"Mommy, is the Easter Bunny really on Omarosa's enemies list?" "No, Bar-own, Easter Boony ees so lie-all to Daddy. Even once was Meester Spicer in costume of rabbit."

Columnist and former Bush speechwriter David Frum has been stripping the veneer off the deconstructed state lately. Exhibit A? The largest single White House event of the year:

Because First Lady has still hired almost no staff, Easter Egg roll run by 400 Obama admin volunteer holdovers https://t.co/74Rvtp3Vym

— David Frum (@davidfrum) April 17, 2017

Secret Service walling POTUS off from threat of unruly children. https://t.co/9UdLL3cSph

— David Frum (@davidfrum) April 17, 2017

Instead of celebrities, “children got to meet White House stars like Spicer, Jeff Sessions, Kellyanne Conway and Omarosa Manigault."

— David Frum (@davidfrum) April 17, 2017

"Melania Trump read a story and then walked back toward the White House” https://t.co/YcaeweM4Ur pic.twitter.com/qAI5ryYnV4

— David Frum (@davidfrum) April 17, 2017

And seriously: the people who f—ed up the White House Easter Egg roll are asking America to follow them into war without allies in NE Asia

— David Frum (@davidfrum) April 17, 2017

Brown M&Ms, you ask?

Clearly, you aren't a Van Halen fan.

As David Lee Roth explained in his memoirs,

Van Halen was the first band to take huge productions into tertiary, third-level markets. We’d pull up with nine eighteen-wheeler trucks, full of gear, where the standard was three trucks, max. And there were many, many technical errors — whether it was the girders couldn’t support the weight, or the flooring would sink in, or the doors weren’t big enough to move the gear through. 

The contract rider read like a version of the Chinese Yellow Pages because there was so much equipment, and so many human beings to make it function. So just as a little test, in the technical aspect of the rider, it would say “Article 148: There will be fifteen amperage voltage sockets at twenty-foot spaces, evenly, providing nineteen amperes …” This kind of thing. And article number 126, in the middle of nowhere, was: “There will be no brown M&M’s in the backstage area, upon pain of forfeiture of the show, with full compensation.” 

So, when I would walk backstage, if I saw a brown M&M in that bowl … well, line-check the entire production. Guaranteed you’re going to arrive at a technical error. They didn’t read the contract. Guaranteed you’d run into a problem. Sometimes it would threaten to just destroy the whole show. Something like, literally, life-threatening.