Foley Monster's Interview with Mitt Romney's Dog Seamus

As a dog who lives in a country where the peeps are deeply divided over every issue they all, Democrat or Republican, East Coast, West Coast, or Heartland, seem to agree on one thing:  No one wants Mitt Romney to be the Republican nominee for President.

There are many reasons for this, but for animal lovers it is his mistreatment of his dog Seamus.  On a trip to Canada in 1982 Romney put Seamus in his crate, put the crate on the roof of his car, and drove  hundreds of miles to Canada.  During the trip Seamus got a well earned case of diarrhea spewing brown liquid over the back window of the car.  Mitt’s son pointed this out to his clueless Dad.  Mitt pulled into a service station, hosed down the crate, and Seamus, then continued on his way.

Now, for the first time, Seamus breaks his decade long silence to speak with me.

Foley:  Seamus, thank you for being here.  Can I get you anything?

Seamus:  Anything warm, please.  A cup of coffee.  Hot Cocoa.  Bourbon.  Anything would be fine.

Foley:  Are you still cold?

Seamus:  I was strapped to the roof of a car driven at 65MPH to Canada.  Yes, I’m a little cold.

Foley:  *Hands Seamus a steaming mug*  So tell me, exactly how did this whole incident happen?

Seamus:  The day started out like any other.  I woke up sleeping with Mitt and Mom on a big pile of money.  We got up.  It was a little cool.  We picked up some of the smaller bills, twenties and fifties, and thew them in the fire place to warm up.  We then went out in the garden and I sat by Mitt as he randomly fired some Mexican day workers.  Pretty much it was a normal day in the Romney household.

Foley:  I notice you call your Daddy by his first name.  Is this something you normally do?

Seamus:  I didn’t at first.  But someone straps you to the roof of a car and drives hundreds of miles they lose the right to be called Daddy.

Foley:  Fair enough.  Continue with your story.

Seamus: Then Mitt announces that we are going on vacation.  One of the boys asks if I can go and he says yes.  Great!  Love the Mitt.  So they get me to go in my crate.  I’m not quite sure why they are doing this because I figured I would be in the back seat laying on top of the boys and the crate would make them uncomfortable.  But sometimes Mitt did odd things.  Then he and the boys lift me, inside the crate, on to the roof of the car.  I’m looking at them like, “what, are you kidding me?”  I thought they just put up their temporarily while they loaded the car.  But no, they all climb in the car, leaving me on the roof, start the car, and begin to drive off.  Hate the Mitt!

Let me tell you, when it comes to bad trips, Louis Zamperini ain’t got nothing on me.  First, when you are on a roof, travelling 65 miles and hour, because Mitt never breaks a law, you get bombarded with bugs that usually crash into the windshield.  Then you get the full effect of the wind blowing on your face.  So you need to turn around and face the opposite direction.  But when I did that I was getting the exhaust from the other cars up my ass and, after watching Mitt blow smoke up people asses for years, I was none too keen to have him do it to me.   So I turned back around with the wind blowing in my face.  I don’t know how long I was there getting hit with soot, dirt, gravel, little bugs.  Then suddenly a hummingbird flies up in front of me and goes right into my mouth.  You ever swallow a Hummingbird Foley?

Foley:  No.

Seamus:  Neither had I.  Let me tell you, those things go through you fast.  Could have been the fact I was traveling 65 miles an hour, but it went right through me, and about 60 seconds I had explosive pooh flying out of me.  I heard the kids yelling about it and finally Mitt pulls over.  They get out of the car.  Now, I just didn’t poo on our car, but on the car behind me.  It had hit their wind shield blinding them,.  Little Tagg saw them and said “Daddy, what about those people who crashed?”  

Mitt looked at the 1968 Volvo they were driving and said “We don’t need to worry about those people.  They are driving a 1968 Volvo.  They are poor people.  They have a safety net.”

“I don’t think that is a safety net,” Tagg said.  “I think that’s a fence,” he said as body parts dripped off the fence.  

“Well if we need to fix the safety net we will do it on the way back,” Mitt said.   They got back in the car and drove to a gas station.  I figured this is where I would be cleaned up and put in the car.  But Mitt just grabbed a hose and hosed down my already freezing cold body washing the poo and bugs off of me.  Well, I thought, at least I will be put back in the car.  But no, this son of a George left me, soaking wet, still strapped to the roof, and he continued to head North.

Well Foley, on that trip North, while I was cold, and wet I just froze solid.  And I’ve been that way for the last 30 years.  I have been living in a state of hypothermia.  

Foley:  I was going to ask you how you managed to live so long?

Seamus:  Oh I haven’t been living.  Haven’t been breathing,  I’ve just been waiting to get unfrozen so I can go to the bridge.  But before I do I swear, for one second between unfreezing and going to the Bridge I am going to bite Romney right in his mitt.

Foley:  Well I am glad you got to tell your story.  Is there anything I can get you?

Seamus:  A blanket would be nice.