During this hideous transition that we cats have been striving to ignore, one thing that has managed to permeate our fog of denial is how many people have met with The New Worst Person Who's Ever Lived — thinking, apparently, that they could reason with him or get him to offer a job — and then been publicly, Trumpily repudiated or humiliated. President Gore? Played. Bob Corker? Played. Harold Ford? Played. Cathy McMorris Rodgers? Played. Heidi Heitkamp? Probably played. (And richly deserves to be.)
But no one has been more played than Willard Mitt Romney, omg.
We cats had idly hoped that, after the disaster that was November 8, Willard might turn out to have a manly man hiding inside that irritatingly awkward, aw-shucks Mormon-y exterior. Why not? Who had criticized Drumpf more than Romney had this year? His "con man" speech last spring was searing, biting, dead on — dare we say irredeemable? We instantly thought at the time that Ann had written it, but we never doubted that Willard believed it. Gosh, we thought — he might have some cojones after all.
Fast forward to today, and Willard has been embarrassed beyond belief over the Secretary of State thing, as the whole world and possibly parts of the unexplored galaxy now know. We'd wonder how Ann feels about this excruciatingly public take-down, except... we don't have to.
In a letter to The Salt Lake Tribune, Willard has tried to explain the whole debacle. But even there, he's stumbled. Protesting that offering himself up was all part of serving the nation he loves, he made a super-telling grammatical error:
"As the country's next President, I earnestly hope that [Drumpf] will be successful in..." blah blah blah.
("As the country's next President, I"??? Hilarious.)
Oh, Willard, Willard, Willard. Perhaps while ducking the plates that Ann is throwing, you can get her to pitch a primer on pronoun-antecedent agreement at your head. In the meantime, let's just say that by meeting with Drumpf, Willard Mitt Romney abandoned all pretense of ever having balls. We cats HISS.
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