Mitt was tired after spending so much time on the road. The sweat glistened on his back and he was bent down, his perfectly crisp cotton shirt had become a crumple in the morning. You couldn't tell from a distance but if you crept up with him, tears were gathered in his eyes.

"Why did America have to continue to go down the muddled path of Keynsian economics? Why do they continue to abort their babies? Why America? Why can't I help you?"

And he wept because from his marbled muscles hidden under the silk of his creamy skin to the hard member slowly poking out of his cotton BVDs, he was a true American. And yet, no one seemed to understand how to alleviate his pain. His wife. His campaign manager. Paul Ryan.

But Dick Cheney knew.

He came out of the shadows. His eyes full of fire. His mouth hungry and wanting. He laid a hand on Mitt's heaving shoulders. He looked down at him. Mitt looked at him with awe as he stood naked, wearing only his cowboy boots and a wry smile.


"Let me take all your pain away...."

(please continue if you like—and add your own!)