More Fun with Cheney!

To be perfectly honest, I cannot even begin to discern which element of the news that VP Darth Cheney shot a fellow hunter is more disturbing:


µ      The vice president’s office did not disclose the accident until the day after it happened.


µ      [Property owner Katharine] Armstrong said she was watching from a car while Cheney, Whittington and another hunter got out of the vehicle to shoot at a covey of quail.


µ      [The victim, Harry] Whittington "came up from behind the vice president and the other hunter and didn’t signal them or indicate to them or announce himself," Armstrong said.


µ      "The vice president didn’t see him," she continued. "The covey flushed and the vice president picked out a bird and was following it and shot. And by god, Harry was in the line of fire and got peppered pretty good."


µ      "Fortunately, the vice president has got a lot of medical people around him and so they were right there and probably more cautious than we would have been," [Armstrong] said. "The vice president has got an ambulance on call, so the ambulance came."


So, essentially, what we’re to believe is that Cheney drives around looking for things to kill. When he finds something, he has his driver stop the car, which, I’m assuming, causes the assorted other vehicles that travel with him to stop as well. These vehicles include at least one ambulance. He then gets out, finds what he wants to kill, locks his prey in a visual death grip (much like a predator missile, I’ll betcha’) and does not register a human being in his gun’s path.


Tell me, which part is more frightening? I cannot decide…


H Stands for Has-Been

Christ all fucking mighty, Henry, can you give it a rest already?

Yes, I know, we all understand you need to pay the rent, and the residuals from those Apple commercials and Nissan voice-overs don’t last forever.

But really, honestly, I say this with as much love as I can muster: no one cares.

The last time I saw you, with dear ol’ Mags, I had such bronchitis I couldn’t speak, which was your lucky day, because, really, if I’d intended to pay good money to sit around listening to some undersexed big-necked middle-aged white man talk about how women, once they get into a relationship, suck their partners’ souls dry and just want to go shop for curtains, I could listen to Fox News.

And that’s free.

I know, Henry, I understand this must be tough. I’ve followed you, Henry, was part of the audience, mosh pit, fan base for years. I played the Rollins Band on my radio show, listened to Black Flag, fantasized about bearing your love child.

But those days are gone, Henry, gone the way of the telegraph, trust in government, budget surplus and your virility.

So please, Henry, please understand: we who followed you, who understood you, believed in what was once your brilliance, cannot stand you.

And if I happen to see you wandering around my dear ol’ city of brotherly love next week, don’t worry, I won’t talk to you. You don’t like interviews, or conversation, you need to keep your concentration, keep focused on the task at hand. I know. I remember.

It must be so hardcore being you…

A love letter of unbridled desire

I can no longer deny it, and must shout it out to the world. I wish to sing a love song, jump on a couch like Tom Cruise; I cannot be silent any more.

You are my love. My desire. My passion.

I walk through driving snow, sit in rush hour traffic, go out of my way to embrace your tender sweetness. You are my everything.

But, like all good things, you are fleeting, coming into my life on winter’s darkest days, brightening my spirits and sweetening my tongue.

And alas, my love, I crave you! Crave like no other. Yet when you go, I forget about my love, the way I feel when you’re around, until you return, bringing with you a stronger ocean of longing each time.

And alas, my love, you, like so many others, are so bad for me. The way you make me feel, the person you turn me into, I scarcely recognize. And, like so many others, I must let you go.

But, for now, I cannot.

Because I know that soon, my love, soon you will, again, be gone…