In Memoriam: Sean Spicer

Every journey comes to an end. Some endings come as a sharp, sudden shock. Others are more gradual. You can see what’s coming and have time to brace yourself for the terminus. This ending feels like a little bit of both.

Come August, Sean Spicer will recede into the bushes for the last time and won’t be furitively whispering to reporters ever again. He is not deceased – physically – however, taking into account the morass that is the Trump administration, it is safe to assume he underwent some sort of spiritual death.

One hundred and eighty-three days ago, Spicer battering-rammed his way into our hearts. Here was a man sensitive to the unsettled national mood that pervaded Inaugeration Day. His ingenious remedy was an astringent attack on those who would question the president’s own truth.

He was a Press Secretary with pluck and verve. A man who, through a tilt of his head, a furrow of his brow, or an exasperated sigh, plainly communicated the toll of cognitive dissonance upon his person. When he finally broke, he broke hard, refusing to endorse Donald Trump’s selection of the execrable Anthony Scaramucci as his replacement.

It was almost a moral victory. That’s the best anyone in the Trump administration can hope for. Sean Spicer may be leaving, but he will never be forgotten.

(Year Zero/Day One Hundred and Eighty-Three)

Fawn With Panache!

How embarrassing.

When called upon to publically bestow adulation upon the beloved and glorious leader, may his reign extend a hundred thousand years into the distant future, as trees are sustained by the glow of his benevolence, some of His top lieutenants struggled to express sufficiently effusive praise.

He is more deity than mortal; as such, His legendary wrath is to be avoided. We do not wish to see the villages of his loyal servants decimated in a fit of pique. Suggestions as to how best celebrate His magnificence are humbly offered here.

Don’t hold back. He is the best man in all creation and he knows it. Your superlatives should be gushing. Proclaiming “Wow, you truly are the best leader and you’ve broken all the records please don’t kill my pets!” won’t be enough, though. Be creative. “He has the body of a Roman god, the strength of a panther, and the searing intelligence of a packed stadium full of Albert Einsteins” may work.

Dont forgo the honorifics. He is the banner of infidels, the archdealer, the tangerine revanchist, shrew-tamer, Cheeto-conqueror, orb-wielder, winner of very big contests; well-known, money-blessed, model-married – He is all this and more. Your worshipful complements must reflect this.

Don’t lie to Him. He is all-seeing, all-knowing. He can see what has come before, and things yet to come. He’ll know if deceit is in your heart. Telling Him He is unpopular or that the rabble have designs to overthrow him are LIES and FALSE. Speaking such verboten information in His presence will only give you passage to an oubliette.

With these suggestions firmly at the front of their minds, any further public embarrassment can be deftly eluded. And then, it is hoped, their families won’t be burned alive or entombed alive in an airtight coffin at the bottom of the ocean as punishment.