The moment that pundits have been predicting for months came this afternoon, when White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer resigned his post. Sob. We actually kinda liked that guy. Like stinky, cranky, kleptomaniac Aunt Mildred, sometimes you only realize how much you cared about someone after they're gone.
Now that Spicey has been freed from endless Melissa McCarthy impressions of him and classic Saturday Night Live gags, he can finally pursue his longtime dreams of becoming:
Mike Tyson's sparring partner. Nothing hits like the champ, except working in the Trump White House.
Kim Jong Un's ass wiper. Sure, it stinks and the pay's shitty. (See what we did there? Nyuk nyuk nyuk.) But Un can only drop so many bombs a day, unlike a certain orange commander-in-tweets who shall not be named. Ever wonder what "beautiful chocolate cake" looks like post digestion? Spicey knows.
Dumpster fireman. With his experience, he'll sale through the application process for this dream job.
Sewer rat. Spicer has clearly proven his ability to swim through rivers of filth and keep smiling.
James Comey's roommate. Feels like these two crazy cats will have lots and lots to talk about.
Cleveland Browns new mascot. What? Like there's a worse job than Donald Trump's Press Secretary.
But who are we kidding? Obviously he's going to write a tell-all book. It's a pretty predictable move, but you know you'll read the hell out of it.