How I Would Gannon Myself into the White House
A letter, posted by Raw Story, from Rep. Louise M. Slaughter (D-NY) and Rep. John Conyers (D-MI) has been written to White House Press Secretary, Scott McClellan requesting some answers about why Gannon/Guckert had unrestricted access to the White House. We're hearing crickets so far (he's been asked to respond to these questions before, though without the SS records they have now).
Here is how the letter would read if I wrote it.
Dear Scott,
What's up? Since you got hitched we never hear from you. Someone said you grew a beard.
We understand you losing touch with us. I bet keeping up with Pope George II has you busier than a legislator on Palm Sunday. But remember, from today's Cardinals, future Popes come, you know what I mean?
All right now, speaking of quiet pontifical cover-ups, quick question: how did our buddy Jeff Gannon get refrigerator rights at the White House? I mean, I know he's got that trendy sprawled out naked military man look and everything, but he only pulls that off if he's wearing the dog-tags and the army boots (sorry, Marine boots) at the same time. And no offense, but you and I both know the "Hey, y'all look, I'm military even though I've never served in the military" look was over the second your boss tried it on.
While we're talking about clothes, I know the closet you shop in is usually full of suits, but I'm working to make a look happen that you may want to try. I call it "Pope-rageous"--9 yards of meringue-colored silk, a big stick, and a reupholstered brownie beanie and you're good to go. It's a high-octane look for us "loose fit" guys (Don't hate me for that. I'm a friend.).
But you must promise to shoot me if someone ever manages to push Cardinal-wear into vogue. I don't care how shamelessly you cover up a scandal, no one should be made to wear that much red unless they're skipping up the back stairs of Miss Kitty's saloon with a drunken cowboy, okay? Oh, we were talking about Jeff.
Seriously Scott. I'm sure you realize I've been blogging since last September. That makes me at least as qualified as Jeff to bounce around the White House without the Secret Service demanding I sign in and out and stuff. All that writin'! Who am I? A GOP talking points editor? (BTW, those Secret Service guys? They're like the White House's UPS men. Hot! That stone-cold look will be cookin' longer than the U.S. will be in Iraq.)
Scott, sometimes, I, like Jeff, would like a little alone time at the House while you and your press buddies are off on Air Force 1 with his Eminence. Is that too much to ask? You know I'm not faulting you. You try really hard to be fair and all. In fact, if you want to clue me in to the real story of how Bulldog gets to jump all over the furniture at the Hizzouse when I see you next, I can wait.
And I won't question your judgement in the meantime. I'm actually pretty sure there must be a funny story about how Jeff ended up there. My theory is he thought he was headed to the White Party and got a little confused. Though with the stupor the GOP has been running around in, one could forgive that mistake, okay? You know I'm just kiddin'.
But I'm not kidding about how much better a guest I am likely to be during all of those liesurely hours-long strolls through the White House offices when the press is nowhere in sight. Now I'm not trying to be judgemental or anything, but isn't Jeff a little too prone to nekkidity to be let loose around all that antique upholstered furniture? You better check the security tapes (do you guys even still use those?) to make sure he wasn't sitting around naked on the Duncan Phyfe sofa in the Vermeil Room. Otherwise you could end up with the ghost of Jackie Kennedy-Onassis up in your stuff. That woman was all kinds of serious about her home dec, okay? I bet Clinton gets nightly visits to this day!
We can talk about all of this when you and what's-her-name stop by here on your way back to bar hop in Texas. In the meantime, consider this--I'm clothed most of the time, I go by only one name, I actually have held every job I've ever said I held, and my divorce from reality is not yet final. Here's hoping for a White House Day Pass--The Gift that Keeps on Giving.
Hugs,
Troy
Here is how the letter would read if I wrote it.
Dear Scott,
What's up? Since you got hitched we never hear from you. Someone said you grew a beard.
We understand you losing touch with us. I bet keeping up with Pope George II has you busier than a legislator on Palm Sunday. But remember, from today's Cardinals, future Popes come, you know what I mean?
All right now, speaking of quiet pontifical cover-ups, quick question: how did our buddy Jeff Gannon get refrigerator rights at the White House? I mean, I know he's got that trendy sprawled out naked military man look and everything, but he only pulls that off if he's wearing the dog-tags and the army boots (sorry, Marine boots) at the same time. And no offense, but you and I both know the "Hey, y'all look, I'm military even though I've never served in the military" look was over the second your boss tried it on.
While we're talking about clothes, I know the closet you shop in is usually full of suits, but I'm working to make a look happen that you may want to try. I call it "Pope-rageous"--9 yards of meringue-colored silk, a big stick, and a reupholstered brownie beanie and you're good to go. It's a high-octane look for us "loose fit" guys (Don't hate me for that. I'm a friend.).
But you must promise to shoot me if someone ever manages to push Cardinal-wear into vogue. I don't care how shamelessly you cover up a scandal, no one should be made to wear that much red unless they're skipping up the back stairs of Miss Kitty's saloon with a drunken cowboy, okay? Oh, we were talking about Jeff.
Seriously Scott. I'm sure you realize I've been blogging since last September. That makes me at least as qualified as Jeff to bounce around the White House without the Secret Service demanding I sign in and out and stuff. All that writin'! Who am I? A GOP talking points editor? (BTW, those Secret Service guys? They're like the White House's UPS men. Hot! That stone-cold look will be cookin' longer than the U.S. will be in Iraq.)
Scott, sometimes, I, like Jeff, would like a little alone time at the House while you and your press buddies are off on Air Force 1 with his Eminence. Is that too much to ask? You know I'm not faulting you. You try really hard to be fair and all. In fact, if you want to clue me in to the real story of how Bulldog gets to jump all over the furniture at the Hizzouse when I see you next, I can wait.
And I won't question your judgement in the meantime. I'm actually pretty sure there must be a funny story about how Jeff ended up there. My theory is he thought he was headed to the White Party and got a little confused. Though with the stupor the GOP has been running around in, one could forgive that mistake, okay? You know I'm just kiddin'.
But I'm not kidding about how much better a guest I am likely to be during all of those liesurely hours-long strolls through the White House offices when the press is nowhere in sight. Now I'm not trying to be judgemental or anything, but isn't Jeff a little too prone to nekkidity to be let loose around all that antique upholstered furniture? You better check the security tapes (do you guys even still use those?) to make sure he wasn't sitting around naked on the Duncan Phyfe sofa in the Vermeil Room. Otherwise you could end up with the ghost of Jackie Kennedy-Onassis up in your stuff. That woman was all kinds of serious about her home dec, okay? I bet Clinton gets nightly visits to this day!
We can talk about all of this when you and what's-her-name stop by here on your way back to bar hop in Texas. In the meantime, consider this--I'm clothed most of the time, I go by only one name, I actually have held every job I've ever said I held, and my divorce from reality is not yet final. Here's hoping for a White House Day Pass--The Gift that Keeps on Giving.
Hugs,
Troy
posted by Troy at 6:40 PM
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