Apocalypse Mittenant
Willard Romney…the War Years
1966: Headquarters, Temple Square, Classified Location
“Lieutenant Commander Romney reporting for duty.” But, in some ways, he was still in Viet Nam. Yes, he had converted President Diem. Pity he had to kill him first. But there was still more to do. Ho Chi Minh also smoked; that had to be stopped. And Romney knew how to win the war. Outsource the fighting to China. You could buy 20 Chinese infantry for the price of one American. And think of the savings in medical care for the wounded by adopting acupuncture. Then sell the used needles to sweatshops. Actually, his ideas were too good for the U.S. government; he was going to save them for his MBA project at Harvard.
But the sound of General Bishop Elder Young disrupted young Romney’s anticipation of his first billion. “Romney, we are sending you to France. Open your secret dossier. This time, we want you to convert Jean Paul Sartre. Preferably alive. Once Sartre is a Mormon, we will seem so cool. Everyone will want to join us. There won’t be any Episcopalians or Hare Krishnas left.
We also want you to marry Brigitte Bardot, Jeanne Moreau, Simone Signoret, and Catherine Deneuve. It doesn’t matter in what order. You may have a problem with Signoret; she won’t think that she’s a Gentile. It seems her folks were using the term long before we started.
There’s a boat waiting for you in Normandy. You’ll sail down the Seine to Paris. You will also be escorting the Osmond family. Our agent in the cellar of the Paris Opera House will teach them how to sing.”
The details of the voyage remain a mystery, but historians can discern hints as to Romney’s odyssey. That year, all along the Seine there was an apparent epidemic of narcolepsy. But we do know from the secret diaries of Simone de Beauvoir of the meeting between Sartre and Romney. Posing as the fashion editor of the Deseret News, Romney had gained entry into the Sartre apartment. The salon had an unique ambience; you couldn’t tell if the cigarette smog covered up the smell of the 47 cats, or if it was the other way around.
Romney: Golly, it is nifty neat being here.
Sartre: Are you being here?
Romney: Yes, it is nifty neat being here. But Heaven is even better.
Sartre: What is Heaven? A multitude of self-righteous virgins or the soothing void.
Romney: How about being the head nothing on your planet?
Sartre: I already am.
Romney: Really?
Sartre: Perhaps I should convert you. Immerse yourself in the vacuum, embrace the amorphous. Nothing can stop you when you are nothing.
Romney: Okey-dokey. But I still have to make my quota. I’ll just forge your name on the conversion application.
Sartre: Okey-dokey, mon sacre rien.
But Romney never had a chance to publicize his coup. As he was leaving the apartment, French agents arrested him for his marriages to Edith Piaf and Jeanne d’Arc. It seems that the French do have some hygiene standards where necrophilia is concerned. Romney only avoided the guillotine by his promise of silence. He still doesn’t dare talk about l’affaire Sartre; otherwise, we would know the real reason why France left NATO.
Eugene — When I read your last paragraph I doubled over laughing. Bien fait!