“Aaand… we’re out!”
The camera’s red eye went dark and the production lights dimmed, bathing a small circle of the White House lawn in a ghostly yellow glow. Sean Spicer let out a long sigh. He unclipped his lav mic from his lapel and noticed that the American flag pin beside it had flipped upside down. He tried to twist the Stars and Bars right side up, but Old Glory just kept turning on its head.
“Oh, well,” Sean thought. He turned away from the impromptu interview set the Fox News crew had put up on the White House grounds and started walking back towards the West Wing. “These days, everything seems to be a little topsy-turvy.”
It had been another long, hot night for the White House Press Secretary. As part of his rock-hard pledge to Make America Great Again, President Donald Trump had fired FBI Director James Comey. Yes, it was a surprise. But it was also a “win.” It was a “surprise win,” which are the best kinds of wins when you really think about it. Everybody likes it when a beautiful woman shows up to a party, but they like it even more if that beautiful women pops out of a giant birthday cake.
And now that Lou Dobbs and the rest of the truth-heroes at Fox News had the facts straight from the horse’s mouth, maybe the American people would start to realize how big of a “win” this really was. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the “win” that would start to make this country “sick” of “winning,” just like The Donald promised. Sean smiled as he imagined millions of Americans sitting in from of their television sets, puking their goddamn guts out on to their living room floors.
But the grin soon faded from Sean’s whisper-thin lips when he saw the the throng of FAKE NEWS media waiting for him outside the entrance to the White House. Their microphones stood erect, quivering with anticipation in the warm night air. These days, the press corp was always begging for a little taste of Spicy…
How many times did Sean have to tell them that Comey wasn’t canned because of the Russia stuff? It was because of the Hillary email stuff! During the campaign, The President thought that what Comey did was good. Then, he changed his mind and now he thinks that what Comey did was bad. Is that so hard to understand? Is the President not allowed to change his mind just because Comey is requesting additional funding for the investigation into the Trump campaign’s totally non-existent ties to the Russia’s very crafty and maybe some might say “good” interference in the election?
Those crybaby Democrats had made a real mess out of this one. Thankfully, Sean was used to cleaning up messes in the press room… and in the bedroom… from sex stuff… and also from falling asleep while eating soup in bed…
But the stress was starting to take its toll. As he walked, Spicer could feel all five feet and eight inches of his nearly perfectly egg-shaped body ache, from the soles of his compact, hoof-like feet all the way up through his thick, luscious neck jowls.
So before Sean let himself be sucked into that hot, teeming press pit, he decided to pause for a moment among some nearby bushes. He absolutely was not hiding. He liked being there among the shrubs and greenery. Sean found all the leaves and twigs and mulch and dirt to be peaceful. If a hedge or two was blocking him from view of the reporters, it definitely wasn’t on purpose. It was a pretty tall hedge. Sean should know. He was a bit of an expert when it came to big wood.
Sean needed a quick fix. He was trying to break the habit, but on a day like today, he felt like he deserved to be a little naughty. Sean pulled a roll of Bubble Tape out of his jacket pocket, placed the dispenser up to his lips, and sucked four feet of “Gushing Grape” gum straight into his tiny little mouth.
Alternating between chewing, vigorous tongue work, and nearly choking to death, Sean carefully worked the candy into a tennis-ball sized mound. Soon, his mouth could barely contain the gum’s girth. Saliva began to dribble out of both corners of his dry, cracked lips. Sean breathed through his nose, closed his eyes, and relaxed his jaw. The worries of the day seemed to rise out of his body like vapor and float up into the sky where they danced with the distant sound of Kellyanne Conway tearing Anderson Cooper a shiny new asshole.
But Sean’s moment of bliss was cut short by the familiar shriek of a leftist smear-job artist.
“Sea-aaan,” one of the reporters called out into the night. “We’re looking for an answer, Sean. We were really hoping you could give it to us.”
“Animals,” Sean muttered to himself as he struggled to swallow his big, fat wad. “They just can’t seem to get enough…”
When Sean emerged from among the bushes, the heaving media mass pounced. Reporters surrounded him from all sides, pressing their tape recorders towards his gum hole. A camera light flicked on and Sean’s long, elegant forehead gleamed like a Lexus headlight.
“Just turn the lights off. Turn the lights off,” Sean ordered. “We’ll take care of this. Can you just turn that light off?”
“Ooh,” cooed Jenna Johnson from The Washington Post. “Nasty boy wants to do it in the dark, huh?”
“No. I, uh- I didn’t- I didn’t say that.” Despite the ambush, Sean managed to sound cool, calm, and collected. “I don’t- I’m not trying- The dark doesn’t really- You know- As far as I know, the dark doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Whatever you say, Daddy” purred Pete Baker from The New York Times, as he nibbled on the end of his pen. “You make the rules around here.”
Once again, the press pool was turning into more of a hot tub. Ever since his first day on the job, when Sean stepped up to the podium and announced that President Trump’s inauguration was so large, it could be seen from space, the White House correspondents had been clambering for a one-on-one with his cock. These reporters were uncontrollably attracted to Sean’s confidence, his knowledge, and that sense of authority that seemed to ooze out of him every time he opened his mouth. But there was also the outside chance that one of them was trying to seduce him in order to gain intimate access to the goings on of the White House. Sean had to be careful not to give in to temptation. He had come to Washington to drain the swamp, not his balls.
“We’ve been looking all over for you, Sean” hissed Tara Palmeri from Politico. “Should have known we’d find Spicy deep in the bush.”
“I- I- I wasn’t, uh- I wasn’t in the bush,” Sean shot back. “I was- I guess you could call it- I was among the bushes.”
“Not in the bush?” asked Peter Nicholas of The Wall Street Journal, an eyebrow cocked. “You always were a tease, Sean…”
Sean had had enough of their games. It was time to take control.
“I imagine that you’ll want to know- Or I guess- I can assume, maybe, that you have questions?” Sean barked.
“Somebody’s looking to get right down to business,” said Brain Bennett from the Los Angeles Times with a smirk. “I was gonna toss you a few softballs, Sean, but it looks like you’re ready for the hard stuff.”
“It’s- It’s been a long, uh- The world doesn’t stop just because, you know, you guys- “ Sean had to ease up. His alpha-male personality was only making the reporters more ravenous. “How about, maybe- We’re just swamped, so- We could do, you know, ten minutes?”
“So you want to make it a quickie?” Kristin Donnelly from NBC News slowly licked the tip of her pencil before bringing it down to her note pad. “That’s fine, Sean. We’ll take you anyway we can get you.”
Despite his best efforts, Sean could feel that the reporters’ come-ons were starting to staring to rally the base… of his penis. He gritted his teeth and prayed that he could put up more of a “resistance” than those snowflake coastal elites have managed so far.
“Why did Comey get the pink slip?” asked Dave Boyer from The Washington Times. “And is anyone else going to get slipped the pink tonight, Sean?”
“I’m just going to speak, uh, in regards to your first- The second part I can’t- I don’t- I shouldn’t-“ Just when Sean’s urges were starting to get the better of him, a familiar chant began echoing in his mind. LOCK IT UP! LOCK IT UP! “I believe The President and also- It was really the American people who, uh, lost confidence in Director Comey and- The President, you know, came to a decision that, uh, it was time, or rather, it always had been time for, uh- A change was necessary.” His recovery was flawless.
“Did Sessions order the probe into Director Comey?” asked CNN’s Sara Murray. “Or did Rod Rosenstein start poking around all by himself?”
The administration may have trouble building a wall on the Mexican border, but Sean was having no problem pitching a tent in the crotch of his trousers.
“That’s not my- I can’t really say- That’s best, you know- That’s a question for the Justice Department.”
“Shoot,” CNN’s Sara Murray pouted. “I’d rather deal with the “just us” department, Sean.”
“Sean, I’ve got a two-part question,” piped in Ryan Lizza from The New Yorker. “Which two parts of your pasty little body do you want us to go to town on the most?”
Sean was on the edge now. His cock felt it was about deport millions of undocumented sperm straight into his tightie-whities at any second. Sean didn’t like being toyed with like this. It was time lay down the law, Spicer-style.
“That’s- You guys, you know- You gotta show, you know, just a little respect, please.” Sean could tell that the reporters were loving their tongue lashing, but he continued anyway. “To me and also to, you know, yourselves and also to the job. The job that- We’ve both got jobs and- Everybody’s just trying to do their job, you know?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Sean,” purred Ryan Lizza from The New Yorker. He took a step toward Sean. “Was I out of line? Do you want to take my credentials away?” The circle of reporters began to tighten around the Press Secretary. “Go ahead, Sean. You can take anything you want.”
This night has escalated faster than tensions with North Korea and now Sean was about to blow harder than a Russian oil rig. This little press conference was over, but not before Sean told these slimy, immoral manipulators what he really thought of them.
“Thank you. Thank you, guys,” Sean belted as he moved towards the door. The press tried to stop him. Dozens of hands, the same hands that type the lies that get forced down the throat of millions of Americans every day, groped his sumptuous body. Sean reminded himself to check if “commanding so much respect that it drove people insane with horniness” counted as a pre-existing condition under President Trump’s new healthcare plan. Probably not. Most of it was chick stuff.
Sean finally managed to untangle himself from his hot heap of admirers and step inside the White House. Even after Secret Service shut the door behind him, Sean could still hear the press calling, even moaning, his name. Sean retreated to his office, relieved that he was finally safe from their siren call. At least until tomorrow’s press briefing…
TO BE CONTINUED?!?