This woman is going to have to spin more fucking straw into gold in a shorter time than anyone since the brothers Grimm came up with Rumpleminz. Er, Rumplestiltskin.
Sorry, sir. We have been making a bit merry. Oops. Now we have mixed literary allusions. We digress. And we are drunk.
Cassie is going to be igniting the midnight petroleum for a while. You see, she has to take this room full of straw that is the collected body of work that is Bruce W. Speck and spin it into gold. It’s her job, so be easy on her. As we have demonstrated, the man did nothing of note. Most initiatives went nowhere or were colossal failures.
Look for Mathes to be forward-looking. Trouble is, it is the summer. Not much going on. So everyone is going to focus on this instead of ballgames and concerts and the Lion statue and other things that might make her wheel spin a little faster. She will have to make the introduction of the interim and the search process flawless because Southern fucked up the last one so much.
Don’t sell your soul to imps, Cassie. Just tell truth to power and remind them how ignoring good advice about handling the media ended up before.