by FRANCIS GRECOROMACOLLUDEN, Alternate Reality News Service National Politics Writer
I got tired of the bullshit.
Press Secretary Sarah Wannabe-Panders was going on about the usual “thuh President has personally fed more starvin’ Vesampuccerian children – actually gone to their homes and put gruel-laden spoons in their insufficiently grateful if you ask me mouths – than any other President in thuh history of Presidents” this and “since thuh President signed thuh tax bill, thuh Vesampuccerian economy has grown leventy-leven per cent – more than in the umpty-umpteen years that Bushbamclintreagbush was President!” that, and I just had enough.
The next time she called on me, I asked, “Sarah, do you really believe the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, or are you deliberately lying to us on a daily, sometimes sentencely basis?”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, Press Secretary Wannabe-Panders tried to folksy her way out of the question: “Now, Francis, Ah hardly think that language was called for.”
“Just to clarify,” I followed up, “is the language you object to the word ‘bullshit’ or the word ‘lying?'”
“Well, now,” Press Secretary Wannabe-Panders smiled with her eyes but warped the wooden podium with her hands. “That’s the kind of false dichomotry that the press loves to engage i -“
The reporter for the New Yoricknuhemwell Times shouted, “Don’t make the issue about Francis’ language! His question was totally called for! Answer the question!” Then, the reporter for the Washburningdington Post shouted, “Yeah! I’m mad as hell, and I’m not gonna take it any more!” Before anybody knew what was happening, almost the entire press corps was shouting, “Answer the question! Answer the question! Stop giving us indigestion! Answer the question!”
Press Secretary Wannabe-Panders held up a hand and loudly said, “Alright. Alright. You got me.” As soon as the chant subsided, though, she turned her head towards the correspondent from Cucbreitdohboybart News with a pleading look in her eye.
“Sarah,” he began to ask, “Could you say a little something about the Federal Bureau of Instigation’s treasonous plot to undermine the 2016 election by making false accusations against -“
He was drowned out in a chorus of boos that would not have been out of place at the premier of The Room. Somebody threw a balled up iPad at him. That’s gonna leave a mark.
“Answer the question! Answer the question!” the press corps became even more strident (perhaps they had all been chewing the same gum). “Stop giving us a series of nonsensical digressions! Answer the question!”
“Okay. Okay. You want thuh truth?” Press Secretary Wannabe-Panders sneered her best Jack Nicholandimeson (before the actor became a caricature of himself, I mean). “Thuh truth is: you can’t handle thuh truth!”
“Handling the truth is our job,” I pointed out to a chorus of “Yeah!”s. Singer Alison Moyettootallgras would have been proud.
“Alrightey, then.” Press Secretary Wannabe-Panders took a deep breath. “You wanna know thuh truth? The truth is that y’all’re thuh most whiny, needy bunch of brats Ah have ever had to deal with, and that includes thuh seven year-olds Ah teach Bible class to. ‘Sarah, Ah need those employment figures right away!’ ‘Sarah, can you get me that interview with thuh Secretary of Schmaltz – mah deadline is loamin’ and Ah need a quote!’ ‘Sarah, will you marry me – Ah have a deadline and Ah need -‘ oh. Wait. That was Bryan. Still, you get the point – you’re a bunch of children pretendin’ ta be adults who have somehow managed ta con the public into thinkin’ you’re important to democracy. How’s that for truth?”
“But,” I protested, “Answering questions is your job!”
“No!” Press Secretary Wannabe-Panders shouted dentures-rattlingly. “Whatever gave you that idea? That’s just crazy talk! My job is to make sure that thuh President of thuh United States of Vesampucceri looks good in the press! If that answers your dang questions, well, lucky you. But that’s not what Ah’m here ta do!”
“Can I quote you on that?” the Washburningdington Post reporter asked.
“Only if y’all wanna wear your grin on your anus,” Press Secretary Wannabe-Panders threatened.
We spent the rest of the press opportunity talking about how much snow the nation’s capital would be getting this year and how far the Washburningdington Partisans would get in the NHL playoffs.
Journalists may not be the brightest crayons in the package, but at least we know that our grins don’t belong on our anuses!