My human confounded me the other day. In the middle of a conversation he said, “Sorry Sandy, I have to go to the White House.” That excited me. My human … going to the White House … WOW. After thinking about the Geezer’s penchant for selecting horrible wardrobe for crucial events, I decided to hunt him down and share some of my impeccable taste in clothes with him. I expected to find the old boy in his bedroom, packing. However, as I passed the bathroom, a malodorous breeze invaded my nostrils. The Geezer was perched on the pot, a bored look on his face.
I asked, “Is this what you’re calling the White House now?”
“Yes, Sandy. Isn’t it a creative and fresh referral? And so appropriate.”
“Geezer, shame on you. Your being partisan!” I exclaimed.
“Oh contraire, my friend. Every alternative time I take a dump, I call this place the Capitol.”