As Ann Romney awoke one morning from uneasy dreams she found herself
transformed in her bed into a monstrous vermin (she was Leona Helmsley).
She lay on her fur-stole-wrapped back and saw, as she lifted her head
up a little, numerous bags of golden coins, which she had not given to
the IRS, flickered helplessly before her eyes.
‘What’s happened to me,’ she thought. It was no dream.
Her room, a proper room for a human being, only gigantically huge and
with a car elevator and a horse for some stupid reason, lay quietly
between the four well-known walls. Above the table, on which an unpacked
collection of boxes of Shake & Bake and Stove Top Stuffing was
spread out (Romney was a mom to four grown men) hung the picture which
she had cut out of an illustrated magazine a little while ago and set in
a pretty gilt frame. It was a picture of a woman with a fur hat and a
fur boa. She sat erect there, lifting up in the direction of the viewer a
solid fur muff into which her entire forearm disappeared. She was Leona
Helmsley, the Queen of Mean, and as Romney looked down at her own self,
she saw there was no difference. READ MORE »
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