I don't know how crazy-ass stupid you have to be to be appointed as the White House Press Secretary but I'm starting to believe even I could do it, and I used to jam forks into toasters to rotate bagels. I suppose it probably helps when the boss is a petulant man-child who can be sidetracked by a slice of chocolate cake.
Alas, by the time you read this Sean Spicer will be on his sixth or seventh clarification in a desperate attempt to make us all understand exactly why he tried to compare Bashar al-Assad to Adolf Hitler by arguing that Hitler hadn't used chemical weapons on his own people - which is baffling because for more than sixty years "using chemical weapons on his own people" has been the textbook definition of Adolf Hitler; it's how he built his personal brand.
Spicer's previous attempts (plural!) to refine his remarks included watching him struggle lamely to find the words "Concentration camp", before giving up that spectacular mental wrestling match and calling them "Holocaust Centers" right there on live TV. Then there was some gibberish about how technically Hitler never dropped chemical weapons from airplanes and that's all he really meant to say; rhetorical Adonis that he is. It's probably correct, I guess, since you don't have to use an airplane when you just drop the pellets through a hatch in the roof. Which for the record the Nazis did a lot, the White House later had to point out in a statement in this the year of our Lord, 2017.
Really, Holocaust Centers? Holocaust Centers? Look, Sean, heaven knows I've forgotten my train of thought my fair share of times before, but if you can use the word Holocaust without remembering fucking "Concentration Camp" you need to get out of the White House Press Briefing Room and lie down until the ketamine wears off.
I suppose it could also be that you're deliberately trying to undermine the severity of the Nazis' crimes by avoiding a particular phrase that comes with a lot of unpleasant baggage and imagery in favor of a term that, frankly, I'm surprised Richard Spencer hasn't already trademarked for a future business name. But in all honesty I doubt the Press Secretary is clever enough for that - he's more banal than he is Bannon - and if there is one thing that may save us all these next (Jesus!) three years and ten-months, it'll be that the Trump administration keeps shooting itself in the foot and then trying to cover it up by shooting itself in the stomach.
Surely it won't be long now before Spicer ends up out on his ass and off on his next adventure, forming the world's shittiest crisis communications firm with the soon-to-be-former-CEO of United Airlines and whichever maniac wrote the Kardashian Pepsi ad.
Surely.
Fuck me, it's been a banner week for morons. For a brief moment in time it looked like I was going to be writing a post about how some good things have actually happened: the Republicans got spanked but good on health care and Paul Ryan got to look like a massive turd, Nikki Haley's gone rogue at the UN, Kevin O'Leary continues to lead in a race that promises to keep our own Conservatives in the political doldrums for another four years, and winter finally seems to be lifting. As I write this diatribe there's no shortage of "Ben Carson gets stuck in elevator" headlines to laugh at, and that is very welcome change from a detailed analysis of Mike Pence's filthy and bizarre perversions.
I've even started to lose weight, having decided to drastically reduce the number of calories I eat to practice for my frail dotage, when there won't be any Meals on Wheels at all.
The good always comes at a cost, though. It's unavoidable. The President's dementia continues to flare up, finally acting on Syria may end up triggering World War III, and cutting most of the alcohol out of my diet has ruined my ability to sleep. I just keep wandering around in a daze, unable to balance the catastrophically high levels of caffeine and rage-spittle in my blood.
I guess what I'm saying is that beach and cigar season can't come soon enough.
