A grown man named Rex is the Secretary of State. All I’m saying is, “Nuh uhn.”
I need to confess. I, Buck Crimshaw, a paragon of journalistic ethics, have spun some yarns over the past thirty five years. Like, remember that groundbreaking piece I did in 2002 about Colin Powell’s colon polyps? They gave me a Peabody, but I actually made that crap up. When I convinced everybody that Al Gore had dentures? Wasn’t true at the time, but it might be now so I’m calling that one found money.
Yeah, I’ve said some bull. But this time, I swear on Alan Thicke’s still warm haircut that I’m for real when I tell you that the new Secretary of State, appointed by that fella with the thick neck, is a full grown, 64-year old man who goes by “Rex.”
Wow. I’ve got a string of expletives ticker-taping through my friggin’ nog right now, but they’re gonna stay put because this is a family publication and I’ve got a date with the Nordic track machine in about 45 and rage fuels fitness.
Let me address this nobody. Rex? Mr. Tillerson? I’ve only met you once, at a raw bar in a Dallas sportsman’s club that was frankly mismanaged (they took my bottle of Red Gold on some “no outside sauces” BS) but I told you then and I’m going to tell you again right now: pound damn sand. As the foremost foreign policy expert in our nation, I am expecting a phone call from you Monday morning so that I can give you the business on what the hell is going on with the Saudis both culturally and criminally, but until you get that name situation fixed up, I don’t wanna hear from you.
It’s not even short for anything. Literally, he named himself Rex. And he’s got such a fine middle name — Wayne. That’s strong, and I can think of a dozen different ways to capitalize on it. How about R. Wayne Tillerson? How about John Wayne Tillerson? Not your real name, but neither is “Barack Obama” and that hasn’t stopped him from fouling things up proper. Problem solved. Take damn notes, Tillerson.
Rex sounds like a kid who wanted to be an astronaut real bad but couldn’t ever get up the rope in gym class so he instead he became the pledgemaster at an off-campus fraternity. This sharply contrasts with a man like me, who has a classic conservative name (Buckley) and goes by the short version because he’s fun as all hell and was social chair of the finest men’s organization at Rutgers University for three consecutive semesters. Go Knights. Delts forever.
I’m not bitter. I have stood in firm opposition of the president-elect since I found out he stole my mail-order steaks idea in 2007 (if you can ship a wife, all meat should be fair game) and ran it into the ground like my daughter Carmeline did her ’09 Ford Fusion. There was no chance I was working for that bum, but if he calls I’ll hear him out and read him aloud the list of positions for which I consider myself highly qualified — that’s called respect, something I have in spades.
All I’m saying is if we’ve got a guy named Rex running the State Department, that’s a demonstration of some piss judgment, and I’m not going to normalate it. Here’s a list of names that sound better after the title “Secretary of State” (I don’t know if these are real people, but if so, get them on the horn):
- Secretary of State Kenthane Phillix
- Secretary of State Josem Sernanchez
- Secretary of State Faith Hill (Have you seen her lately? Smoke.)
- Secretary of State Pilaf Cordarrelle
- Secretary of State Fig Twistett
- Secretary of State Tranthem Blane
- Secretary of State General Tso
- Secretary of State Bunk Trimspa
Those people are leaders and that’s just true. This Rex fella? Not buying what he’s selling (Because he’s the CEO of ExxonMobil and I just went Prius. The savings are outrageous — sue me).