A South Louisiana cajun gentleman visits the White House
My family is from crossroads, cotton-picking south Mississippi. I am the oldest cousin and grandchild in the family.
In 1957 my mother’s younger sister married a boy from between New Orleans and Baton Rouge whose family is old-line South Louisiana Cajun Catholic church and money – a lot of money. They had six children all of whom each had a few kids and are now having grandchildren.
My daughter is a DC attorney who lives in her own Capitol Hill townhouse; she’s a single lady of a certain age.
Whenever the children or grandchildren of our Mississippi or Louisiana relatives come to DC, they usually stay with my daughter.
Last week over school spring break one of my Cajun cousins – a jolly, loveable guy who does not suffer fools – came with his daughter and her two teenagers to DC. They toured the White House.
After a few minutes of touring, and after examining the cheap, gold-spray-painted shit that Trump has affixed to every flat surface in the White House, my cousin exclaimed so everyone in the tour group could hear: “Who put this gold crap on the walls? This place looks like an old-time New Orleans whorehouse!!”
His wife and daughter were mortified. The kids and other visitors loved it.
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Please tell him that. 
Another Ragin' Cajun!! 
... I never visited such an establishment. Especially not when I had a vew days liberty from the Fort Polk training area. If anyone saw me in such a place, that wasn't me. If my name is on a customer list, I hope it's redacted. That is all.
and honest too.