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.

he world took a long, mournful pause, or perhaps a quiet vacation, when Ronald Reagan passed away of natural (or supernatural) causes June 5, after a long bout with Alzheimer's that apparently plagued him all his life. He was ancient.

Despite the week of funeral processions, not all machinations in America stopped, as grief-stricken politicians began the work of "tidying up" the Reagan legacy as president of the United States of America, 1981-1988, and a phantom on the political scene ever since.

A week of remembrance has reminded us frequently of Reagan's strong moral values, his deep faith, his dedication to democracy, how he made it "okay" to be a "patriot," and that charming way he had of ignoring important questions. Mostly forgotten are Reagan's fundamentalist cow-towing, his close-minded prejudices, his fascistic pursuit of global democracy, the mania of conformity he embraced, and how the poor dangled on the shit stick for the entire duration of his reign. All minor changes in the book of American history rewritten in the wake of the president's death.

A proponent of America as the Enforcer, Reagan ran up a national deficit in the trillions of dollars chasing military superiority, even though our nearest rival, Russia, had no hopes of keeping up. Conservatives point to the collapse of the Soviet Union, which had begun happening long before, as proof Reagan's policy was a success, which is quite like saying taking out six mortgages on your house is worth it if your neighbor can no longer afford his house payments.

The military build-up came with a price, of course, as social programs were mauled as if by a big Libertarian bear. Welfare slashed, minimum wage ignored for years, leading to a growing body of working men and women living beneath the poverty line, and don't make anyone piss themselves laughing by asking about school funding and the arts. So important was the stealth bomber the president even slashed the runaway costs of school free lunch programs, and made ketchup a vegetable to meet national health requirements.

Blind to any problem created after communism, Reagan led a government effort to ignore the AIDS crisis until it had ravaged whole communities and helped conservatives who believed AIDS a homosexual plague carried on by promiscuity remain comfortably ignorant. A wise decision, since avoiding spending anything to save American lives allowed the purchase of the Patriot missile, which didn't work, and of course allowed him to piggy bank money for his masterpiece: Star Wars, a cheeky name for his imaginative laser defense system that would stop "just about" every nuclear missile aimed at the United States and give us real tactical superiority over Russia should a Roland Emmerich movie ever occur here. But don't worry, nostalgias—the current president hasn't given up on the fantasy.

But we shouldn't, however, forget Reagan the man. The wealth of misinformation he gave us entertained people everywhere. According to Reagan, trees were bad for the environment, homeless people preferred living on the streets, hired mercenaries fighting for right-wing causes were "freedom fighters," and important decisions betraying your own political ideological statements weren't worth remembering. Lest we forget, he also expanded presidential powers into strikebusting by firing the air traffic controllers like a $400,000 a year Pinkerton.

Even as the sorrow winds up for America, text book manufacturers are busy as we speak preparing the Reagan legacy for the next generation of leaders.

According to Shouton-Felix's Greg Ward, a history book editor: "I think we've decided to skip all the irrelevant material from 1981-1988, people only seem to remember The A-Team and New Wave music from the decade anyway. We think Reagan's presidency is best represented by a full-page headshot of the president, with the caption: 'Win one for the Gipper!'"

Please, George, watch that disgusting mouth of yours. Nobody cares if it's the truth, they don't want to hear it anyway. The truth is not always beautiful, George, and in this case, it's positively sickening.

Do you really think anybody wants to hear about your medical history, your sexual proclivities, or a combination of either? No, George. Giving you the simplest, quickest answer: No, they don't. That sound you hear isn't the whisper of a freshly-created buzz, or catty town gossip. It's dry-heaving, and you've caused it, George.

Let's assume for one second you even had a reasonable excuse to mention you've recently begun taking that Cialis drug—and that's a big enough if, George. Bypassing that, was the look of disgust some clear signal you should proceed with the story, adding even more detail and description when possible? I think not. Did the way my face flushed red and the gasp that came out of my mouth, did these things beg for elaboration on your fascinating story about the dick pills? Because I personally fail to see the encouragement.

I was watching the crowd reaction, perhaps better than you were, and I didn't see anyone asking to hear about your erectile dysfunction, either with words, facial expressions, or body language. It's possible, I suppose, given that my eyesight is not what it used to be, some schmuck far in the back of the crowded room wore a T-shirt asking for you to tell us more about your floppy phallus, but we've had discussions before about you following the advice of a T-shirt before, so that certainly can't be it.

Maybe you assumed, incorrectly, people would be fascinated with the articulate description of your medical exam. Nope, George, a resounding nope. The image forced upon our minds of a doctor with his hands squeezing your furry scrotum is only slightly more appetizing that the unwelcome imagined sight of you with your pants around your ankles, your withered drumstick cranking up for action.

And if it needs saying, thank you so much for dragging me into your embarrassing reality. The fact we showed up together to the soiree, even forgetting our marriage of seemingly endless years, automatically leads people to assume you would be using that deadly medicated erection on yours truly. Did I warrant your hate so much as to make people think we have sex together? Not even on our best day together, George, not with a belly full of booze and a borrowed dick. But I hardly had time to explain that, did I? Agnes was too busy asking us to leave for me to assure her you and I have never even been naked in the same room together. And if only I could have gone a few more years, I'm sure death would have claimed me and I would have avoided the ugly prospect of having to imagine you unclothed. I want to check with your mother, bless her piteous soul, and make sure you actually were born naked. Even God would not be so cruel as to do that to a woman—perhaps you emerged from the woman with a seersucker suit made of placenta. It's the one thought that gives me hope for a heaven.

Everyone at the party lived in a happier world before you arrived. The mere notion that something resembling a penis lives in your pants is more than anyone should have to live with. I can never go back to the childlike innocence I once held, and even saying the word "erection" should bring me post-traumatic flashbacks for the rest of my life. A life, by the by, which will be dedicated to making you one hundred percent miserable from now on, of course. The game starts here, you dangling dandy.

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