How the Trump White House is Like a Children's Song

This was an interesting week for anyone tracking developments out of the White House. 

Ten in the Bed copyright, Teece Aronin

In one of the wildest upsets since Dorothy's house flattened the Wicked Witch of the East, the White House flattened Anthony Scaramucci, its communications director. And he was still as shiny and new as his aviator sunglasses. 

His hiring, just 10 days prior, sparked then Press Secretary Sean Spicer to resign, mumbling something about too many cooks in the kitchen. Spicer didn't get that quite right: It was too many kooks in the White House - or as Trump calls it, the "dump." Spicer is either kicking himself now or rolling over in bed at the luxury resort he has probably dreamed about since last January.  

Scaramucci, aka the Mooch, aka the Scar, aka Scary Mucci - but that's just in my house - proceeded to threaten people's jobs, tweet and swoon over the view from Air Force One and grant an interview to The New Yorker so vulgar that making sense of the edited quotes was nearly impossible without male, anatomically correct poseable figures. 

When Scaramucci's fed-up wife, who had just filed for divorce, gave birth to their baby, Scaramucci wasn't there. He had scuttled her and his child to the back burner so he could be with his other soon to-be-estranged love, Donald Trump. The two were in Glen Jean, West Virginia for Trump's disastrous speech before the Boy Scouts. Hindsight is 20-20. 

Reince Preibus, busy hanging on to his job by his fingernails, was sacked by Trump as White House chief-of-staff thanks to Scaramucci. Priebus was replaced by General John Kelly. Kelly, no idiot, advised Trump to fire Scaramucci, which Trump did. Sadly, for Scaramucci, Trump actually listened to someone for once. 

As an example of art imitating life, my puppeteer friend, Rob pointed out that a character named Scaramouche sometimes appears in Punch and Judy shows. Usually a thief, Scaramouche is often beheaded by Punch by means of a slapstick. That observation sparked my prediction that we will soon see a Netflix 10-part docudrama starring Rob Lowe. 

I can also picture Scaramucci turning up as a talking head on MSNBC, Fox, or CNN. He wouldn't care which way the network leans since he disliked Trump before he liked him before he presumably started disliking him again. Or maybe he'll pitch a show of his own to Sirius.

Remember Mark Fuhrman, the detective suspected of planting evidence that implicated O.J. Simpson? Fuhrman, the known racist who perjured himself on the stand? He ended up with his own talk show and has been a frequent contributor to shows on Fox News. Fuhrman gets paid for this while people with journalism degrees can't find jobs.

Of course, social media had a field day over Scaramucci. Someone on Facebook wrote a meme comparing him to a fruit fly for getting hired, becoming a father, getting divorced, then getting fired within ten days. 

All this hiring, firing and resigning reminds me of a children's song I loved when I was little:

There were 10 in the bed and the little one said, "Roll over, roll over!" So, they all rolled over, and one fell out. After nine verses, the little one sighs, "Alone at last."

This time life imitated art when John Kelly told everybody to roll over, and Scaramucci fell out.