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A Note From the Witch Who Stole Sean Spicer’s Cool

First of all, I feel compelled to preface this all by saying that I do not enjoy the spotlight. I’m no different than you — I do what I do to provide for my family, and I prefer to keep my business quiet and private. In this economy, if you’re able to be choosy about what you do for a living, I commend you, but also implore you to check your privilege. I’m a mother, first and foremost, and a witch second. I’m certainly not a prideful person, as evidenced by my decision not to slap Disney with a defamation lawsuit for their characterization of my work in The Little Mermaid. Ursula was the least nuanced portrayal of myself I’ve ever seen — but I digress. The point is, I don’t usually like to be in the public eye with regards to my work. However, watching Sean Spicer yesterday refer to concentration camps as “Holocaust Centers,” I began to wonder if I’ve gone too far.

When Sean first came to me, begging for a “seat on the King’s council,” I was struck with what would become the most contentious debate of my career. From the mere fact that he referred to the press secretary position as such, I had cause for concern. Was he trying to be cutesy, or did he legitimately think of Trump as a king? It wasn’t clear. I was immediately overcome with a moral dilemma. On one hand, my work never comes this easily to me — usually, I’m the one who has to seek out an unsuspecting wishful thinker and propose a trade — never the other way around. It seemed silly not to take advantage of the situation. On the other hand, I live in this country, too. I have a family and friends here, and we all have to live under this administration. Surely, to bring upon another unqualified staffer would only add fuel to the fire… yet, there was a great chance that, even without my interference, the position would still go to an idiot.

That night, I went home and talked it all over with my husband. As an accountant, it’s difficult for my husband to truly put himself in my shoes and understand the work I do. Generally, we keep an agreement that I let him handle all the financials, and he lets me decide which spells and curses to subject the world to, but I needed an outsider’s perspective. We talked it over and listed the pros and cons. After much deliberation, we came to the conclusion that with two kids rapidly approaching college age, I couldn’t let a job of this caliber go. There was also no guarantee that if I refused the job, he wouldn’t just go to another witch with it. A White House deal had the potential to put me on the map and rise me to the top of my industry. I owed it to my family to take the opportunity.

The next day, I sat down to try and concoct a curse that would make the trade as ethical as possible. I would grant Sean with the position of press secretary, but what would I take in exchange? I needed a way to give him what he asked for, fulfilling my end of the deal, while simultaneously dismantling exactly what I had granted him. That’s when it came to me: for each week Sean Spicer remained at his job, he would be cursed with decreasing composure, until he completely lost the ability to function as a normal human. Surely, as a press secretary unable to keep his cool, he would be fired within weeks. I could make the deal, and he could ruin what I gave him on his own, with the very condition I afflicted him with. I could have my cake and eat it, too. Or so I thought.

For a few weeks after making the deal, I was on top of the world. I was the hero of my office — nobody had landed a contract this big since the enchantress from Beauty and the Beast. My kids looked up to me, my husband was amazed by me, and I had even finally won the approval of my mother, who swore I’d never make it in this industry. After every press briefing where Spicer ended up yelling at a reporter, my friends and family would all call me up and congratulate me, laughing at what great work I’d done. Each phone call was pleasant, as we’d agree it was only a matter of time before Sean would be let go. But days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Angry outburst after angry outburst, SNL parody after SNL parody — Sean Spicer’s job security seemed rock-solid.

And so, I’m here in front of you today, doing what I know is right, albeit difficult. Apologizing. There is seemingly nothing Sean Spicer can do to get fired, and I was wrong to make this deal with him. I know that now. I thought I could take the credit for Sean’s rise and fall, all while making a quick buck and advancing my career. In the witch world, we often say that there’s no such thing as a free curse, and I would have been wise to heed that advice. By outing myself like this, I run the risk of ruining my career. I know this. And still, speaking up is the right thing to do. But before making me the target of a witch hunt, I ask that you try to see things through my eyes, and know that if I could go back, I would.

Sean, if you are reading this, I would like to offer you a chance to nullify our contract. I’ve seen the stress in your eyes, and am confident that if you think about it critically, you’ll agree that this is the best option for everyone. I am also, at this point, not above bringing a plague upon your family. The choice is yours.


 

Written by Brittany Van Horne

Brittany Van Horne

Brittany is a comedy writer based in New York City and a Full Frontal with Samantha Bee staffer.

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