Three more days with Robert Gibbs. After three years of hell in the White House. Anyway, I can now report: The deal is done. I talked to him for most of the afternoon, and he knows he’s out of there. “You step on a cat, you make noise,” he said. “But you step on Mo Dowd, and you get a leg three inches shorter and covered in blood. Plus you get the noise.”
Gibb’s criticism of the left couldn’t have led to a happy ending. Did he really think he was going to win that one? I told him flat-out: Gibbs, you’re not the prettiest guy in Washington, but save what face you can and bail. Look for the note under the door soon.
Also: Water’s wet. Mehlman’s gay. The sky’s blue.