Elections have consequences, and today, Mitt Romney had to face those consequences by breaking bread with the man he spent 4 years disparaging, mocking and insulting. This is Mike Tyson having breakfast with Evander Holyfield the morning after Tyson had Holyfield’s ear for dinner. This is Grant inviting Lee over to his place after Appomattox for some fried crow. This is John McCain sharing a plate of nachos with Susan Rice. To the victor goes the spoils and Obama should relish his meal as much as Romney chokes on his.
In the civil society of the 21st century, you cannot exile the vanquished opponent to an uninhabited island in the Pacific (Mitt’s own party will handle that task) but you can force him to come to your house and watch you bask in the glory of victory. Talk about your Walk of Shame. For Mitt, this had to be the Lunch from Hell. In fact, I know it was based on the leaked transscript that MSRP was able to gather:
Mitt: Thank you, Mr. President, for inviting me to your home this afternoon. (extends his hand towards Obama)
Obama: (stepping back) Whoa, are you threatening me, Mitt? Guards, SWARM! Ah, just messin’ with you, Mitt. But you will have to remove your shoes.
Mitt: Excuse me?
Obama: All Republicans upon entering my house must remove their shoes. After the sh*t you guys waded in throughout the primaries, Lord knows what you might be tracking. Besides, it’s an ancient anti-colonial Kenyan custom I read about. (pauses) I’m serious. Guards, help Mitt with his shoes.
Mitt: No, no. I’ll take them off. (looking around) You have a lovely home, sir.
Obama: Thanks. Thinking about painting the outside a different color for my 2nd term. I’m not feeling the white much anymore, you know? Apparently, they’re not feeling me much either.
Mitt: I guess that would be up to you, sir.
Obama: Damn right answer, Mitt. It would be up to me, wouldn’t it? (gesturing to a package in Mitt’s hand) Is that for me?
Mitt: Yes, sir, just a small token gift.
Obama: Did you say ‘token’?
Mitt: No, sir. Sorry, sir.
Obama: Gift, huh? Guards, soak this in a bucket of water just in case. Ah, just messin’ with you, Mitt. Thanks. You know, if you had handed out more gifts like I did in the campaign, you might be hosting lunch today, you know what I’m sayin’?
Mitt: Yes, sir, I do.
Obama: Where are my manners? You’d think I was raised in an African village (he winks). May I offer you something to drink? We have coffee, Red Bull or beer.
Mitt: I’m sorry, Mr. President. I do not drink caffeinated beverages, hot beverages or alcoholic beverages.
Obama: Oh? No wonder your likeability scores were so low. You might want to reconsider. Hillary did whiskey shots with some rednecks in Pennsylvania and kicked my ass in that ’08 primary. Too late for you, I guess. OK, you’ll go thirsty then. You hungry, Mitt?
Mitt: Yes, sir.
Obama: Good. In your honor, we’ve cooked up something special. Michelle thought I should make you eat your words, but I wanted to be kinder and gentler. Hope you like Mexican. We know you don’t like Mexicans, but figured you’d be OK with their food.
Mitt: Sir, that was a campaign myth. I do like Mexicans. I’ve hired hundreds throughout my career.
Obama: “Hired”? Don’t you mean “fired”? Ah, just messin’ with you, Mitt.
Mitt: Sorry, sir. I’m a bit on edge these days. My friends have abandoned me lately.
Obama: Chill out, Mitt. You don’t need to be so sensitive anymore. No one is watching you – trust me. By the way, I took the liberty of inviting the White House videographer to record this historic lunch between us. He’s set up a cell phone behind my bust of Stalin so we won’t be distracted. Try to act natural.
Mitt: I will try, sir.
Obama: Hey, after lunch, I’m setting up a 5 on 5 full court game on my White House basketball court, which by the way, I did build. You’ll be captain of the Skins team. I’ll be captain of the Shirts. Hope you’ve been working out.
Mitt: I don’t really play basketball, sir.
Obama: Well, had you won, we’d be playing polo, but as it turns out, you’ll be shooting hoops today. Sucks to be you, huh, Mitt?
Mitt: Yes, sir.
Obama: Picked you out some vintage John Stockton shorts, too. He played for Utah. Thought you’d like that.
Mitt: Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.
Obama: I should warn you that the Secret Service has orders to shoot to kill if you try coming down the lane against me. Ah, just messin’ with you Mitt.
Mitt: Good one, sir.
Obama: Maybe after the game, we’ll go chat with the press and you can tell them how gracious I was and how bipartisan I was. You can do that, can’t you, Mitt?
Mitt: Well, sir…
Obama: Be a shame if your old tax returns ‘accidentally’ ended up on HuffPost, wouldn’t it? Now, what were you saying?
Mitt: Be happy to, sir.
Obama: Mention the healthy lunch menu and I’ll see that you get to keep a deduction or two. How’s that sound?
Mitt: Very gracious, thank you, sir.
Obama: Kinda ironic, isn’t it, Mitt? I eat your lunch on Election Day, and now you have to come here and eat my lunch. You see the irony, don’t you, Mitt?
Mitt: Yes, sir.
Obama: See how nice this is? Have a beer, Mitt. Lighten up. There’s always 2016…NOT! Ah, just messin’ with you Mitt. I wonder if Christie likes Mexican.
Elections have consequences and one of them is apparently a loss of appetite for poor Mitt.