Why isn't anyone else amused that a couple of people pretended it was Mardi Gras, got into their real Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, and ditty-bopped over to the White House for dinner with Barack, Michelle, and the prime minister of India the other night? Oh, the hand-wringing, the agonized wails of "we failed!", the breast-beating, and yes, even an abject apology by the Secret Service for this gross breach of security! The lamentations can be heard all over the land. And this non-story has dominated the news since it happened.
Come on, already. What is the big deal here? It's not like a suicide bomber got into the Blue Room, or somebody with evil on their minds and grenades and weapons on their person. I mean look how swimmingly everything is going there with the president. She looks striking in her scarlet sari, and he's distinguished and tall, don't you think? And Barack, well, he's just pleased as can be to see them. So, I hate to repeat myself, what is everybody so worried about? We have deficits of unimaginable proportions, we're being ruled by the banks, we're fighting two horrible losing wars, and the progressive president has turned out to be basically a middle-of-the-road wimp. And we're worried about a couple of sophisticates with the chutzpah to wrangle a way to the table in the Big House? Gimme a break.
Update I: I just read that this pair of Virginia socialites, Michaele and Tareq Salahi, who crashed the White House dinner aren't talking to anybody and are wanting somewhere around $500,000 to "tell their story." OK. Now I want the Secret Service to press charges.
3 comments:
We don't like to admit that our fetish for perfect security - including wars in the Middle East - is costing us a bundle, and yet people can still walk right into the White House.
If the Taliban and Al Qaida learn that instead of using bombs and planes, that they should go for a quick payday on a reality TV show and interviews, we'll be in trouble.
They'll have the law enforcement people chasing balloons with kids in them across the countryside, while they walk into anywhere they want and do their dirty work, and then sell their story!
Hey, I noticed Walker Percy over to the left.
Boy, I miss Walker Percy.
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