From my Facebook friend, Mitt Romney:

Mitt has traveled thousands of miles on the road the last six months, visiting with Americans across the country. And now you have the chance to join him for Patriots’ Day in Boston.

Two lucky supporters will get to join Mitt in Boston to attend an opening homestand baseball game.

Now, far too much is made of the presidential test, "Is he someone you want to have a beer with?"

First of all, I always wonder if they really mean a beer, or do they mean—as I usually mean when I say a beer—six beers? It matters, because the guy with whom I want to have a beer with is not the same guy with whom I want to have six. And the guy who would pound six beers with me probably isn't presidential material, whereas the one-beer guy … anyway, the whole thing is very confusing for me.

But here you have Mitt Romney, who doesn't drink beer at all, and yet expects us to vie for a chance to go to a baseball game with him. Can you imagine? You'd be doing real good through the fourth or fifth inning—maybe you're only on your third Budweiser tall boy. But then the conversation hits another lull and, nervously, you reach between your legs for your sack of peanuts and you pour half your beer into the Mormon's lap, soaking his magic underpants on national TV.

At least, that's what would happen to me. Exactly what would happen to me.

Thanks, Governor, but I'll take a raincheck.