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)
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.