Hello, human diary. It is I, Mitt Romney, your better.
The debate last night did not go as well as I had presumed it would. The presidential unit was considerably more vigorous in spirit than last time. My chair was very uncomfortable, and not the right height. I had complained beforehand about the chair, and they allowed me to practice sitting in it, but refused to diminish its height.
The president was very rude to me last night. I repeatedly demanded he answer my questions of him, but he refused—even though I am certain he is aware of my position as a unit of prominent wealth. He insisted on talking when I did not want them to. He accused me of having policy positions on things that I am fairly certain I have never recently admitted having policy positions on. Even the moderator was rude to me.
Given the circumstances, I have found myself seriously considering my earlier supposition that the vice president, Joe Biden, is a warlock. Things were going quite well in the week before his debate with Mini-Mitt, but since then, things have gone less well. Has Joe Biden put a curse on our campaign? I still have not gotten a clear answer on what malarkey means, but I am beginning to have suspicions.
I asked the staff about the possibility that Joe Biden had done something to make the chairs at the debate grow taller than they otherwise should have been. They said nothing (but I cannot help but notice that an uncanny number of events of late have revolved around chairs). Similarly, the president's shift in behavior from the first debate to the second is extremely suspicious; again, my staff declined comment. They have been very quiet today.