The 2016 presidential race has claimed it’s first casualty (if you don’t count Paul Ryan, which, of course, I’m not). Willard Jackassticus Lannister Romney, Lord of the Robo-men and professional collector of electoral defeats, erstwhile Lord Protector of the Olympics and governor of a state he will not name, has decided not to compete for Nixon Crown of Double Nomination and seek the 2016 GOP nomination.
On Friday, Romney emerged from the Hall of Audiences in Castle Romney, his mountain fastness hewn from the very living rock high in the Utah Alps. Surrounded by House Romney retainers, with a light snow dusting their aluminum battle armor, Romney addressed a small surprised crowd of freshman journalism majors from Utah Alps Community College who were there filming a documentary no one would watch for a class they all bitterly regretted taking. He mounted the rostrum where the father of his organic components, George Romney, had once announced that he would challenge thrice-damned dark mage Richard Nixon for the 1968 GOP nomination. “My friends!” he shouted, though truthfully, no one there was his friend. “I shall not be your president!” he cried, as though everyone had not already known this for several years.
“America does not want me to be president. The universe does not want me to be president.” His voice emulators cracked, and hyper-brain coolant fluid leaked from his eye-orbs, looking for all the world like human tears. “I… I do not want to be president. This unit…has failed.” As the snow picked up, he began making sad honking noises, and shrieked, “OH ROBOT GODS! OH HUMAN FATHER! I HAVE FAILED YOU!” He then sat down and began sadly disassembling himself with a screwdriver. Shocked House Romney cyberneticists grabbed him and dragged him to the creepy science lair deep within the castle, where he continued shouting. His FrontRunner 3.0 software had failed catastrophically, for the last time. The guards began beating the journalism students with their aluminum truncheons, because they couldn’t think of anything better to do.
Romney’s eldest human son, Skagg, peed himself a little, greatly diminishing the value of a rug that had been a gift to his grandfather from the Shah of Iran. Romney’s lesser sons, Skorn, Trogg, and Marl, burst into tears. They so wanted to be presidential sons, even though that’s kind of a crappy gig–just ask Chip Clinton or Ricky “Bud” Nixon. His daughters, Willardine and Ann Junior, shrugged and quietly left the room. It’s probably for the best. Willardine would have ended up as one of those skanky presidential harlot daughters, like Babs Ford or Louise Kennedy-Kardashian. That’s not something Willardine has to worry about now.
The various politicians who are still eyeing a trip in the GOP 2016 clown car greeted the announcement with assortment of shrugs and faint praise and mild scorn for the fallen robo-man. “I would like to thank Mr. Romney for his many contributions, whatever those might be,” said Senator Ted Cruz, in a statement translated from his Albertan snow-people dialect into American English. “Whatever,” shrugged Rand Paul, who was judging a costume contest at TrekCon 15 in Des Moines. “He’s a Patriots fan, so good riddance,” shouted unlikeable New Jersey governor Chris Christie amid a string of expletives. At a rail-yard hobo gathering in Ames, Iowa, senator-hobo Richard “Shoeless Dick” Santorum heating up a can of hobo-stew merely grunted “2016, bitches!” At the other end of the presidential culinary spectrum, at an all-you-can-eat fundraiser in Fort Meyers, presidential relative Jeb Bush said “Wib wig werry woob woos!” This probably means “this is very good news” but his mouth was full of pricey lobster. He’s the “smart one,” remember. Rick Perry was busy watching Clifford the Big Red Dog and could not be reached for comment.
Elsewhere, this Romney announcement sent shockwaves throughout the multiverse, and many of the alternate-universe Romneys that so troubled us in 2012 during the Crisis on Infinite Romneys dimensional fissure incident were quick to respond. General Ro-Mnee from Earth 9B vowed that he would one day rule the universe, and rain fire on his enemies, and also that he was starting an exploratory committee to look into a 2016 run, though how he would do that from his cell deep inside a penal asteroid in the Tarsus system is not entirely clear. In the dark turgid seas of Earth 14F, a nightmarish sentient lobster clacked his claws menacingly. Nobody knows what this means, but it’s probably not good news for Jeb Bush.
