42 34 states that if something exists — as Mitt Romney does — there is erotica about it on the Internet. The Atlantic Wire has done a good job of chronicling the erotic fiction around the Romney/Ryan ticket. (“Dressage,” by someone named Bailey Marie, stands out as a particularly alarming example.) But it goes far deeper than that, back to February, when you ran across sentences like: “ ‘Trust me.’ Mitt said, bottom lip slightly quivering with the wild thoughts of what he was about to do next. . . ‘You know what? You are just the right height.’ ”
And this isn’t new to the 2012 cycle. There were entire blogs dedicated to Barack Obama and Rahm Emanuel, John Kerry and John Edwards, even a few moments stolen for Newt Gingrich. McSweeney’s even has a parody piece entitled, “Mitt Romney Writes Erotic Fiction About Himself.” (“Ann,” Mitt said, “I would like to make love to you, if that’s okay.”)
Not even the most lenient version of Post policy that I can imagine suggests that linking to these sorts of things would be a good idea. The best I can suggest is to envision the worst thing you can think of, add horses and make the writing marginally better than that of “50 Shades of Grey.”
Or you could just read the cover story in this fortnight’s National Review.
Never have I read anything so stirring as this piece, “Like a Boss,” by Kevin D. Williamson. It’s a really remarkable work of at-least-partially tongue-in-cheek erotic polemic that points out Mitt Romney’s irresistible appeal to women and paints him as a DOMINANT PHYSICAL MAN-HUNK COVERED IN MONEY, a Boss so virile he can spawn only sons. Take that, George Washington! Now Mitt needs to embrace his wealth and stop flying coach, and voters — especially lady voters — will flock to him in droves.
Look at this guy, Williamson writes:
“apex alpha executive, CEO, chairman of the board, governor, bishop, boss of everything he’s ever touched. Son of the same, father of more. It is a curious scientific fact (explained in evolutionary biology by the Trivers-Willard hypothesis — Willard, notice) that high-status animals tend to have more male offspring than female offspring, which holds true across many species, from red deer to mink to Homo sap. The offspring of rich families are statistically biased in favor of sons — the children of the general population are 51 percent male and 49 percent female, but the children of theForbes billionaire list are 60 percent male. Have a gander at that Romney family picture: five sons, zero daughters. Romney has 18 grandchildren, and they exceed a 2:1 ratio of grandsons to granddaughters (13:5). When they go to church at their summer-vacation home, the Romney clan makes up a third of the congregation. He is basically a tribal chieftain.”
Stop. I can’t read this on the subway. People will glance over my shoulder and I will be embarrassed. This should be entitled “50 Shades of Mitt.”
But Williamson doesn’t stop.
“From an evolutionary point of view,” he continues, “Mitt Romney should get 100 percent of the female vote. All of it. He should get Michelle Obama’s vote.”
“We don’t do harems here, of course,” he writes, “but Romney is exactly the kind of guy who in another time and place would have the option of maintaining one. He’s a boss.”
When I look at Mitt Romney, I don't see the personality of unbuttered toast and the sheer virile manpower of crème brulee. I am overawed by his raw masculinity. It was so hard to put my finger on why I felt this way, until I read Williamson’s piece. But it was the cash, of course. The cash, and the male offspring. When you see Mitt Romney walk from place to place, every woman’s first thought is: “Wow! I wonder if he would like to impregnate me with sons!”
If I had any complaints about Mitt Romney’s style of campaigning, it is that he needs to carry more wads of cash and hunks of bullion with him when he goes from place to place. The fact of his wealth is insufficiently present to my mind.
But Williamson’s not done yet.
“Hillary Rodham Clinton told us that it takes a village, and Mitt Romney showed us how to populate a village with thriving offspring. Newsweek, which as of this writing is still in business, recently ran a cover photo of Romney with the headline: ‘The Wimp Factor: Is He Just Too Insecure to Be President?’ Look at his fat stacks. Look at that mess of sons and grandchildren. Look at a picture of Ann Romney on her wedding day and that cocky smirk on his face. What exactly has Mitt Romney got to be insecure about?” In the original draft, Mitt climbed down off a horse during this passage, and his silvery mane was ruffled by the careless fingers of the wind. But someone had to go and strike that out.
He certainly gives the Mitt erotica writers a run for their money. (“The sweat rolled from his brow, dripping down, down onto his favorite tie. His tie that Ann had bought for him. Red, white, and blue. Tainted now - yellowed - by the bead of sweat which left a damp streak on the silky fabric.”) Forget that! It can’t compete! No smirks to be found.
It’s great. It’s funny. And he can do it on his employer’s dime. Whenever I try, I get decidedly un-erotic telephone calls from HR demanding to know what the Big Idea Is of All These Google Searches for “Mitt Romney + stallion” and “erotic Mitt Romney writings.”
Well played, sir.