No. 45 – Presidential Line

“What do you mean, illegal?”

The President leaned up against the desk. The Rookie never saw him sit down at the desk. Occasionally Steve would sit behind the smooth oak, twirling his pen, but Steve had been absent from the Oval Office as of late. It was probably because the media was reporting Steve was running the show, not the President. If there was one thing the Rookie had learned in the last few weeks, it was to never upstage the President. There’s only one spotlight, and the President needs all the light he could get.

Spicer stood in front of the President, trembling slightly. He was stumbling through his words and was looking forward past the desk, into the drapes that had recently been purchased for the Oval Office. They were gold, the President’s favorite color.

The President’s face was perfectly still as he asked Spicer the question. His eyebrows were raised, waiting for an explanation. The Rookie looked down at the coffee cups he was carrying from Starbucks. The President’s cinnamon caramel macchiato was getting cold, and if Spicer didn’t hurry up and tell the President what he wanted to hear, then he’d be handing the President a cold coffee. The Rookie wasn’t about to let this sissy make him look bad.

“Well, sir, it’s illegal. That’s what I mean.” The Rookie cursed silently under his breath. The sissy decided to play the wrong hand and tell the President the truth.

The President grabbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “C’mon Sean, you aren’t answering my question here. I get that you’re telling me it’s illegal. My question is, why is it illegal? That’s what I want to know. Why can’t KellyAnne tell people to buy my daughter’s brand? I don’t understand.” The President looked up at Sean. “I’m not sure what’s illegal about telling people your opinion on television. KA said she happened to like a brand, and it just so happened that the brand is my daughter’s. Would KellyAnne be breaking the law if she said how much she liked Louis Vitton? Or Gucci? Never mind that my daughter’s brand is better than those two, I mean they’re good brands, just not of the same caliber as my daughter’s. That’s what I’m trying to figure out here. Because as far as I’m concerned, KA did a great job.” He made his signature ‘A-OK’ sign with his hand. “A terrific job. You telling the press that she’s been punished is a bonehead move.”

Spice stammered and rolled his eyes. The President pursed his lips. “Something wrong, there Sean? You didn’t seem to like what I just said.”

The Rookie felt the coffee. It was still warm, but barely. The sissy was taking up too much time answering a simple question.

“Sir, with all due respect, I didn’t say she was punished, I said she was consoled.”

The President didn’t budge. “You made it sound like she did something wrong.”

Spice’s face went flush. He was losing his cool. “She broke the law!”

The President shrugged. “Maybe. But she did so in defending my daughter.” The President looked away. “Get out of here. Maybe I’ll take you seriously when you’re no longer played by a girl on television.”

Spice didn’t say a word as he spun and stormed out of the room. The moment the door latched the Rookie sped over to the President. “Your coffee, Mr. President,” he said as he handed over the cinnamon caramel macchiato.

The President took a sip from the coffee and looked at the Rookie, nodding in approval. “You got them to add extra syrup, just like I asked. Good job, Matt. I like people who can follow orders,” he said, then sweeping his arm out for dramatic effect. “Not like these god damn judges. Christ. I can’t believe how this place is run. Disgraceful.”

The Rookie nodded. He saw an opening. “I agree one hundred percent, Mr. President.”

The President took another sip from his coffee. “What would you do?”

“Excuse me?”

The President put the coffee down on the desk. “Let’s say you were the Press Secretary. What would you have done differently?”

The Rookie smiled. “You mean if I were in the sissy’s shoes?”

The President’s face lit up. “Hoy-yo! That’s pretty funny. I like it. I’m going to use it. Sissy boy Sean.”

The Rookie thought about it for a moment. “You know what I’d do? I’d filibuster ’em.”

The President pressed. “Filibuster?”

The Rookie backed up, letting his arms swing a bit, bringing them both in front of him. He started failing them about while he spoke. “Yeah, yeah. Filibustering. You ever see one of these senators or congresspeople or whoever do this? If they really, really don’t want something brought up, they do a filibuster. They basically go up and talk for, like, hours. About whatever. You could go up and read a book for twelve hours. And the other people, they get so sick of it, they drop whatever they were trying to pass in the first place. I’d do that. The press asks me a question, I’d be like ‘Hey, my cat did this cute thing yesterday. Let me tell you about it.’ or ‘You know what’s American? Beef Jerky.’

The President chuckled. “I like that idea, Matt. Keep coming to me with great ideas like that, and maybe you’ll find yourself working directly for me.” He gave the Rookie a wink. “Still, though. These founding fathers of ours, of this great nation. They were entrepreneurs, businessmen, go-getters like you and me. Why would these go-getters make it illegal to keep a business when running the country? My wife, beautiful woman, wants to start a new line of clothing. A presidential line. She can’t though. Her dreams, all of a sudden… Poof. Gone. Seems a little strange to me. Seems weird the founding fathers, great men these founding fathers, would hamper any kind of business.”

The Rookie nodded in agreement. “Seems unAmerican is what it seems like, Mr. President.”

The President gave him a finger gun. “Pow. Bingo Matt. I’m going to let you know one thing right now. The wall? Not a huge deal. The Muzzie ban? I can take it or leave it. What will truly make America great again is business, and I’ll be damned if I can’t help the people by making them my employees.”

A smile broke out over the Rookies face. “If… if you could hire everyone to work for you, well, that would solve all the problems.”

The President smiled back. “It would. I know it would. I’m going to make this country great again. Soon, everyone will be cheering my name. Soon, everyone will be working for me.” He grabbed the coffee next to him and took another sip. He frowned. “Hmm. Coffee’s cold. Do me a favour, kid, and grab me another one. Extra syrup.”

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton.

p.s. What will happen next? Will Spicer go crazy? Will KellyAnne start selling Trump merchandise outside the trunk of her car? Does the Rookie have no shame? Find out next week!

 

Here Come the (Hip-Hop) Clowns

Trump sat in the Oval Office. Even though the room was empty, his face was contorting slightly as he ran through conversations in his head. Occasionally, he’d make little hand gestures. There was a knock on the door. It cracked open, and Sean Spicer stuck his head through the gap.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Trump massaged the bridge of his nose. “Seanie, we’ve been through this. You’re supposed to be in here on the hour, every hour, to give me updates on what’s happening out there. Of course I want to see you. You need to burst through that door, though. I want you exploding through that door. I want energy. Can you give me energy Seanie?”

“I believe so, sir.”

Trump gestured a small explosion with his tiny hands. “Boom, Seanie. Energy. Let me see some energy.”

Sean Spicer sighed, then threw the door open and jumped into the room. “Sir! Sean Spicer reporting the word on the Presidency, sir!”

Trump nodded slightly. “Much better, Seanie. I want to see that sort of performance at your press conferences. So far you’ve been lackluster. I need winners on my team, Seanie.” Trump leaned back into his chair. “Alright, gimme the bad news first.”

Sean squirmed and scanned the entire room even though it was empty. “Are you sure, sir? The last time I gave you the bad news first, you had a bit of an incident.”

Trump shook his head. “Don’t worry about it Seanie boy, give it to me straight. I had a television in here, but they took it away. Said I have a bunch of…” he waved at the paper work on his desk “…stuff to read and sign. Just give me the word”.

“Okay. Well, seems like you angered a lot of scientists lately.”

Trump shrugged. “So what. I hate eggheads. They think they’re smarter than me? I went to school too, you know. I built a bunch of schools. Take away their Twitter privileges. What are they going to do?”

Sean scratched his head. “They… they kinda went and made their own Twitter accounts.”

Trump frowned. “I don’t understand. Just phone up Twitter and tell them to cancel them. Shouldn’t be hard”.

Sweat started forming on his brow. “That’s not how it works. Even if they banned those accounts, they could just make more accounts, truthfully. Also, scientists are forming their own political party.”

“Losers. I’ve never seen an egghead get laid. The only thing scientists ever win are science fairs. Look, just make them go away, okay? Easy problem, go solve it. Next piece of news”.

“Okay, well it seems that a bunch of Juggalos will march on Washington this year sometime.”

Trump squinted. “What’s a Juggalo?”

Sean threw his hands up. “Goddamned if I know, sir. I did some research, but they’re some sort of loosely organized gang that worships the Insane Clown Posse.”

“The Insane Clown… what?” Trump stared at Sean for a while.

“It’s… it’s a rap group, based out of Detroit. They have a cult like following all over the nation, mostly in poor, rural regions.”

Trump put his child-sized hand up. “I don’t like clowns, Seanie. Had one at my birthday party as a kid. You come to my party, you’re going to act with dignity. I don’t want buffoons surrounding me. What are these clowns doing? What do they want?”

Sean looked around for a chair. “Sir, can I sit down?”

Trump thought about this for a moment, then raised a finger. “No. Now, get on with the clowns.”

Sean’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what their agenda is. Right now it’s stating that they’re marching “For all the weirdos, freaks, and side shows” and that they’re going to “Soak the town in Faygo”.

Trump waved it off. “Whatever, they sound dangerous. We’ll send in the army when they get here.”

Sean raised an eyebrow. “You mean the National Guard, sir?”

Trump’s face twisted. “Army, National Guard. The guys with guns, Seanie, same thing. Stop being an egghead. You’re not smarter than me.” Trump clicked his pen a bunch, then looked back at Sean. “Well, Mr. Smart guy, anything else?”

Stains immediately appeared around Sean’s armpits. He started trembling slightly. “It’s bad, sir. Please don’t throw anything at me.”

Trump raised both his hands, showing Sean his palms. “Nothing here, Seanie. You just let me have it.”

Sean stared directly at the window, not looking Trump in the eyes as he spoke. “They’re giving Alec Baldwin an entire episode of Saturday Night Live“.

There was a loud crash from the Oval Office. Sean Spicer tore out of the room. Loud cussing could be heard in every part of the White House. It soon subsided, until the only sound that could be heard was gentle sobbing into incredibly minuscule hands.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Faygo is a small brand of soda pop that comes from Detroit. It is incredibly popular with both the Insane Clown Posse and its followers the Juggalos. ICP shows usually have the rap duo spraying the drink into the crowd.

p.s.s. It hasn’t even been a week people.

 

Lies are the Spicer of Life

Note: This is a transcript of the third press conference held by Press Secretary Sean Spicer. The conference was held Tuesday, January 24th, 2017.

<Muffled noise as reporters are taking their places. Sean Spicer walks out to the podium>

“Hello, everyone. I’m glad you could all make it on such short notice. There have been a lot of lies spouted recently about not only myself but also Kellyanne Conway and many other people within the Trump team. Today, I will be making a point of clearing up some of the misconceptions so that you can untwist the media out of the crooked perverse form you’ve managed to wrangle it into.”

<A number of reporters jump up at the pause, shouting and pointing  small microphone devices in the direction of  Sean>

“Does it look like I’m taking questions today? Your job is to open your earholes and learn something. Now, what I’m talking about is complicated. It might just pass over your head. You media jerks have been calling us liars. That’s not very nice. We’ve said before, President Trump had the largest turnout for his inauguration in the history of the United States. In the words of our President, and I quote, ‘It was the bigliest inauguration ever. The ratings were good. They were so good. The ratings were through the roof. In fact, we had to get a repair person in to fix the roof. With our record attendance, we broke a roof and gave a man a job’.”

“Now, I understand some of you have been tweeting pictures of past inaugurations, and data gathered by the DC metro regarding tickets, and Nielson ratings for television. You keep throwing facts in our direction. As Kellyanne mentioned, we’re using alternative-facts here, or as we’re calling ’em now, alt-facts.”

<Four reporters scream out ‘Alt-facts?’ in unison. Loud grumbling and murmuring fill the room. One reporter faints>

“Can I finish? Can I finish, please? What you don’t know is that not only is Kellyanne Conway a very talented individual in getting people elected, she’s also has a degree in theoretical physics. What she’s discovered is this; there are an infinite number of universes, and each universe is an alternate version of this reality. And there are facts that can come from these universes, which we’ve labeled as alt-facts. So, in theory, there is an alternate universe where over a billion people tuned into the inauguration. I want you to think about that for a second.”

<More rabble from the press. One journalist gets a question out.”

“Mr. Press Secretary, Mr. Press Secretary!”

“Oh jeez, god, really? Fine, you there, in the sweater. Yes, you.”

“Margaret Sullivan, Washington Post. If what you are saying is true…”

“It is.”

“…Ahem. If what you’re saying is true, then would it stand to imagine a reality where Hillary Clinton the presidency? If the answer is yes, is there any way to travel there?”

“To put it bluntly, no. President Donald Trump is such a sensation that his popularity spans all the infinite universes. He’s that huge.”

<Shouting again from the press. More hands are raised.>

“Alright, I think I handled that last question pretty well. Let’s keep this streak going! Yes, you there.”

“Yes, hello, Gary O’Donoghue, BBC. I’ve had a little bit of time since you stated Kellyanne Conway to do some research. There doesn’t seem to be any indication that she studied physics at any of the universities she attended. Would you care to explain?”

<Sean Spicer reaches for his temples.>

“See? This is why we can’t have nice things. You’re trying to twist things here, you Limey jerk. You’re just trying to wind me up. Have you not been listening? Have you not been paying attention? There are other universes, moron, and in some of those universes Kellyanne went to MIT and studied theoretical physics and found out about these infinite universes. Is that so hard? Is it getting through your thick skull? Because you couldn’t play fair, I’m only taking one more question and it’s going to be from our friends over at Breitbart.”

<The person from Breitbart, now sitting up from the lazyboy provided for him, smirks at the reporters before asking a question.>

“Sup Sean, I had a blast over the weekend. Thanks for showing me the town. I gotta ask. How do you feel about Dippin Dots?”

<Sean Spicer’s face goes red. He starts to visibly grind his teeth.>

“Dippin Dots? Ice cream of the future? I feel like they should be taken out with extreme prejudice. I’m talking black masks and BMXs at night. Tactical precision strikes. You struck a nerve there. Anyways, that’s a wrap. I have to go figure out some other great ideas, one of the versions of me in the infinite universes is Rhode Scholar.”

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. The jokes is that for some reason, Sean Spicer hates Dippin Dots.

p.s.s. Apparently, and I heard this through the grape vine so it might not be real, but Trump is sending out Spicer to meet the press on these issues. I guess the President would be pretty upset at the idea of not having the biggest inauguration ever.

p.s.s.s. I think Trump is going to hate these next four years more than his detractors ever will.