Dish on Mit 

There is much confusion in the land about the precise nature of the relationship between presidential aspirant Mit Romney and Republican kingmaker Donald Trump. Up until last week, The Donald had nothing but contempt for the Mitster, a contempt that Mit loyalists ascribed to gnawing jealousy on the part of the comb-over king directed toward Mit’s splendid head of hair.

Close observers of the political scene have long been familiar with Trump’s constant trashing of Romney. Back in April, for instance, the pouty-lipped game-show host was telling the world that he could buy and sell the former governor of Massachusetts, who made his fortune as a leveraged buyout wizard (firing employees to increase the “value” of a business). “Mit Romney is really a small businessman,” opined The Donald. “I’m a much much bigger businessman. My net worth is many, many, many times that of Mit Romney.” Trump was equally dismissive of Romney’s political ideas, ridiculing them as “trivial.” Even worse, Mit didn’t “resonate” with the American people.

Then last week, after Mit made a pilgrimage to Trump Tower to kiss the resident’s very fleshy posterior, the same Trump began singing the Olympics savior’s praises.

Trump told CNN’s Wolf Blitzer that he and Romney “really hit it off.” Not only that, but, “The meeting went really, really well. We had a really great meeting. I told Mit he had done really, really well in the debates.” In other words, The Donald really liked Mit. He really, really did.

So what’s the real deal? Is it really, really important, as The Donald might say, to ascertain exactly where The Donald stands vis-a-vis the candidacy of Mit Romney? Is he saying those nice things about our Mit just because Mit came bowing and scraping into his sulking presence? Or, in his heart of hearts, does The Donald really regard Mit as a small-potatoes, punk pretender?

Much to our surprise, we found it pretty easy to obtain an audience with Mr. Trump, as with all due respect he should be called. At first, it was somewhat disconcerting to talk with Mr. Trump, as he was practicing facial expressions—mostly pouts and sneers—in one of the ornate mirrors on every wall of his executive suite. We were also disappointed that we couldn’t get up close and personal with his mysterious hair—during our interview he was wearing a bright-yellow stocking cap.

Deep End: We know you don’t like to beat around the bush, so we’ll get straight to the point. America has turned to you, the most successful man in its history, to tell them who to vote for. All the Republican candidates—Rick, Michele, Herman and Sarah—have made pilgrimages to seek your favor and endorsement. In our capacity as spokesperson for the people of Utah, we want you to anoint our favorite son, Mit Romney. But you’ve sent out conflicting signals on the man who so loved his country that he saved its Olympics. Can you give our readers the real dope?

The Donald: You finished? I’m the one supposed to hog the floor. So, Mit—by the way, why did he drop the second “T” in his name?

DE: Downsizing, to show he’s just a regular guy.

TD: I used to think Mit was a real dope, but after meeting him, the word that comes to mind is dull. Really, really dull. That’s dull with two L’s. I told him to loosen up a bit, maybe get a girlfriend to spice up his image. But he really can’t tell a decent joke, so I told him to nix the jokes.

DE: We got a kick out of his joke about not really being a politician. You know, “I was governor for four years, but never inhaled.”

TD: Hardy har-har. He’s told that a million times, and still no one gets it, because it’s really stupid. Really, really stupid. Instead, he ought to adopt a cute puppy, after all the outrage about tying his Irish setter to the top of the family car for a 13-hour trip across Canada.

DE: A lot of folks think you’re just really jealous of Mit, especially of his hair and his chin.

TD: Listen, you putz. I’d rather have a comb-over than hair plugs and a dye-job. It’s fake.

DE: What about rumors that you swirl your hair all over your head to distract people from your receding chin?

TD: You’re fired! Herbie, throw this guy out!

D.P. Sorensen writes a satire column for City Weekly.