Sean Spicer – Are You Trying To Send Us A Message?

Dear Sean,

The other day you wore your flag pin upside-down. It could have been a mistake. It might have been an accident. But I don’t know. It could also be a real distress call. How are we to know?

Sean, I’m not sure if you truly understand this, but everyone knows you lie for him. Seriously. We know. You’re not even very good at it. The White House press conferences have devolved into some kind of crazy circus where you angrily bark at reporters who are simply doing their jobs. You lash out when someone asks you to tell, or even acknowledge, the truth. Your already high-pitched voice goes up a few extra octaves, and it appears the rage you feel for your abuser is taken out on the press.

I don’t know what life is really like for you as Trump’s Press Secretary. The picture I have in my mind is pretty grim. I imagine when your abuser is angry about something you’ve said or done, he suits up in his white robe, takes you to the special torture room, orders you to bend over and reaches for the wooden paddle hanging on the wall marked “Spicer.” As you endure your daily punishment, you, through clenched teeth, are forced to say, “Thank you sir, may I have another?”

I’m close, aren’t I?

You’re coming unglued, and we can all see it happening before our eyes. You literally do look as if you are in distress. Was that upside-down flag pin a call for help? Were you just in such a great big hurry to be on time that you accidentally put it on wrong? It’s difficult to tell.

Perhaps there’s a way you can let us know if you really do need help. During one of your hysterical press conferences, find a way to slip in the phrase, “I love my job,” but make sure to use air quotes when you say it so we’ll understand there’s a broader message.

When you say, “I love my job,” we’ll know that encompasses a broad range of sentiments including, “I hate my job. I fear for my life. I need help. My abuser tortures me when I tell the truth. My abuser told me that if I quit and leave, he’ll find me and I’ll be sorry. Please help. SOS SOS SOS.”

I’m not altogether sure how we can save you because you made a deal with the devil. Those contracts are quite difficult to get out of – or so I’ve heard. I don’t believe there’s a safe house for wayward Press Secretaries on the run, but you never know, you might inspire someone to build one.

I’m not sure why I care about your welfare. Maybe it’s because you look vulnerable and freaked out all the time. I think opossums are some of the ugliest rodents around, but when I see them in distress, I want to help. To me, you’re like an opossum who’s living in fear of a deranged, unpredictable orange madman. My natural inclination is empathy. I’m probably not alone; and, although I can’t do anything to help you, surely there’s someone out there who can.

No one is going to save you unless you let us know you need it. I don’t care how many times you try to convince us or yourself that he didn’t really mean it and he just gets angry from time to time. He does mean it and it’s up to you to break the cycle, Sean.

Don’t forget — “I love my job.” (Use air quotes.)

We’ll know.

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