Excerpts from Anthony Scaramucci’s Debut Novel: The Miniature Fridge Caper

Catie Hogan
Jul 28, 2017 · 3 min read

Anthony Scaramucci’s debut novel, The Miniature Fridge Caper is set to release early this fall. The thriller is expected to sell about 200 copies nationwide, which is on par with sales of Milo Yiannopoulous’s memoir. Readers are sure to be captivated by tales of intrigue and subversion that punctuated Spicer’s 180 day tenure in the Trump White House. Below Scaramucci relays the story of one of his predecessor’s most brazen power grabs — the theft of a compact refrigerator:

Spicer was at war with the interns. They repeatedly mocked his resemblance to Melissa McCarthy and inability to correctly pronounce Bashar al-Assad’s name. “You wanna see Ashar Bashasan? I’ll give you Kumar Balashad!” Spicer wailed as he exited the interns’ office after they denied storage of his leftover meatloaf in their mini-fridge.

Spicer plotted his revenge against the cabal of underpaid Georgetown grads for weeks. He believed the only way to secure their respect was to make their coveted office miniature refrigerator his own. “That chilly box is mine,” Spicer whispered in the most sinister manner. KellyAnne Conway immediately poked her head around the corner and replied, “What’d you say about me, Sean?”

The night of the heist arrived. Spicey was in a particularly sour mood after the President once again shoved him into White House shrubbery while staffers guffawed at his expense. This only served to strengthen Sean’s resolve. The mini-fridge was more than just a cooler for his tuna fish: it was a symbol of dominance. Capturing it would prove to everyone in the executive branch he was not a man to be fucked with.

The mini-fridge was heavier than Spicer anticipated. He didn’t foresee not being able to wrap his particularly pudgy arms and hands around the appliance. An accomplice — or maybe just a dolly — would’ve made this robbery a breeze. He questioned his plan as well as his masculinity. In that moment of near defeat, the image of April Ryan shaking her head in disapproval enraged him. He forged ahead with the taunts of correspondents’ properly tailored suits stoking the flames of revenge. This was his fucking fridge.

He tripped carrying the fridge down the White House driveway. His parachute-like pants tangled between his feet. Both he and the refrigerator lay lifeless on the pavement. Dew dripped from the inside of the now fully exposed ice box and Sean’s massive forehead.

Sean declared victory. It took him six hours to complete the heist, but the mini-fridge was his. It was four in the morning and he eagerly awaited the arrival of the interns in a few hours. He lit a cigarette and plugged in the Frigidaire. “May their hard boiled eggs rot along side their souls in hell.”

“Where the fuck is our fridge?” Chad, a research assistant from Connecticut, asked the Caucasian filled room. “I bet that piece of shit Spicer stole it.” A young attractive blonde in a skirt just a little too short for Washington stood up and announced, “I called Sarah Sanders. Spicer has the fridge.” Chad turned to the attractive blonde and demanded she immediately drive to Sears to purchase another Frigidaire.

Sean Spicer was dismayed at how little effect the fridge heist had on the uppity young assistants. He began to see the fridge not as his redemption, but as a giant stainless steel monument of shame. He handed in his resignation the next day, his desire for revenge no less fervent. “I’ll be back, you’ll see. You’ll respect me someday,” he announced to the White House communications staff. Not a single person looked up from their phone.

Catie Hogan

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A lovable weirdo. Writer of satire and nonsense.

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