Sean Spicer Is Insufferable

Mark Wilson/Getty Images
Mark Wilson/Getty Images

As lovely a title as “White House press secretary” sounds, if the job becomes nothing more than trying not to lose your brains and balls to your degenerate boss who’s detached from reality, when does one’s inner Kenny Rogers appear to “know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em”?

Granted, considering that Sean Spicer’s previous gig was communications director of the Republican National Committee, he’s well-versed in the art of lying like hell while sporting a self-important smug. Still, when you’re the spokesperson for Sweet Potato Saddam’s increasingly disastrous administration, it requires a level of sociopathy for which Spicer doesn’t seem to have the range. Not the convincing levels required for the gig, anyway.

Like, when he tried to argue that Michael Flynn, who was attached at the hip to 45 during the campaign and briefly served as his national security adviser, was only a “volunteer” for the campaign. Yeah, a volunteer who served as a top adviser and whose name was floated as a potential vice presidential pick. Likewise, Spicer described Paul Manafort as having only a “limited role” in Sweet Potato Saddam’s presidential campaign despite having the title of campaign manager.


And even after FBI Director James Comey testified before Congress and dismissed the claim that former President Barack Obama ordered the wiretapping of Trump Tower, Spicer said Monday, “We are still at the beginning phase of a look as to what kind of surveillance took place and why.”

Then there is Spicer answering a question about why 45 didn’t shake German Chancellor Angela Merkel’s hand by claiming, “I don’t think he heard the question.” Never mind the video of Merkel asking him and his clearly hearing her question and yet refusing to shake her damn hand for the photo op. Oh, Spicer also lied on the British intelligence community, too.

Week after week, Spicer manages to make an ass of himself—to the point where he has ventured far beyond self-parody and into full-fledged damn fool.

However, Spicer’s penchant for poorly crafted lies and varying methods of deflection arguably two-stepped into casual racism when he tried to answer a question about 45’s hypocrisy over the number of hours he spends golfing. Last August, 45 said in Virginia, “I’m going to be working for you. I’m not going to have time to go play golf.” He went on to claim that Obama had “played more golf than most people on the PGA Tour.”

As previously written, y’all’s president is a lazy thot and, since taking office, has, on 10 different occasions, traveled to golf clubs he owns in Florida to play golf. As the Washington Post’s Phillip Bump notes, that’s “one out of every six days he’s been in office.”


So when hit with this fun fact and questioned about what’s the difference between 45 and his predecessor, Spicer claimed that what separates the two is “how you use the game of golf” with respect to diplomacy, adding, “You saw him utilize this as an opportunity with [Japanese] Prime Minister [Shinzō] Abe to help foster a deeper relationship in Southeast Asia, in Asia, rather, and have a growing relationship that’s going to help U.S. interests.


“On a couple of occasions, he’s actually conducted meetings there; he’s had phone calls,” he continued. “Just because he heads there doesn’t mean that’s what’s happening.”

Say what you will about the attention-whoring Mistress of Propaganda Kellyanne Conway, but at least she’s creative when chopping and screwing the truth. Conway will create little phrases like “alternative facts” while slipping and sliding right on by answering your question. Spicer is far less imaginative, which is why it’s about time someone knitted him a custom-made dunce cap.


Fact is, 45 is a racist jackass who first gained political legitimacy by questioning the legitimacy of the first black president. Moreover, when he wasn’t claiming that Obama was born in a Kenyan village in secrecy, on several occasions he tried to portray that same first black president as a lazy, shifty Negro who didn’t want to do his job because he was obsessed with golfing. Now, less than 100 days into his own first term, that same racist jackass has spent every sixth day in another state golfing, and the best excuse his White House press secretary can come up with is, “Well, he be, like, meeting with folks and shit. Working or whatever, but we just don’t tell y’all, you know?”

Where is Ursula the Sea Witch and her vocal-cord-stripping spells when you need her?


When prompted about why 45 isn’t so forthcoming about this alleged work, Spicer noted, “It’s the same reason that he can have dinner or lunch with somebody and not. … The president’s entitled to a bit of privacy at some point.” Sure, when he’s with Melania Trump and trampling over her last nerves, but not when he’s supposed to be working.

There has to come a point when Spicer realizes that 45 is not his Mr. Do Right, and perhaps it’s time to speed up the escape plan that one assumes includes writing a book and scoring a Fox News contract. Or 45 needs to put him out of his misery—fire him—and let some other sycophant take over.


In the meantime, Sean Spicer and his lazy thot of a president can both suck Obama’s set of clubs.

Michael Arceneaux is the author of "I Can't Date Jesus," which will be released July 24, 2018 by Atria Books/Simon & Schuster, but go ahead and pre-order it now.

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Spicer could save some face if he just showed up to the press conferences, said what the Trumpanzee is doing that day, and just repeated what idiotic shit the “president” Tweeted (“What did he mean when he said Obama was wiretapping him? Just that. It’s in his Tweet. That’s as much as I know. He said Obama tapped him, so there it is... No, I don’t know why he put it in quotes.”)

But instead he chooses to double down and take it personally for some reason. I understand how it can be frustrating having to explain the actions of a lunatic and baldfaced liar, but you don’t have to become one yourself. Which is why I give less that two shits if it eventually makes him burst a blood vessel and gives him horrible nightmares. Enjoy the ulcer, motherfucker.