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Kellyanne Conjob Causes Columnist Consternation

 

 

    If this whole Trump mess was a movie—and sometimes it feels like it might be—Kellyanne Conway would play the popular mean girl’s sidekick, the misguided foot soldier who does the dirty work so the mean girl will spend time with her.

    The sidekick will risk her very soul to stay in the inner circle even if it means sprinkling laxative into the nice girl’s yogurt while she isn’t looking. I don’t want to say “movie Kellyanne” would be the first one to pelt pitiful outcast Carrie with sanitary products in the gym showers but I don’t want to NOT say it either.

    In the movies, and in life, the mean girl always sells out the trusty sidekick who must take the fall, loyal to the bitter end. Summoned to the principal’s office, the sidekick denies being involved in yogurt-gate and, by the way, HOW DARE THEY?!?

    “Everyone keeps asking if I put the laxative in the yogurt and it’s just really very insulting to me and to all of America that we have these sorts of petty recriminations and accusations that, if we are being candid, are all the work of the media which perpetuates the notion that yogurt has been mishandled and, somehow, laxative has mysteriously been stirred into it with predictably disastrous results. The American people have spoken and they clearly believe that our country’s so-called founders never intended for our rights to be subverted to this degree and any student of history will tell you that what I am saying is true. Ish.”

    The script writes itself. Real-life Kellyanne, who is always addressed by her first name like she’s Beyonce or something (she ain’t), can dodge and weave and spin malarkey about long-dead abolitionists, made-up massacres and the like without a hiccup. I feel a little bit sorry for her because I imagine anyone who’s that committed to alternative facts would have a tough time “turning it off” at the end of the day.

    Mr. Kellyanne: “Oh, good, hon, you’re home. You want a burger?”

    Kellyanne: “Chuck, that’s ridiculous. I can’t even believe you would ask me something like that.”

    Mr. Kellyanne: “Hon, it’s me. Not Chuck Todd.”

    Kellyanne: “Sorry. Long day.”

Kellyanne’s Kid: “Mom, oh, sorry, Kellyanne, I need money for the class field trip tomorrow. We’re going to the Holocaust Museum.”

Kellyanne: “Never happened.”

Mr. Kellyanne: “Uhhhh, hon? You OK?”

Kellyanne: “Of course I’m OK, Chuck. We’re going to use the Muslims to build the wall.”

Mr. Kellyanne: “Hon, you have a call. I think it’s your boss.”

Kellyanne: “Vladimir?”

Mr. Kellyanne: “No, the other one.”

Kellyanne: “Crap. I’m exhausted. And this fake-ass Ivanka jewelry is turning my neck green. Tell him I’ve gone to bed.”

Mr. Kellyanne: “He says he just signed an executive order out in the limo that says you can’t go to bed ever, period, no backstops. Also, he’d like some ice cream in his tummy.”

Kellyanne: “Grrrrrr. OK, let him in. I think I have some yogurt in here somewhere.”

 

 

 

 

    
 

 

    
 

 

    

    

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