nose with the constitution.

I really don’t want to change my positions.

You’re not serious are you? You change positions every day. You flip and flop like a trout on the bottom of a fishing boat. Besides, if you want to be president you’ll do what you’re told. Here, read the party platform.

This . . . is . . . horrifying.

Yeah, it’s good stuff. We had some young, female delegates who objected to a bit of the language but we told them to shut up and bake some cookies. I love cookies. Anyway, the Republican Party isn’t about youth or women; it’s about old, rich, white men. Like you.

I’m not that rich . . .

And I’m not a liberal journalist so don’t try to sell me cow shit and say it’s mud pie.

Huh?

Son, we didn’t choose you as our candidate because we like you or think you can win or because we believe in you. We chose you because we had to pick someone . . . and . . . you were there. You’re like Mt. Everest. Why will people vote for you? Because you’re there.

But my ideas . . .

The less said about them the better. Mum’s the word. Now I’m going to roll the party platform up into a tube and tie it up with strips of flesh from the working class. Then I’m going to throw it and you’re going to fetch.

I have a fundraiser to get to . . .

Fetch Mittens! Come on boy; bring the toy back to your master. That’s a good boy, who’s a good boy?