Power Outage Tied to Cheney Personal Excesses

he White House, home of the White, faced a major embarrassment this week when a release by the president's private probe into the power failures of two weeks ago pointed to a most uncomfortable source—Dick. Indeed, Vice President Dick Cheney was singled out as the leading cause of the energy problem that left multiple states in periods of blackout.

It ended a troubling week for the Vice President, whose office was accused of holding out information on an energy probe Monday by refusing to turn over documents vital to the investigation. The General Accounting Office reported the administration met with a succession of energy lobbyists, to the complete and total surprise of Americans everywhere, but the extent of corporate involvement in energy policymaking could not be verified without the documents withheld by the Vice President.

The latest revelation of Cheney's involvement in energy problems could adversely affect his position on the 2004 Republican ticket. The president's probe, inserted deep inside the problem, made note of several private excesses that may have led to the undue strain on the northeastern power grids. Cheney officials confirmed Friday that the Vice President's quarters in the White House is the only one plugged into the northeastern power grid, pointing out that the Vice President's power needs "cannot be satisfied by the piddlin'-ass power grid currently supplying the D.C. area."

One of the power offenses Cheney is accused of includes the employ of an industrial-grade air conditioner used solely for the Vice President's bedroom. Some say the personal air conditioner is the only 90-million BTU unit made for personal use. Vice Presidential spokesperson Canton Canby only responded to the allegation by claiming, "The VP likes to walk around naked."

Close investigation by the probe, under the guidance of Neilson "Soft Crust" Reilly, revealed that virtually nothing in the Vice President's White House quarters were not temperature-regulated. His personal pool and hot tub were heated, and his private work-out room, never used, we can guess, was cooled. Documentation also proves the VP had his sauna air conditioned and his refrigerator heated, as the best way to keep balanced temperatures to all things. Personal assistant Canby did not find the temperature regulation obsession strange.

"Well, maybe to the working man that sounds like an odd thing, but I know if I were doing work as important as the Vice President, I certainly wouldn't want to be worried about how hot or cold my fridge needed to be to enjoy a frosty beverage when I got home from the Middle East or wherever he's gone off to."

Among the more alarming findings of the probe were hospital-grade shock paddles. Canby, now sweating and in need of an industrial-strength air conditioner himself, found nothing odd about the frequently-used paddles, employed by the VP sometimes up to six times a day.

"What? So you got to be dead to want a charge from those things? There's no law says you got to be dead. The Vice President got used to the jump start you get from absorbing electricity straight into the body. There's no law against it and at the time we weren't under orders to conserve energy. Get off the guy's back. Sometimes his heart needs a little warning blast to know to keep doing its job, if it knows what's good for it."

Canby refused to answer further questions on the probe's accusations, waiting to receive the results from a probe conducted by the Vice President's wife, Lynn Cheney, under the objective to find out who left all these lights on in here.

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"In my early military days, we had a green recruit in our battalion we called 'Sweet Punch.' The name may sound silly, but I guarantee you Sweet Punch was no laughing matter.

There was nothing Sweet Punch wasn't scared of. Or is that a double-negative? He wasn't ever scared, that's my intended remark.

Sweet Punch would call the drill sergeant a fish-masturbator to his face, something we only said behind his back, or dreamed about late at night. The drill sergeant would give him 2,000,000,000 push-ups as punishment and sat to watch him do them all. The drill sergeant would then get tired around 20 push-ups and wander off, leaving Sweet Punch to hang out with us for a while drinking until we all went to bed. To sleep, I mean, in separate beds.

In war was no different. I worked for the armed forces newspaper Stars N Stripes, gardening section, and would often cover Sweet Punch's amazing exploits in World War II, and later World War III, later known as the Korean Mistake.

Sweet Punch would walk into a mindfield, hit a mine, and come out laughing on the other side, usually through the hysterical euphoria of losing most of his limbs in an explosion. He would storm German machine guns and chew the bullets, spitting them out like tobacco. Tobacco filled with blood and face meat. He ran right up to Mussolini one time and socked him right between his fascist eyes. At least he thought it was Mussolini, it turned out to be that exact same drill sergeant, strangely enough, and he made him do 30 push-ups before getting bored and wandering off.

Actually, to be completely truthful, Sweet Punch, the first one, was killed the minute we stepped off the boat, the victim of a well-placed Nazi street pothole. After that we just called every green recruit we didn't know the name of Sweet Punch. It sure made us feel better."

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In the recent time of crisis Americans stepped forward in probably record numbers to donate blood and anything else that was needed. Except for time, money, and military service, of course, but the point of my argument is that Americans answered the call.

Who wouldn't be outraged to hear the truth about how their contribution was exploited and wasted by the corporations involved?

Some news organizations have brought you work about the mis-management of monetary funds supposedly going to victims of the Sept. 11th terrorist attacks. Ghastly doings there. And word has reached us about the loss of blood following the nation-wide response, blood going to waste or lost through a lack of resources to test or keep it. But what of the sperm?

That's right, people. Our childlike national media isn't grown up enough to mention that while Americans lined up around the country to donate blood and plasma, men from every great state also stepped forward, dirty magazine in one hand and the other full of their unmentionables, ready to give sperm as needed.

Was it needed? Perhaps not. The amount of sperm in the national reserve was satisfactory to cover the needs, whatever they could be, of the victims of Sept. 11. But the point is that people donated out of the goodness of their heart, from the bottom of their vas deffrens. They didn't ask for money, nor for recognition—some even refused to let their pictures be taken or used their real name. But these unsung heroes certainly didn't count on their gift going to line the pockets of corporate fatasses.

The record surplus of sperm was seen as a silver lining in this grisly cloud of terrorist attacks. It was a way to recoup lost profits from already failing businesses and to scrape together money to cover other failing businesses such as airlines or sickly travel businesses. These corporate scumbags have made spare sperm the extra hidden ingredient in everything on the market in the past few months. While we're none the wiser.

This sperm, donated for free and now in excess of proper freezing storage capacity, has been used as filler to replace costlier ingredients in standard everyday products. The rubber in erasers, kitchenware, shoes, yes, even rubbers—all cut with free sperm. Donated sperm.

Elmer's Glue in particular is over 85% sperm in the wake of all this. Classrooms across the country are covered in it, formerly innocent macaroni construction paper drawings given from child to parent now smell like a teen-age boy's sweatpants. Even the milk in breakfast cereals! Filled with the cheap substitute sperm given freely by kind-hearted donors. It makes me sick to think about.

We cannot allow them to get away with this one, someone must call them on it. I suggest calling your congressman (or woman-person) and very loudly and brazenly demand he personally remove the sperm from your breakfast cereal. If he hangs up, call back repeatedly and threaten him with bodily harm. Tell him you have a weapon. It is the only way to see results. Sooner or later, if enough of us stand proud and act as one, we can reduce the amount of sperm in our products dramatically.

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