In the United Spacetimes of America the White House is adorned with bloated, diseased corpses of the poor, punctured on spiked benches, loudspeakers singing baby shark off key on endless repeat. Children under 13 must be accompanied by parents on the tour.
Watch out for the West Wing. Through the silken halls, camouflaged among the antique treasures plundered across Spacetimes, in all colors of our rainbow and many more, the barbarians are said to roam. An experiment gone awry, a cult, an emergent collective of the spurned and forgotten, nobody knows for sure.
I imagine it sort of like to America what Marvel's Otherworld/Avalon is to Celtic mythology and the British Empire, or like WH40K's Imperium except steeped in Mythic Americana.