What next for “Rexxon?”–back to Exxon?/Image: Forbes.
Rextra! Rextra! Read all about it! Former Secretary of State Rex Tillerson is this week’s Trump admin ouster! President Donald Trump fired Rex “Rexxon” Tillerson Tuesday, and Tillerson said his history in the oil and gas industry was the reason he lasted as long as he did in the presidential administration so chaotic storm chasers are doubling as reporters covering it for the news.
“My personal employment history as CEO of ExxonMobil steeped me in the ways of slippery substances, and so I was naturally very at-ease with President Trump, given his smarmy, wheeler-and-dealer persona,” Tillerson told Vanessa Vaseline, the Colonic and Automobile Gas reporter at Spread Your Right Wings (SYRW) in an exclusive interview. We visited Secretary Tilerson in his office as he put his personal belongings in a sad, cardboard box. Tillerson added that though Trump likes to toot his own horn as an epic dealmaker, he’s as bad at it as his history of bankruptcies and subpar businesses indicate.
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“I’m a white heterosexual dude, like Trump, but I agree with those who say he has what he has only because he’s a EuroStraightGuy,” Tillerson said. “And he slithers and oozes about just like petroleum-based fuel, which, again, made me feel like, ‘OK, I can work with this guy.’ I guess I was wrong.”
Tillerson said he’s glad to left the Trump White House with a shred–but just a shred–of his dignity and reputation–intact, “gittin’ out while the gittin’s good,” he emphasized in his Texas twang.
“I’m not really certain that anything beyond our bromance led Don to ask me to serve as his Secretary of State, or for me to say yes, for that matter,” Tillerson mused about the highest diplomatic post in the federal government, one normally available only to those with a career history in politics, international relations, or statesmanship. Tillerson had former career in petrochemicals.
Upon taking the position Trump offered him, Tillerson said “Don” proceeded to make his job impossible, whispering behind his back and also screaming on social media about sensitive issues such as the Iran nuclear deal, NAFTA, and war with North Korea.
“When Omarosa was fired and then appeared on the reality television show, ‘Big Brother,’ talking to a castmate about the trauma of attempting to get anything done under Trump, I thought, ‘Yes, girl, yes!’,” said Tillerson. He opined that he and the growing list of people fired from or having resigned from the Trump Administration should forme a support group. He peered over the spectacles he wears Chuck Schumer-style, gazing out a window in his office and chuckling.
Despite the faraway look in his eyes, Tillerson said he “won’t miss for a minute” the never-ending rollercoaster of events and emotions that was life in the Trump White House.
“If that grade-A, first-class dinghus thinks he’s ever going to get anything done like this, firing and hiring people left and right, well, then he’s got quite another thing coming!” Tillerson said, his face reddening and his chest moving up and down quickly. “And as we say in Texas, ‘I’m madder than a wet hen ’bout it.'” Tillerson tugged at his lapels and said the Southern in him rises up like the South in the Civil War when he gets “hot under the collar.”
He tossed the rest of his belonging–a Dubya bobblehead, a picture of his family and him holding a giant fish they caught, and a sign on the wall that said, ‘I’d Rather Be Refining Petroleum for Use In Automobiles and Manufacturing.'”
“You wanna go get a mint julep?” he asked me. I acquiesced, of course, because when Sexy Rexxy asks you to get a cold one at the local thirst-quench-ery, you say yes!
Secretary Tillerson then asked me with a knee-liquefying genteel charm if I’d mind if he changed into a more appropriate outfit for after hour. I expected him to emerge in a button-down and jeans, perhaps. Instead, he had on Huck-Finn-style overalls with the legs rolled up to his mid-calves, a wide-brimmed, woven hat, no shoes, and a stalk of wheat hanging out of his mouth.
“Shall we?” Tillerson asked me, extending his arm for me to weave together with my own. I did, and he reminded me to hold my head up high as we skipped Wizard-of-Oz-style out of the White House. It felt as surreal as it sounds.
As we walked out into the blinding D.C. sun, he pulled out his cell phone and asked his assistant to have his limo sent out front. It screeched to a halt next to us and we ducked in. Tillerson moved the papers inside over, remarking that he was “so embarrassed” that I was seeing the mess inside his car.
“If I’d known a lovely lady would be in car today, I would have made sure it was presentable,” he said, chuckling warmly. He peered outside at what was likely his last look at the location of Worst Job Ever. His body language relaxing and his expression becoming pensive.
He looked over at me, asking me to excuse his moods as he goes through seven stages of grief, a la Kubler-Ross, “probably many times” this evening. When we walked inside “Barbecue and Brew,” the Southern-themed bar he took me to, the staff and hanfful of guests rushed over to embrace him.
“Shucks, guys. You make me wish I’d been canned long ago,” he said, beginning to weep softly. The hug became visibly tighter as this crowd, who clearly cared deeply for Tillerson, assured him with the squeeze that he’d always be secretary of their states.
“All right, all right now, let’s not get all mushy, shall we?” Tillerson said, pulling a linen handkerchief out of his shorts pocket and blowing his nose like a trumpet into it.
“Too late,” I said, which made Tillerson’s friends erupt into laughter and give me warm pats on the back.
Tillerson and I sat down at the bar, and Tillerson told the bartender to line ’em up. The barkeep then put three shot glasses in front of him. He filled one with top-shelf whiskey, which Tillerson downed as he filled the next. Tillerson winced and poured the next one down his gullet. It wasn’t long before the Secretary was telling me I was his best friend and the “nizzezt berzon I eva done met…meet…met?”
Also: Three mini-trips we encourage all NRA members to take to prove their allegiance to guns.
Later, when I got my dainty glass of Chablis, Sexy Rexxy, as he insisted I call him, and I toasted to “brand-spankin’ new b’ginnin’s.”
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© 2018 Akbar Khan
