If these walls could talk? That’s the old saw. Well, the walls don’t talk. The books, the artwork, the rug, even the commemorative dishware… all of us talk. The walls remain silent. If they can talk, they’ve been keeping it a secret for a couple centuries. I should know. I’m the pitcher on the top shelf. (In my case, what they say is true. Big ears and so forth.) I’ve been in the Oval Office since Nellie Taft placed me on a cherry-and-walnut credenza in ought-nine. Nixon nearly knocked me over while he was pacing in, what was that, 1971? He put me on this shelf. From up here, I can hear pretty much everything. Except that mumbling Cheney. I swear he knows we’re listening. Anyway, look at these guys. Just look at them. Trying so hard to pretend they like each other. They don’t. Trust me. Not even the Bushes. (Especially not them.) I wonder if the new guy knows what he’s getting into. The last one sure didn’t. Clinton thought he knew everything. That didn’t turn out so well. (And I’ll never look at a cigar the same way again.) Listen to me go on! I shouldn’t judge. I haven’t seen much of the world. I do know this room is important. Big decisions get made here. You know the ones. I shouldn’t say any more. I’ve said too much already. I will tell you this though: You are all lucky to be alive.
Dennis Cass Wants You To Be More Awesome is dead. At some point in the near future it will be deleted. In the meantime feel free to poke around its perfectly preserved corpse.
If these walls could talk? That’s the old saw. Well, the walls don’t talk. The books, the artwork, the rug, even the commemorative dishware… all of us talk. The walls remain silent. If they can talk, they’ve been keeping it a secret for a couple centuries. I should know. I’m the pitcher on the top shelf. (In my case, what they say is true. Big ears and so forth.) I’ve been in the Oval Office since Nellie Taft placed me on a cherry-and-walnut credenza in ought-nine. Nixon nearly knocked me over while he was pacing in, what was that, 1971? He put me on this shelf. From up here, I can hear pretty much everything. Except that mumbling Cheney. I swear he knows we’re listening. Anyway, look at these guys. Just look at them. Trying so hard to pretend they like each other. They don’t. Trust me. Not even the Bushes. (Especially not them.) I wonder if the new guy knows what he’s getting into. The last one sure didn’t. Clinton thought he knew everything. That didn’t turn out so well. (And I’ll never look at a cigar the same way again.) Listen to me go on! I shouldn’t judge. I haven’t seen much of the world. I do know this room is important. Big decisions get made here. You know the ones. I shouldn’t say any more. I’ve said too much already. I will tell you this though: You are all lucky to be alive.