Dick Cheney: Too Hot for TV

ice-President Dick Cheney unveiled a new "sassitude" last week, starting with Tuesday's off-color suggestion Sen. Patrick Leahy have sex with himself, and concluding with a spicier, not-ready-for-primetime Cheney fielding questions Friday from the White House press corps.

The VP surprised a number of political experts and average Americans alike by revealing a saltier disposition never before seen exhibited publicly by White House personnel. However, according to administration insiders, who crammed our doorways to volunteer information, Cheney has been quite the prick for years behind closed doors, so it was bound to come out sooner or later.

Things began innocently enough Tuesday morning, when on the Senate floor Cheney told Sen. Patrick Leahy to "fuck off," although some within hearing range claim the vice-president had been misheard, and he had actually said "fuck you." A senatorial class picture was being taken when the Democrat from Vermont fired a few barbs about Cheney's friends at the oil corporation Halliburton and allegations of abuse of power, and the vice-president responded with quite the filthy mouth, though some suggested Cheney's uncharacteristic response owed less to Leahy's comments and more to Sen. Mitch McConnell making bunny ears behind his head.

Plans had been made for Cheney to offer an explanation and possible apology for the remarks, when overnight White House polling showed drastic jumps in the VP's approval rating among males under 30, particularly African-Americans, a group Republicans have long struggled to reach. The vice-president responded via phone on CNN's Larry King Live.

"Balls to an apology, fuckface. I wouldn't piss a sorry on your freckled white ass. Leahy's a peckerhead and it's about time I laid down the law, put the smackdown him, bitch. 'Cause I'm for real." To which Larry King responded, "Is this Howard Stern screwing with me again?"

The Larry King interview caused some uproar among the FCC and some have speculated it may alienate some right-wing organizations, but Gallup polls reveal an even more distinct increase among young voters, including undecideds, so White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan said Cheney would keep that shit up.

"Mr. Cheney is keepin' it real, folks," McClellan said Thursday. "If you don't like the heat, stay the fuck out the kitchen. It's the Veep's world, yo, you just visiting."

Friday, Cheney poured on more foul-mouth rancor, sporting sunglasses and wearing untied Nike sneakers. He welcomed questions from the press corps and gave reporters unwanted nicknames, including "Dicknose" and "Faghag." This particular reporter unfairly earned the moniker "Gramma Titties."

"I know you all think I'm fucking with you, but I'm for real," said Cheney, pausing to inexplicably perform "the Worm" for reporters. "It's a dangerous world, motherfuckers, and it's about time we stop pussying up the language and say fuck when we mean fuck. And don't even think about getting in my face, I don't give a shit if you're a Democrat or Republican or one of them Green Party queens—you act the bitch, I'll treat you like a bitch. Bitch."

Cheney then leapt from the stage and slapped White House reporter Helen Thomas with a harsh backhand, sending the correspondent—whom he had nicknamed "Grape Ape"—wheeling to the back wall.

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That Jerry Nascar is a dangerous motherfucker. Dangerous as in smart. And, he plays with fireworks and only has a total of seven fingers. But I wasn't talking about that at all—I just mean he's smart.

My trial started three weeks ago, the libel case, where I'm being sued by Jayme Kristofson for calling her words I shouldn't repeat here. Not until I win, and can say them wherever I damn well please. It's an inevitability with Jerry Nascar as my attorney. This guy must have taken every law class they have at Pine Bluffs Community College, 'cause he knows all the tricks. He parked his car in a handicapped space in front of the courthouse and then put a sign on it saying "no engine." How ingenious is that? Technically, the car is handicapped now. That's what lawyers call a "loophole." And Jerry's got more holes than he knows what to do with.

It was Jerry's idea I wear the neckbrace—which I would have done if I had gone to court for a traffic accident, I'm no dummy, but Jerry says you can get neck injuries from anything, even emotional stress, and it never hurts to get crowd sympathy. The judge has even gotten mad at Jerry because he talks to the gallery instead of her, turning to the large number of people and saying stuff like, "You can see what all this huss'n'fuss has done to my client's verbitry—her neck is all outta a-whackment."

Jerry loves surprise witnesses. Sometimes I think they're more for his sake than for mine. He calls people out of the phone book ahead of time and gets them to show up, but they have no idea why. That's the surprise. So they get up there and Jerry asks them questions about what they do, what's their area of expertise. Then the questions get real juicy—do you own any sexy underwear? Have you gone all the way on the first date? You would be surprised how far he gets before the judge says the witness has no relevancy. But you gotta admire his guts.

But he's doing Jayme some damage, too. He somehow wrangled it where Jayme had to wear the Metallichick costume on the stand, and then asked her if she thought she had the figure to pull it off. Under oath, she completely broke down and admitted she didn't. That's got to help the case, if the Honor can look at the big picture.

Jerry may have finally crossed the line last week when he announced he was calling witnesses from the Kennedy assassination to "put this whole mess to rest, once and for all." The judge told him she was sick of his bullshit, so to speak, and demanded he make his final arguments for this particular case, after which she was going to talk to the Bar Association and find out just what bar they held their meetings at. But that was all fine, a bit of a slump for Jerry, but he started into the final summary of the case.

When Jerry launched his closing arguments, brilliance is the only word that comes to mind. He approached the jury and his hands clapped together, then moved to his waist, then waved in the air, then clapped together again. And his words were good, too. He said something like, "What is a 'dildo,' ladies and gentleman of the jury? Who doesn't like a dildo? Tell me that. I fail to see where my client's compliment can even be misconstructed as an insult. Plus, I think if you knew her, you would have called her dildo. Everyone knows she's a pain in the ass."

At that point the judge had to tell Jerry it wasn't a jury trial, and he was delivering his closing remarks to the plaintiff table. Jayme didn't look none too happy, but was too busy crying to tell him off. It's all incidental, I'm sure. I got a good feeling this thing's going to go my way, if the judge ever gets back from deliberating. Or maybe she did, while I was writing this column—do any of you dildos have the time?

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It's about time the government dropped the ball, publicly, and proved me right. I told you years ago, in one of my earliest columns, about the top-secret anti-terrorist unit operating out of the Pentagon with free reign to go anywhere and do whatever they want to stop terrorism. The government at last admitted the unit exists, and they're now calling it the "SSB" (or Strategic Support Branch), operating under the direction of the Pentagon's Defensive Intelligence Agency. Their original name, you'll remember me telling you, was the True Badasses.

On Sunday, January 23, the Washington Post broke the mainstream news about the existence of the SSB, while the rest of us who read the commune or report the alternative news just sat back and yawned in a patronizing fashion. Nobody needed to tell me about the super-secret Pentagon anti-terrorism unit—and by nobody, of course, I mean my super-secret embedded Pentagon source, who I'll call Doggie Style. He told me early in 2002, after the unit's creation, that it had begun operating. They were the True Badasses back then, but the scope hasn't changed—they still were developed and hand-picked by Secy. Donald "Rumplestickdick" Rumsfeld, still dressed all in their black ninja outfits, and had the unconstitutional freedom in their mandate to operate any and everywhere they please, if it served counter-terrorism.

How could this happen? Too late to ask now, sir. It would have done us all well if somebody, besides me, had read the Patriot Act. They made it in really small type for a reason, you know. Since no one read it, no one found Clause 631 unusual: "The signing of this Act hereby invalidates all Constitutional guarantees of due process, and promises the creation of a group of elite terrorist-fighters dressed as ninjas and armed to the teeth with amazing ranged and melee weapons, a group herein referred to as 'The True Badasses.'" There it is, in bright red tiny type for us all to have read, and prevented. Damn you, M-TV-generation attention spans.

Nothing to do about it now. Our best bet at this point is to elect some exceedingly liberal leaders (we're talking Dennis Hopper and Karen Finley here) who can sponsor an "anti-Patriot Act Act" that will include the "complete reversal clause" that several of our early amendments cleverly contained. While we're at it, legalizing prostitution wouldn't be bad idea. As Las Vegas and Atlantic City have proven, the worst effects that can happen is having David Cassidy and Andy Williams put on an excessive number of shows in your city. Worth it? I'm not going that far.

That doesn't help us in the meantime, of course. What should you do if the True Badasses, or whatever they're calling themselves now, burst through your window, suspecting you of being a terrorist sleeper cell? Really, this doesn't differ much from the response outlined in my much-maligned self-help pamphlet, "Help! Ninja Attack!"

First, if you are capable of disappearing in explosions of smoke or shadows, by all means, do so. For the rest of us, I'm afraid you're left with stop, drop, and roll—I know this is customarily used to put out fires, but it also works well in Badass, ninja, or bear attacks. Bears run in fright from a clearly insane person, while a True Badass or ninja will often believe you're suffering a seizure, and attempt to put a wallet under your tongue. While they search for their wallet, take advantage of their distraction and wrestle the weapons from their hands. The numbers may be against you, but if you do it fast and well enough, you can at least stage a stand-off likely to last for hours and draw out the FBI and the media. There's nothing ninjas and True Badass terrorist-fighters hate more than public exposure. This will send them back into hiding for sure. Saved again! Now… as for how you can get rid of the media and the FBI, that's a puzzler. If you come up with any ideas, or write your own pamphlet, bounce it my way. I've been working on that one for years.

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