BY SEAMUS O’BRADAIGH – THIS BLOG KILLS FASCISTS
A White House and a president are sitting on the edge of an abyss and that was confirmed yesterday when White House spokesperson Sean Spicer told the White House press room filled with esoteric and cogent people trained in the art of bullshit detection that the Rump and a few trusted friends knew “exactly what the tweet meant.” (The White House Presser was held with audio only but we all may confer that longstanding Spicer pout.)
Now that’s a lie. The tweet he was talking about was the infamous “covfefe” reference that was left up from midnight to 6 am and then removed suddenly without comment.
“Despite the negative press covfefe,” spewed from the dashboard of the president’s iPhone. And Spicer, in front of a sceptical press and the world, actually attempted to flutter the nonsensical notion that the president typed it intentionally to deliver a secret codeword message to the members of his tidy cabal. Instead of laughing it off as a unintentional butt tweet. He decided to go for the crazy.
That’s where we’ve come. The press secretary to the most powerful man in the world has lost his mind. Just boop. His noodle went boom. You can see, if you rewatch it (the audio on CNN and the inferred look on his face, that is … and don’t let’s get started on why the presser was audio only … paranoid?) ten times like I did, that he knew it as soon as it exited his pie hole. Yes, the stutter told the tale and the message being transported to his neural firewall was this: “Oh shit Sean … you went there and now? Where’s the goddamn door?”
Think of it. You’re being broadcast out to god knows how many millions of live and tape delayed American citizens and press outlets worldwide and you have just outed yourself as perhaps the most lickspittled and sycophantic man in the history of US politics.
It’s obvious that the Rump simply fell asleep mid-tweet and no one checked his twitter feed until the wee hours of the morning.
Where are we in terms of this presidency? Well, we’re in covfefe land where the Emperor is wearing a bathrobe and wandering the halls of the White House dozey and illiterate, using his tiny hands to type out batshit crazy memes that make no sense whatsoever. And like the courtesans of the naked Emperor’s court, Rump’s staff are there propping up his lunacy with lies and deflections.
And! And! We don’t even know if Sean Spicer, Spicey, just blurted out his lie with a plan, or if he’s just bloody fed up with the whole charade.
The hurried call of “Blake, Blake, Blake, Blake” (attempting to get to the next reporter, Blake) tells the story. Spicer realized in that blazing second, that he was becoming his boss. (He was there already, it just ingrained itself in his own psyche at that moment.) He was just making up stuff and blurting it out. He knew it as soon as the members of the press asked the inevitable questions: “Sean what does it mean … ” He left shortly thereafter. In a huff and a hurry.
When you’re speaking for a man, who is exhibiting all the signs of a serious mental illness and you feel the need to normalize it? Don’t do it in front of a roomful of journalists who all have college degrees. “Sean, Sean Sean Sean … what’s it mean Sean… what is covfefe? What’s the word mean Sean?” What’s it all about Alfie?
When Sean said that covfefe is part of a White House cypher? He knew he was done.
He had succumbed to the horse manure pastiche that covers this stinking mess of a presidency.
The look in his eyes told the story. Probably. We don’t really know because the president ordered an audio feed … in 2017.
Sean Spicer just relinquished his reputation. He was thinking: “There, I have drunk the purple Kool Aid … time to take the brown acid … and just ooze gently into that dark night.”
How bad is it for Spicey?
Left wing pundits are starting to feel sorry for him. And that’s just goofy.
Cry no tears folks for this reprehensible sellot. He does not deserve tears.
He’s a punch drunk asskisser and he chose the job.
He deserves all of the mind-numbing detritus that comes his way.
But no. Spicey sees clothes. And the Emperor is naked as a jailbird.
And dumb as a brick.