America was feeling strangely dissatisfied. She worried that her best years were behind her, that she was a nation in decline. Other countries -- India, China, even that slut Brazil -- were starting to catch up with her. Once considered the land of milk and honey, she now worried that her boobs were beginning to sag.
She had tried to get her groove back. She read smutty books: The Story of Oh Beautiful for Spacious Skies; The Claiming of Sleeping Giant; Fifty Shades of Red, White, and Blue.
She elected a black man, Barack Obama, to be her new Commander-in-Chief. Together, they experimented with the D&S -- Democrat and Socialist -- lifestyle. She had been briefly filled with hope and change. But he had turned out to be too cold, too aloof, too intellectual to fulfill her hot wanton needs. Even when he sang "let's stay together, " he no longer thrilled her deep down inside her ladyparts.
Worst of all, he just didn't seem to understand moms. Moms didn't want equal pay for equal work, or control over their reproductive health; they wanted porn. It said so right on the cover of Newsweek. She had a brief resurgence of interest in him when he shot his hot lead load into Osama bin-Laden--she dug guy-on-guy action--but since then, meh.
She flirted briefly with other candidates, but none of them seemed quite right. Rick Perry was too dumb, Newt Gingrich thought he was too smart, Herman Cain was too much of a horndog, Rick Santorum was too much of a prude, and Ron Paul was just too plain weird. And she wasn't ready yet to fool around with another girl, like Michele Bachmann (although she did have reoccurring fantasies about Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton. Especially Hillary Clinton. She looked so masterful recently in that photo with shades on.)
Then she saw Mitt Romney. He seemed to have it all: handsome, rich, powerful, a master of the universe. Most important, he promised to give her the fiscal discipline she secretly craved. She had wicked fantasies of him taking her to his Red Ink Room of Pain, slashing her entitlements, collaring her runaway spending, and beating her deficit into submission. Especially if he picked that dreamy Paul Ryan to be his running mate. That Ann Romney certainly looked like one satisfied typical American housewife; she bragged about how stiff her husband was.
There was just one problem--what were his core values? Was he the true severe conservative of her dreams, or was he secretly a mushy Massachusetts moderate? He seemed so rich and firm, so Alpha Romeo male, but she worried he was just another limp flip flopper. She wanted 9 1/2 weeks, not 3 1/2 inches.
And then there was that whole Mormon thing. Was being Mormon the same as being Christian? That was weird, not kinky. Did he posthumously baptize dead Jews? She drew the line at necrophilia. Was he polygamous? She didn't like the idea of sharing him with another debt-ridden sovereign nation. Oh my god, what if he wanted, like, Greece for a co-wife?
And there was always the concern he might go too far one day. She didn't want to wind up tied to the roof of his car and driven to Canada. She was into degradation, but there were limits. That's what safe words were invented for. Her safeword was Seamus.
Maybe she should stick with Obama after all. He showed signs of returning to his old masterful self. He was rolling up his shirtsleeves on the campaign trail as if to administer an old-fashioned OTK bare-bottom spanking. He was talking about punishing naughty millionaires who didn't pay their fair share of taxes. He was even threatening to take the Supreme Court to the woodshed if they overturned Obamacare. (We all remember how kinky Clarence Thomas was from Anita Hill's testimony. Although since then he seems to have a permanent ballgag in his mouth.) And, judging from recent Secret Service reports, he was loosening up.
Sigh. If Obama didn't work out, there was still always Hillary in 2016.