The race for President is like a 1950s date in a Chevy.

Newt is in the car with his date who says, “Newt, honey, I do like you. But we did this once, and you were just too unpredictable, so we're not doing it again. But, talk to me, I just love the way you talk.”

All the gals call him Perry and he's in the car with his date who says, “Perry, I know you are the President of the Student Council. If you could talk like that guy Newt, I'd be in the back seat in a flash. Us gals like some of that sweet talk beforehand, and you just don't have it.”

Herman is in the car with his date who says, “Herman, I might have said yes. But that was before I found out about the other four girls who you got into the back seat. We are NOT going there.”

Mitt is in the car with his date, and they are in the back seat. His date says, “Mitt, I know you would make a good husband. But – don't ask me why – I just know that there won't be any excitement in the clinches. I'm not ready for a committed relationship. Let's just cuddle here, and I'll run my fingers through your hair.”

Rick S. is in the car with his date and he begins to talk to her. They are talking, and at first her eyes get kind of moony and dreamy. After about fifteen minutes of him talking away, his date falls asleep. Rick keeps talking.

But the guy to really pity is poor Barry. He got cousin George's Chevy that was all beat up. He told all the girls he hoped he'd get it fixed up, and they hoped with him. But it got worse and worse. What with the price of gas, he can't even afford to drive the old wreck. So, no girls in his Chevy at all – even with his promise of free birth control. Pretty soon no Chevy.