It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single vice-president in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of weapons of mass destruction.
He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish so they waterboarded him.
“When Dick Cheney was the geek, my dreamlets,” Papa would say, “he made the nipping off of Deomcrats’ noggins such a crystal mystery that the hens themselves yearned toward him, waltzing around him, hypnotized with longing.”
Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, the turd blossom knows.
Planet of the Blind 