White House Communication Director Anthony Scaramucci’s Statement Regarding Today’s Comments to The New Yorker Magazine

Look, you fucking shitheads. So I use some coarse language. So I say what I mean. So I don’t know the difference between off the record and on the record.

Let’s talk about something important. Let’s talk about Reince Priebus. What kind of stupid fucking name is Reince Priebus anyway? You know what I call him? Rinse Penis. Rinse. PENIS. Got that?

I just want you to know that I know what that smarmy little fucker is doing. So here’s what happened: We all had drinks at in the WW — that’s West Wing for you pissy little amateurs — and I put my glass of Macallan 18 down for two minutes and I noticed that it tasted different when I came back to it. And there’s Penis, just standing there in his knockoff Zegna with that shit-eating grin that accentuates his triple chin, and he’s just looking at me, waiting, and I start to feel a little woozy.

And let’s be clear: the Mooch has been roofied before, so the Mooch knows what the fucking deal is. This is a long way of saying that I wasn’t really myself when I called that leaker hoarding nerd at the New Yorker. I thought I could power through it and did one or ten lines of coke in the Oval before I got on the horn. But all it did was make me picture Steve Bannon sucking his own dick, even though Bannon couldn’t possibly do that, because look at him. But if anybody were going to suck Steve Bannon’s cock, it would have to be Steve because no one’s exactly lining up for that privilege.

Unless you count Miller, and let’s face it, if he were sucking Steve’s cock, you’d have to look really fucking closely to be able to actually differentiate between Miller and Steve’s cock. Which is less commentary about the size of Steve’s cock that it is about Miller in general. And for those of you wondering if my never-ending stream of phallic references might be indicative of some latent homophobia: go fuck yourself. I am only obsessed with cock sucking and blocking because I have the vocabulary and capacity for metaphor of a David Mamet character after a lobotomy.

What I’m saying here is that all of these fucking pinheads are going down if they don’t get in line. I will destroy them. Even the oversized orange one. Because I’m a patriotic fucking American and I am going to public service America like it’s never been serviced before. When I say my heart is the right place, it’s because I personally carved it out of my own chest and reinserted it according to precise anatomically-fucking-correct measurements.

And that’s what I told what’s-his-face from the New Yorker, a piece of shit magazine no one reads. The cartoons aren’t even fucking funny.

You know what’s a great publication? Grant’s Interest Rate Observer. No one leaks to Grant’s Interest Rate Observer. You know why? INTEGRITY.

And if or when these pricks do leak, I will catch them, and I will fire them so hard, they’ll wish they could go back in time and pull their daddy’s dicks out of their mommies before the point of conception, because I can’t publicly acknowledge that I’m fine with abortion. But they will regret it. Even more than Rinse Penis regrets having cockblocked the Mooch, which is ironically, probably the only cock-blocking Penis has done successfully in his entire life.

And these morons don’t know which way is up anyway. I do because I’m a business man. I’m skating to where the puck has been, not where it’s going. Oh, wait. The other way around. Where the puck is —

Whatever, who fucking cares.

I am really fucking good at what I fucking do. Stevie Cohen, George Soros, Ken Griffin and Ray Dalio once got a peek at my Sharpe ratio and they all came, simultaneously. I have spent a career turning money into more money by correctly assessing risk, and I believe that this administration is essentially risk free, in the same way that everyone knows collateralized debt obligations are. I am here to win.

MAGA.