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Mitt Romney's Middle School Years: The Unknown Story

05.14.12 10:09 AM – Andy McDonald

As the media continue to thoroughly investigate Mitt Romney's high school years, two new books are being released this week highlighting some seemingly dark episodes of his middle school years.

Will this affect the Romney campaign? Here are some excerpts:

Melvin Madness: The Truth About Mitt Romney by Claymore Peabody.

Page 78:

“I was feeling good that day. It was after Christmas, and I happened to be wearing a new pair of underwear. Of course I should have known something was amiss when the typically lordly Mitt Romney deigned to ask about my skivvies as I changed in the locker room.

“Hey, what brand are those?” Romney asked.

Like so many in years to come, I was deceived by Mitt Romney’s easy manner. Perhaps I was naïve, choosing to hope that I was experiencing some new dawn of understanding that could transcend the barriers of social and economic status. I was sadly mistaken.

“Hanes,” I responded, returning his smile.

Romney’s grin turned dark. “They don’t say Hanes until I say they say Hanes,” he hissed menacingly.

In an instant his middle school henchmen were upon me. I kicked and struggled with the grim knowledge of what was to come - a cruel Romney trademark known to our school's underclassmen as the Mormon Wedgie of Death.

When it was over, I knew I would be forever haunted by the way Romney and his lackeys relished the horror of my humiliation. They were doubled up with laughter, convulsing in a fit of heartless mirth as I stood alone with a torn elastic waistband draped over the top of my head.

“Damn you, Mitt Romney!” I seethed quietly amid the cacophony of their devious laughter. “Someday you’ll be sorry.”

I knew I had to take my story to the American people - especially after several late night episodes of tearful begging from Democratic consultant David Axelrod.”

As damning as that account appears to be, an even more sordid story is set to be released Friday in the following book:

Swirly of Shame: My Dark Encounter With Mitt Romney by Endicott Chandler.

Page 102:

“Suddenly, I turned to find Mitt Romney and two of his beefy sidekicks blocking the exit of the boy’s restroom.
Mitt stood with his arms folded, a seemingly maniacal grin on his face. Clearly he was looking for trouble.

“What’ve you got there?” Romney sneered, nodding toward the brown paper bag I was carrying.

My heart leaped. Inside the bag was the turkey sandwich my mother had made for me that very morning. No doubt it was another of Mother’s masterpieces; not too much mayo nor too little mustard, complimented with a delicate bed of crisp lettuce separating the meat and the sesame bun. I thought of making a break for the window, but who was I kidding?

It was too late. Romney swiped the paper bag then eyed its contents with disdain.

“You people actually eat this crap?” Romney said.

By ‘you people’ I was certain Romney was not merely mocking me, but all real Americans; women, the elderly, people of different ethnicities, college students with immense student loans, not to mention gay, lesbian, bi-sexual and transgendered individuals. He didn’t actually say so then, but I’m certain now that’s what he must have been thinking.

As his friends held me back, Mitt moved toward an open restroom stall with my sandwich.

“NOOO!” I cried as Romney spiked my lunch into the toilet bowl. It was more than just a sandwich; it was a symbol of every middle class mother’s love. It was America. Romney cackled madly as it disappeared in a roaring whirlpool.

“You conservative bastard who just wants to outlaw contraception and give tax cuts to faceless corporations and your rich cronies.” I snarled at Romney through bared teeth.

“Well if you feel that strongly about it, we’ll help you go get the sandwich,” Romney replied in a chillingly even tone.

The next thing I remember, my legs and feet were suspended over my head, stretched toward the ceiling. They had dragged me into the stall and Romney was lifting the toilet seat as my head descended into the bowl.

“You need to cool down, my friend,” Romney said. “And nothing is more refreshing than the Mormon Swirly of Death.”

As an icy torrent of cold water gushed through my hair, I knew Mitt Romney had to be stopped. Sure, one day he was merely giving swirlies, but in years to come he would be cutting health benefits to the underprivileged, undocumented workers, deceased Chicago voters, and perhaps even spotted owls. But could I stop him? Yes, I can, I told myself.”

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