Last night I dreamed that I was the President of the United States. It was a slow day, so my aides and I filled the oval office with the plastic balls that come in those ball pits at Chuck E Cheeses. Then we spent the rest of the day tending to important matters of state while bouncing in the Presidential PlayPlace.
I wonder what would happen if the real president tried to do that. I bet his advisors would tell him no. That sucks. What’s the point of being the leader of one of the most powerful countries in the world if you can’t decorate your office the way you see fit?
You know, lots of people want to be president, but I’m guessing it’s not really as great as it sounds. You probably don’t get a lot of days off, you have to sit at a desk signing things all day (sounds like a oval-shaped cubicle to me), and half of the country hates you no matter what you do.
I’ll take making ice cream sundaes and shakes and making everybody I help a little bit happier any day.