From the man who wrote the award-winning post “I Built This“…
Dear Hillary:
I enjoyed building my own Resolute desk a little while back. And although it’s not hand-carved from wood from that mighty ship, I am about 78% sure it’s not particleboard.
Take THAT, IKEA.
I know you hope to sit behind the Resolute desk someday in the Oval Office. It would be a step up from where women kneeled during your husband’s administration.
In reference to the terrorist attack on our consulate in Benghazi and our murdered ambassador and security heroes, you said the following:
“With all due respect, the fact is we had four dead Americans. Was it because of a protest or was it because of guys out for a walk one night who decided that they’d they go kill some Americans? What difference at this point does it make?”
Never mind the fact that you and your boss blamed an Egyptian-American filmmaker for putting up a video on YouTube that allegedly “incited violence”.
Never mind the fact that we were assured this wasn’t a terrorist attack, nosiree.
Never mind that Amb. Stevens asked for backup support on repeated occasions until right before the attack.
After all–what difference does it make?
I set out to answer that question.
So, for my next project, I had to do something ambitious. Something groundbreaking. Something that would be a fool’s errand for just a mere *man*.
I decided to add a second bedroom–the kind you’d need when separate beds just aren’t far enough.
Scientists say you spend 1/3 of your life in your bedroom. Well not “you” specifically. Scientists are not following “you” and your dalliances. It’s not all about YOU.
I wanted more room. I wanted to make a DIFFERENCE.
But how, HOW to accomplish this? When you’re a leader, you have to make the tough choices. You can’t just knock through with a wrecking ball haphazardly. You can’t just invade Libya and expect to not have to pick up the pieces!
I looked at my 70s-style mirrored closet doors. They keep sliding off and running over everything on the bottom layer of these narrow closets, because apparently this room was built for an anemic child with a single pair of overalls.
I looked at the wall across from my bed. Bland. No TV. No pictures. Don’t want to hang anything and forfeit some of the security deposit.
I decided to put together peanut butter and chocolate. Like an AMERICAN(TM) would.
*shooes away Shania Twain from singing “Let Freedom Ring”* NOT YET!
I used my prodigious muscles and lifted the closet doors straight off their wheels, carrying them over to the open walls and placing them delicately, like old law documents in a shredder.
I set them side by side (careful to not leave fingerprints or spray an incredible amount of sweat on the clean glass) and slid them together, covering up the wall behind. There’s nothing quite like a good cover-up.
SUCCESS.
The illusion of a second room. Just like the illusion of security provided to our men on the ground in Benghazi.
But, after all, what difference does it make?
