Featured Post — The Interview: Irish Setter Seamus Romney Tells The True Story Of His 1983 Car Top Ride To Canada
ANN ROMNEY: The dog loved it. The dog was, like–
DIANE SAWYER: But the dog got sick, right?
ANN ROMNEY: Once, he– we traveled all the time and he– he ate the turkey on the counter. I mean, he had the runs. But– he would see that crate and, you know, he would, like, go crazy because he was going with us on vacation. It was to me a kinder thing to bring him along than to leave him in the kennel for t– in– in– in a kennel for two weeks, so.
To say they still don’t get it would be an insult to they still don’t get its. Finally fed up with the Romneys’ boneheaded and shameful answer, I called in, Ms. Morta, my staff mystic to conduct a seance with Seamus, who now resides in the Heaven where all dogs eventually go. Only Seamus can tell us his side of the story – Did he enjoy his roof top perch atop a speeding Romney vehicle? Had he truly eaten “the turkey on the counter,” as Mrs. Romney alleged? and What is his overall view of Mr. Romney’s presidential fitness?
I’m not a believer in seances to contact deceased dogs, yet Morta’s insistent and I agreed. So, with candles all around and duct tape covering my eyes, we began. Almost immediately – there! – a soft yet distinct “woof.” The woofs continued, grew in volume, and gradually morphed into human speech. Sort of like Scooby Doo. I asked Morta if I could now remove the duct tape blocking my eyes. “I will disembowel you if you do,” she answered. I complied. She did, however, permit me to begin interviewing Seamus, and indicated that she would hereafter be completely silent. So, off we went:
You mean all the Seamus-on-top-of-the-car stuff? Hell yes I heard. Everyone here yaps about it, suddenly I’m a hot topic. It’s fame alright, embarrassing fame, but it’s fame. I’ll take it where I can get it. The lady poodles seem to like me more now.
Here on the other side there’s near unanimous opinion . . . dog owners . . . ASPCA . . . nearly everybody thinks it a bad thing. There’s even a group called “Dogs Against Romney” . . . I mean . . . even Hitler . . .
Again with the “but buts”? Cool it. Here’s the truth. Let me try this. Have you ever spent time in a really small space with Sparky, Mrs. Sparky, and their five little Sparkys? Don’t answer, I know you haven’t. No sensible person would. Also, remember that trip to Canada was in 1983, the Romneys’ kids were about two to 13 years old . . . That’s like sharing a ride with an elevator with bunch of chimpanzees.
Yeah, yeah. I knew that you would. I’ve been on short trips inside the car with the Romney clan. Between Sparky’s addled laissez faire, supply side zombie b.s., and those kids farting and telling fart jokes, can you imagine 1200 miles worth, 12 hours worth . . . of that?!
It’s confusing, too. Once in the space of a 13 mile trip to pick up some filet mignon, Sparky changed his mind 15 times about whether he supported capital punishment or not; the kids were particularly unruly that day. I couldn’t stay centered when faced with that kind of inconsistency.
Wait, wait. It gets even better. Once home, Mrs. Sparky – she’s really kind of a classy lady – asked him about it. He told her – right to her face – that he’d never held any position on capital punishment during the trip to the store. Can you dig it?
So, back to the Boston to Canada trip. When I saw that crate sitting beside the car I was overjoyed. Sure, as the Romneys say, I happily jumped into it! I was always happy to see the crate. Anything to avoid riding in the car with that bunch. My travel crate even had a nice wind screen to help hold down the wind damage. I didn’t care, I’d have been happy on top of that car even without the wind screen, even without the crate.
Yeah, sort of. But you’ve gotta know, I did not enjoy the ride. I could’ve done without it. But, you know my choice was stark: in the car with the chimpanzees, or on the roof. What would you do? Anyway, even with the protective screen, the wind was wicked. Try it at 60 miles per hour. My ears were swept back for three days after the ride! And, really, safety wise? If they’d screeched to a halt, me and the crate would still be airborne somewhere over the Arctic.
Seamus, this next question is personal and tough to talk about, I know, but can you tell me about the unfortunate gastro-intestinal episode . . . allegedly, immediately prior to the trip, you stole and ate an entire turkey . . .
That’s bull! First, I did not “steal” that turkey. They abandoned it. They left it in the open, unguarded, uncared for, and I did what I did. Yeah. I did it. I’d do it again. I’ll not belabor that. Period. Paragraph. Second, so you and everyone else down there want to know about the trots? Scooby Doo’s revenge? The Texas skeedadle? The di-a-rrhe-a? What’s wrong with you people?
Yeah, at least you admit it. And you guys laugh at us for sniffing each others butt . . . Well, I’ll tell you what, you tell me and your readers about your last butt quake, and I’ll tell you about mine . . . Deal?
So, Seamus, now we need to sum up. Your memory is that you wanted so much to avoid multiple miles and multiple hours in the same car with the Romneys that you were more than pleased to spend that time on top of the car?
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