Town Hall Brawl
“You are being so rude!”
“You are such a LIAR!”
“I can’t believe you thought you could get away with that!”
“Not fair! The moderator is taking your side!”
“Show me your binder full of women.”
“Oh grow up.”
If I thought the first debate brought out the worst in Mini-Mitt and Mini-Barry, I was sorely mistaken. They were screaming at each other and insulting each other the whole time. Barry couldn’t stand how rude the real Mitt was acting, and Mini-Mitt was mad at how much the real Obama was hammering his real life counterpart.
Finally, it came to a head.
“That’s it, Barry! This ends now!” Mitt screamed after Barry replayed the part of the debate where Candy Crowley corrected Mitt over and over. He pulled out a sword and attacked Barry…who also somehow had a sword handy.
“You’ll never defeat me, Barry!” Mitt yelled as their swords clashed.
“Are those lightsabers?” my son asked.
“I think they’re glow sticks,” I responded. With the glow sticks it did look like a low budget lightsaber battle, though.
“If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine,” Mini-Barry said.
“That’s it. I call no Star Wars refs,” Mini-Mitt said.
They kept battling, which was actually more entertaining than the actual debate. Mitt seemed determined, but you could tell his strength was waning.
"Everyone knows I won that debate, Mitt,” Barry sneered. “You need to just let it go!”
“No! I have a 5-point plan!” Mitt countered. “I’ll never give in!”
Barry had had enough. He kicked Mitt down and pinned him with his sword.
“It ends here, Mitt,” he whispered disturbingly. “My name is Barack Obama, and I approve this beheading.”
“Dude, stop!” I yelled. “Are you nuts? You can’t actually kill him!”
“First of all, that’s a glow stick. It won’t cut through anything,” I explained. “Secondly, he’s the main attraction to my blog! I need him!”
“He’s too dangerous to be left alive!” Barry plagiarized.
“I said no Star Wars quotes!” Mitt whimpered from under the sword.
“You…you’re right. This isn’t like me,” Barry smoldered. “It’s this election. It…it does things to a man…”
“…or a dollar claw machine toy…”
“…I…I’m sorry, Mitt. I’ll never let my stress and frustration cause me to do that again.”
“Thank you, Barry,” Mitt said. “I’m sorry too. We shouldn’t let politics turn us into monsters. You’re a good man.”
“As are you, Mitt.”
“Aw, that’s cute,” I said. “Not to say your little sword fight wasn’t cute ‘cos it was.”
Barry left the room to do some thinking. Mitt stayed in the living room.
“Pfft. Pansy,” Mitt grumbled.
“What?” I said.
“If the tables had been turned I totally would have finished him off.”