Hello, human diary. It is I again, Mitt Romney, your better.
I am in a good mood today, Mr. Diary, perhaps in part because I am currently full of diet sodas. Today I truly gave the president a large what-for. He had implied that I had embraced a policy of wealth distribution that was in opposition to that once hypothesized by a pre-industrial English forest man of some repute, a supposition which resulted in much guffawing from his audience. I responded by saying that if I were to respond, which I was not saying I would be, I would respond by suggesting in turn that his ideas were similar to processed luncheon meats. After having a small taste of my own rapier wit, I think he shall think additional times before engaging me in a battle of humors.
The search for a vice presidential unit continues to drag on. Our determination to choose a white male with no particular charismatic skills has not, as it turns out, done much to narrow the field of candidates. I have gotten exceedingly bored with the entire affair, and let my staff know that they should just choose someone without my input. As long as the eventual nominee travels on his own bus, I do not care who it is or what opinions they might have.
I am glad for this opportunity today to let my humorous side shine through, as Ann has often suggested I do. All of the people I employ have told me how skillful I am as storyteller and general wit. It is a shame that the rest of my staff cannot be as humorous as I am, but it is true that they are all much poorer than I am, so I suppose it is to be expected.