Sick

A couple of months ago I found a picture Queen Bitch Ann sent me when I moved from Troy to Phoenix (this was after moving from Reno to Groton to Pawtucket to Troy, for my own personal reasons which I will spare you right now) because the "entertainer" (read: "ass") my Mom was living with got his teeth kicked in one too many times on account of his novelty act. Anyway, when I first wrote about this picture, I forgot to mention that Q.B.A. included a note in the envelope: "Please enjoy this photograph of the family. I expect this should satisfy your childish need to "catch up" with all of us. P.S. FYI––Seamus has the bowels of a girl. I will never forgive Mitt for getting you that pile of chickenshit covered in fur that you call a dog." Thanks, Not-My-Mom!

Seamus. I remember how jealous Tagg & Company were when Dad brought that dog home for me. (I remember what Dad said, too, when he brought me out to the yard to show me the dog tied to a tree: "Maybe this will shut you up.") Josh, especially, really wanted a dog of his own, which created a lot of friction around the Romney house. QBA used to joke that Josh would have a dog as soon as "we take care of the 'Seth Problem'." But he wasn't Josh's dog—Seamus was my dog and my best friend...until he "mysteriously" disappeared.

About two weeks before I was sent to live with my mom, I was told Seamus had run away. I never saw Seamus again after that day, which is why I was always confused about QBA's P.S. until today.

Before beginning the drive, Mitt Romney put Seamus, the family's hulking Irish setter, in a dog carrier and attached it to the station wagon's roof rack. He'd built a windshield for the carrier, to make the ride more comfortable for the dog.
Then Romney put his boys on notice: He would be making predetermined stops for gas, and that was it.
The ride was largely what you'd expect with five brothers, ages 13 and under, packed into a wagon they called the ''white whale.''

As the oldest son, Tagg Romney commandeered the way-back of the wagon, keeping his eyes fixed out the rear window, where he glimpsed the first sign of trouble. ''Dad!'' he yelled. ''Gross!'' A brown liquid was dripping down the back window, payback from an Irish setter who'd been riding on the roof in the wind for hours.

As the rest of the boys joined in the howls of disgust, Romney coolly pulled off the highway and into a service station. There, he borrowed a hose, washed down Seamus and the car, then hopped back onto the highway. It was a tiny preview of a trait he would grow famous for in business: emotion-free crisis management.

What a load of crap.. More like howls of laughter...Oh, look! Seth's dog has lousy bowel control, just like Seth. (In my defense, I was born with a nervous disorder.) Oh, and this part makes me even sicker....

it offered his sons a rare unplanned stop.
''Think about it,'' Tagg says, ''a 12-hour drive and the only time we stop is to get gas. When we stop, you can buy your food and go to the bathroom, but that's the only time we're stopping, so you'd better get it all done at once.'' Yet there was one exception to Mitt's nonstop policy. ''As soon as my mom says, 'I think I need to go to the bathroom,' he pulls over instantly, and doesn't complain. 'Anything for you, Ann.'.''

Yeah, anything. Like, "I'll kidnap Seth's best friend, give him to your favorite son, Josh, and then when Josh gets bored of the dog I can always kill Seamus, just for kicks. Anything for you, ANN!"