It's my Mom.
Granted, she may not be versed in economics, but you wouldn't be reading flack about a $250 tax credit for growing a mustache; hell, she'd tear it off your face for asking.
And that TX Dr. looking at 100 years for bilking the government for $375 million? Ah, honey, my Mom.
First, he'd be glad he had medical training, because my Mom would skin him alive. But she wouldn't put him in prison; she'd make him work the rest of his life for free.
We need a hands-on-the-hips, don't-snow-me, spank-and-a-kiss, quit-whining-just-do-it Mom for President. We'd be loved. We'd be feared.
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