Romney's hair quits

Following the failure of its host to gain the U.S. presidency, the alien hairpiece known to its fellow space-faring coiffures as ch'ch'iibuk violated the terms of its contract by leaving early. 'This blows – I'm outsville,' is the last verified written message ch'ch'iibuk left for the Republican challenger before vanishing as if into a puff of smoke. (In reality, it sealed itself into a box of cheap, processed sausages and re-gifted trinkets that the Romney family then sent to the White House as a congratulatory gift; ch'ch'iibuk fled in hopes of supplanting the toupee of one of president Obama's lesser aides.)

“That god-damn motherfucker,” governor Romney said while tearing through his Massachusetts home in search of the missing wig, his scalp pale and oddly barren. “That piece of shit motherfucked me! Outright motherfucked me. How dare he violate his contract?! If I have to go back to wearing that scratchy old... the Council of Intergalactic Species Relations [CISR] will hear of this in about 3 minutes. Honey – where's my phone?” Instead of replying that the device was on the couch next to her, Ann Romney broke down and started to cry. “There it is,” Mr. Romney said upon finding his mobile. “Would you lay off with the fucking tears already? Fuck, Annie, you've been crying since election night. I have a hairpiece crisis on my hands, just two days before meeting those Russian investors our son arranged for his upcoming real estate deal, just one week before having my picture taken signing the paperwork that will ship all those high-paying American jobs overseas, and all you can do is weep? Go iron my pleated jeans or bake a log of cookies – something, anything, but please make it appear as if you were of some use around here.”

When the CISR finally managed to track ch'ch'iibuk down (after failing to find a good hiding place atop a person close to Mr. Obama, it had hitched a ride upon a scabrous truck driver and merged with Karl Rove's mane of pubic hair), the hairpiece-from-outer-space defended its decision to flee, stating, according to official transcripts: “I stayed on Mitt's head for the duration of his campaign; I was never out of place or under-waxed; I was always wavy, making sure to show just the right amount of gray on his temples to convey the agree-upon level of seniority; I let myself be combed and washed and snipped and touched by all those worthless fucking barbers, and then, when I take off two weeks before the end of my contract, y'all send out a fucking ART [Alien Recovery Team] to bring me in? This new spot is kind of nice – it's real warm and sweaty, and I only get washed once in a fortnight. Could you please just leave me here?” After having been removed from the nether regions of Mr. Rove, ch'ch'iibuk was forced to merge with an old, rat-eaten, lice-infested bear skin shoved under a shed next to Mr. Romney's second vacation home out in southern Utah, where it remained until the beginning of January.

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