Lawn Order

One of the happiest political stories of the past week involved 11-year old Frank Giaccio, who wrote to President Trump asking if he could mow the White House lawn to promote his self-created business and was awarded the job.

"That's the real future of the country right there," beamed Mr. Trump as he pointed at the young entrepreneur. "Maybe he'll be President someday!"

When questioned whether he'd also asked Hillary Clinton if he could mow her grass, young Frank replied "No, but I did offer to shovel her snow."

"But there is no snow," said Hillary.

"Lady," laughed Frank, "there'll be snow in Hell before you're in the White House!"

(Editorial note: we may have made up the part about Hillary)

CONSTANT COFFIN...

We're a little light on substance at Stilton's Place today (despite plenty of things going on) owing to being impressively, disgustingly ill. Mrs Jarlsberg got the ball rolling with sore throat, sneezes and coughs, and we hoped beyond hope for 24 hours that it would prove to be just allergies (have we mentioned our home is really dusty lately? We have? Never mind).

But nooOOooo, a happy little invading army of germs has swept through the Jarlsberg home and taken no prisoners. Even our freaking teeth hurt, and it's getting increasingly hard to find walls which aren't freshly painted upon which to cough blood-flecked phlegm.

We'll be right as rain soon, but in the meanwhile you may want to wash your hands if you actually touched your keyboard while reading this. Better safe than sorry.

Yoga Bared

During an interview pushing her bitter, brain-damaged memoir "What Happened," (soon to be followed by the sequel "Where Am I?") Hillary Clinton was asked about her practice of yoga.

Surprisingly, she was able to recall some details despite having erased some 33,000 "personal" emails on the subject (along with other "personal" email like details of her mother's funeral, Chelsea's wedding, family recipes, multiple refusals of additional security to Ambassador Stevens in Benghazi and, of course, her highly personal sale of America's uranium reserves to Russia).

Part of her yoga routine consists of "alternate nostril breathing," which involves closing one nostril with a finger and then breathing deeply through the other. This is then repeated until she reaches an oxygen-deprived state in which she can temporarily forget that she is officially The Biggest Loser In History.

The alternate nostril technique does not, however, work for her husband Bill - who famously does not inhale, but is no stranger to blowing.

SPEAKING OF ALTERNATES

The cartoon above wasn't our first version, but we considered it the funniest version. Still, the joke may be a bit vague for those who have clean minds or who have mercifully forgotten Huma Abedin. For you, we present the alternate version of the cartoon, which you should read while holding one of your nostrils shut.

"Code name: Chardonnay."

AND FINALLY...

Trials and Trivializations

"It appears your house was built over a haunted crematorium..."

Theoretically, there is a little video above showing the current state of the Jarlsberg living room. We're not entirely sure the video works, though, which is pretty much the same thing we can say about everything else in the house about now.

The remodeling slog goes on, and we apologize for writing about it yet again - but we no longer have the wits to talk about much else. So here are some random observations:

• Despite the many distractions around the house, we successfully crossed an important item off our lifetime bucket list today: "buy $200 worth of aged bronze doorknobs in one transaction." Looks like "Swim with dolphins" will just have to wait for another year.

• Because we're redoing the entire house, everything - and we mean everything - has to keep moving nomadically from room to room to stay ahead of the tile guys, the painters, and anyone else who wants to wander through our house without making eye contact. Most of our waking hours are being spent moving things, time and again, from where they don't belong to where they will never be found again.  Sure, it seems unproductive, but the wrenching back pain at the end of the day makes it all worthwhile.

• Riddle: How many electricians does it take to change a lightbulb? Surprisingly, the answer is no longer "zero" if you replace your old canister lights with the new self-contained, totally-sealed LED ones which cost $25 each and can't be changed by the consumer. Somehow, we suspect Obama is to blame.

• It's exceedingly hard to be witty while someone is vigorously sanding your office door, mere feet away, at this very freaking moment. We feel like a morsel of food desperately hiding from a relentless toothbrush.

• When you only have one real spoon available for all your meals for days at a time, it's funny to discover that your wife has been using the same spoon to mix the wet dog food with the dry stuff. Bone appetit! (And yes, the "bone" joke was intentional).

• You can learn interesting things about your home helpers based on the litter they leave behind! For instance, someone in the crew is taking a thick green liquid medicine to help clear up his attacks of diarrhea (perhaps we didn't need a new bathroom vent fan after all). Quite possibly the same fellow who ate a banana and then tossed the peel on a windowsill just before a metric buttload of furniture was moved to block it from reach. The withered, blackened peel is now spontaneously generating its own cloud of banana gnats.

Which we forgive only because "banana gnats" is sort of fun to say.

• When we stumble (literally and frequently) through our home in the dark, we're sorry we ever laughed at any joke which involved Helen Keller and moving the furniture.

And he was never seen again...