That last one is self-applied, as told to New York Magazine reporter Jessica Pressler in the basement of his Hunt and Fish Club amid a torrent of margarita-fueled shit-talking and bombast from the fund-of-hedge-funder-cum-Trump-gofer. Like the Nixon Tapes and Federalist Papers of yore, Scaramucci's homily to himself is likely to go down as one of the signal texts of American history.
“So I said to Vice-President Pence, who was here tonight,” he went on, “I said, ‘I’ll do whatever the hell you guys want.’ I know you probably think that’s, like, me being passive-aggressive,” he said to me, “but it’s not, it’s me being even-keeled. My best service to him is acting as a fair broker for the situation, because what happens in Washington is they will stab you right in the chest with a smile on their face. It’s like the Game of Thrones and the Hunger Games screenwriters got together with the writers of House of Cards and they made a story. And the other thing I have learned about these people in Washington, Nelson,” he said, turning to his partner, who had settled in at the bar, “is they have no money. So what happens when they have no fucking money is they write about what seat they are in and what the title is. Fucking congressmen act like that. They are fucking jackasses. Do you know how many congressional liaisons we are going to have? I don’t either, but I told Pence, it should be four times whatever Obama had. I don’t know how many he had, but I’m telling you that didn’t work out. I’m telling him if you want to decrease the government, you gotta increase it in certain ways. Pence was great, right, you met him, Nelson, he was great.”
This is the same Scaramucci who just last week emerged like a butterfly from its chrysalis to flutter around Davos winning friends, influencing people and perhaps maybe violating the odd Russian sanction. If the above is any indication, his wooing of the penniless jackasses in Congress might go slightly less smoothly. It's not easy to rub elbows with a bunch of mere single-digit millionaires.
Of course, as Trump's incoming director of the Office of Public Liaison and Intergovernmental Affairs, the Mooch had to consider the optics of the scene he was making. “Don’t say I was drinking,” he told Pressler, before offering her a job in the Trump Organization.
Long on Trump [New York Magazine]