[old-timey/news anouncer, with three Mitt lines]

From the greatest inventor of all time comes,

Willard's World!

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.]