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[old-timey/news anouncer, with three Mitt lines]
From the greatest inventor of all time comes,
It's a magical state of Mitt!
A truly wondrous place, where airplane windows roll down, cars ride elevators, and horses dance!
Unlike the windows of a modern flying machine, Willard Romney's fire-safe, job-creating Wealth-o-nautic Dirigible has windows that open!
And when they're open, Mitt smells the fresh clean scent of optimism!
[Mitt: Which, which will magically cure the economy.]
Willard's World is a land of fantastical physics, where you can choose your own tax rate,
A land where you can call forty-seven percent of the citizenry shiftless moochers and still hope to win the presidency,
A land where tax policy is made up of small mystical creatures,
Peace is not something you worry about,
And health problems are already solved through the miracle of . . . . emergency rooms!
In Willard's World, who needs a supermarket scanner when you've got a whole world of wonder!
[Mitt: And all the trees are the right height.]
Oh, the humanity is almost here, all you need to do is come fly the friendly skies of Willard's World!
[Mitt: In Willard's World, I approve all messages.]
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