I think I know the real reason that tours of the White House have been suspended – and it has nothing to do with the icky sounding “sequestration.” (Can we all agree that this word sounds like something to do with, I dunno, bowels?)
Sequestration is a time in a young woman’s life. … No, what I meant to say is that sequestration is short for “The nation is so broke it really, honestly, can’t pay attention and we’re not even kidding.”
Now that we know what it is, why has it resulted in the closing of our nation’s biggest and whitest and most columnized and porticoed house? Well, it takes a lot of security to make sure undesirables don’t find their way into its inner sanctum, flower gardens and the like.
At least that’s the official excuse for the suspension of tours. I’m not buying it.
It’s obvious that the real reason that White House tours have been canceled till further notice is because first daughter Malia Obama has started dating. I know it’s true because I saw it in “In Touch People Like Us” magazine and they wouldn’t lie.
I totally get it. There is no way that a teenage girl is going to let some fanny-packed Mee-maw from Sheboygan stroll through the living room when her Axe-soaked young man is making his intentions known.
Imagine the stress of beginning your dating life in front of the Elks and Does from Neckboil, Minnesota, or some such. Malia deserves her privacy and a normal dating life without having to worry about her mama presenting the eleventyhundredth Super Meaningful Medal to whatever sad sack is being honored in the same room where all she wants to do is watch “Safe Haven” with Axe boy.
And what a brave young man he must be. Imagine as he fidgets and waits for Malia to come downstairs, forced to make awkward conversation with POTUS himself.
(“Sit down, young man. Malia will be down in a minute. In the meantime, let me tell you about the time I killed bin Laden. Huh? You heard that one already? WELL, YOU’RE GOING TO HEAR ABOUT IT AGAIN. You don’t wanna rile me. I got a drone hovering over your narrow butt even now. You can’t even see it. I’m that good.”)
At some point Malia will descend the staircase in a dress that her father will loudly announce is “too short and sends the wrong signal and don’t you have anything that’s more, I dunno, Eleanor Roosevelty looking?”
Malia will meet this suggestion with a withering eye roll and a pained “Daaaaaad” and the leader of the free world will have to do what Duh and I do at times like this and retreat to another room, any other room. Teenagers don’t care where you go, they just care that you go somewhere.
You could say we are sequestered. But it would still sound gross.