Who is this figure that trudges across the empty stage in the dark, flinging invocations and invectives as if they were darts? But wait, it is Willard ‘Mitt’ Romney, and as he steps from the shadows into the downcast light we may, if we wish, bear silent witness to the Republican Presidential Nominee wrestling with his demons.

“Darn you! Gosh darn you!” he rails at an adversary as yet unseen on the stage. “How can I be trailing you by 8 points in Ohio? And 6 points in Florida! Doesn’t anybody believe me when I tell them what a disaster you’ve been? Just wait till I get you on this stage. We’ll see how good you are playing one-on-one when you don’t have Bill Clinton or the presidential seal to hide behind.

“Step back!” he suddenly cries, as if his enemy were within striking distance. “You have had your moment in the sun, Barack, and now it is my turn. Mine, do you hear? I’ve earned it, by dint of my massive, relentless effort, not to mention my millions of barely-taxed dollars. And you, you imposter, you poseur—with your easy smile and glib tongue—will not keep me from my destiny. I will not let you. I will scratch out your eyes, tear down your reputation, question your birthplace, repudiate your policies—yes, even when they mimic mine, as they did with your copycat health care reform!”

“Health Care Reform, now there’s the rub! It was mine before it was yours. If only those tea party fanatics weren’t so crazed by the concept, I could have held onto it, claimed it as my own true child, and used it to prove to all those lazy bums and victims—whose gruel bowls are always left empty—how much I care what happens to them in their pathetically small and uninteresting lives! How dare you take what was mine and make it yours?

Like so many others, you have misjudged me, mislabeled and maligned me. I was never inconsistent, Barack. I never shifted my position. How can you waver from an established stance when your only position is to do and say whatever seems necessary to win the presidency? That is my True North, and if I have to act like the town fool singing in a barbershop quartet to win the job, so be it.

But I warn you, Barack, I’m coming back to take ownership of Health Care Reform. Strangely enough, Health Care Reform has become very acceptable to a majority of the electorate, if not downright popular, and I’m going to embrace it as proof that I care about 100% of the people. Heck, I might even take back my comments about forcing immigrants to self-deport, if it’ll help me gain traction in Florida.

“Oh why,” he questions longingly, “why wasn’t I given the advantages of a deprived childhood and a struggling middle class upbringing? Or, failing that, why wasn’t I born to Mexican parents? Cruel is the fate to be born with a silver spoon in my mouth! How much harder it is to be a truly self-made millionaire when your parents have millions. But does anyone appreciate my difficulty? Or even care?

“But wait till they see me up on the stage. Standing next to you, you unworthy jackanapes. There I’ll be, friend of the working class, a millionaire who cares, so humorous in my barbs, so humble in my demeanor, so quick with one-liners that score point after point against you, my unworthy jive-talking opponent. And finally the American public will see me for who I am. The one man—the only living politician— who can keep a straight face while talking about George W. Bush and Dick Cheney as if they didn’t screw America blind. Then leave you to clean up the mess!

“I’m coming for you, Barack. And I’m bringing Paul Ryan with me!”