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Joe Biden's Tripadvisor White House Review



Jilly Bean and I booked a tour of this place at www dot whitehouse dot gov backslash about the white house backslash tours dash events, since it had been years since we visited Washington, D.C. The outside was really the Ritz with these big poles holding up the roof part. Make sure you don’t try to pick the flowers on the lawn. Boy, that really twisted their panties in a bunch! Also, they won’t let you bring in your fanny pack, video tape recorder, or even your collection of commemorative box cutters. They got a boatload of security, Jack—you’d think we were getting on an airplane. Boy, things sure have changed. When I was a kid, you could just hop on a sky boat and sit in the pilot’s lap, no problemo. I did that with my friends a few times, but there was a bad dude in there, and he yelled, “Get these children out of here!” so I got out my slingshot and said, “Look here ya mumble-mouthed wind whacker.” I tell ya, I was a real Dennis the Menace back in those days. They used to call me Joe the Menace. Excuse me, Joe the Obama. Anyway... I’m sorry.

My first impression inside the White House was how cold it was. Here’s a tip: don’t wear your favorite Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned, or your nipples will let you hear about it the next morning. It was also a lot darker than I imagined, but then Jill took off my aviator sun-glasses, and I saw many, many fancy chairs. Boy, they were nice! And if you like paintings of fellas with funny white hair, this is your spot, friend. In the White House, I had a sense of DJ voodoo, like I had been there a thousand million times. The workers there were the nicest Afro folks, and we got lucky because our tour guide was the cutest thing you ever saw. She answered all my questions as we walked through the green room, red room, library, blueroom, and green room. Hell, she even brought me my gym bag in a hallway.

Eventually, we walked into the black room and I said, “Who is that?!” I leaned over to kiss Jill and felt a palm hit my face. Turns out, it wasn’t Jill—it was a Geisha, er, a, a woman of the Orient. But at the time, I yelled, “Jill, you’ve changed! Get me the hell outta here!” I got really scared and did a skiddo in my slacks because the security guys had taken the piece of string Jill usually ties to my wrist so we don’t get separated. I started running. I found refuge under a table in the library and screamed, “Where am I!?” I was worried people might not come for a long time, since it was winter, and everybody hates winter, man.

In the winter, I like to sit with a cat on my lap. There are a lot of strays around my house. One day I named one cat Lemonhead and gave it a bath, but it tried to claw my eyes out. I said, “Not today, you crazy feline!” and I jumped out my bathroom window. To this day, that rascal still lives in that house. I haven’t been back since. Anyways, I heard Jill say, “Joey, I don’t want a repeat of what happened at the National Archives,” and I knew it was safe to come out. But to show everyone I was OK, I did a pull-up on the chandelier. A vein popped outta my neck, but the Jillster jammed it back in with her graceful thumbs. Man, I’m telling you, Doctor J can do it all.

Overall, the White House was a really good scene, even though we didn’t get to meet the President. I’d love to come back some-day with more clothes on. If you want to reserve a tour, I recommend going to a website and checking the place out. I’m glad I got my peepers on it, so I never ever have to go again.

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