LAY OFF MY DICK

All right, all right. Enough is enough already, okay? Vice-President Dick Cheney shot Harry Wittington in the face last weekend when the two were out hunting. We know, everyone knows. Even people in Africa know. They probably don't care since much of the continent spends their free time trying to not, you know, get AIDS, but they know. And knowing is half the battle. That's something G.I. Joe taught me. G.I. Joe also taught me that every sailor has a parrot and an anchor tattoo, but that's beside the point.

The point is that some people out there, Commie sympathizers mostly, want to paint Vice-President Cheney as a gun-totting psycho whose careless and reckless behavior with a loaded firearm very nearly ended Harry Wittington’s life last weekend. To those people I say, move back to Russia, Ivan. Or, if you're already in Russia, stay there… I guess. Richard B. Cheney is many things: conservative, compassionate, idealistic, caring, and even a little dreamy in the right lighting, but one thing he is not is careless and reckless. ... Two things he is not. ... Are not. ... Moving on.

There are a lot of people on this Cheney Bashin' Bandwagon, and while that may be a great name for a band, I'd like to ask everyone on that wagon to remember the words of Jesus before jumping to judgment. "Let he who is without sin condemn a man for shooting someone else in the face while hunting in Texas." And that's from The Bible, which, I might point out, is the best selling book of all time, and unlike James Frey's lie fest, is absolutely true. But I bet that some of you still aren’t convinced that Cheney did nothing wrong in that Texas wilderness. Well then, what if I drop this additional nugget of wisdom on you? Harry Wittington is a were-quail.

"COO! COO!" You turn your head and bearing down on you is a quail the size of a 78-year old Austin attorney

That's right, a were-quail. Like the more famous werewolf, were-quails are ordinary people cursed to transform from human form into large and ferocious quails. Unlike werewolves, who suffer their transformations on nights of a full moon, were-quails are most likely to transform on weekends in February, July and November. This is especially true in Texas.

So put yourself in the Vice President's shoes, faithful reader. You're out with your good lawyer friend looking forward to a nice day of quail shooting. You're in a truck, maybe singing along to the new George Strait CD, not a care in the world. Economy is strong, the country is respected, the war is going well, and your Secret Service detail has finally started calling you "Vanilla Gorilla." You step out of the car and load your gun, behaving in both a safe and courteous manner when all of a sudden "COO! COO!" You turn your head and bearing down on you is a quail the size of a 78-year old Austin attorney, flapping like it means business, with a loaded gun in its’ talons. What would you do in that situation good reader? What Would You Do??

Well I'll tell you what Richard B. Cheney, Vice President of the U.S. of A did. To protect himself, his entourage and the little blind nun that had stumbled on the scene he gunned that were-quail down. So do not cry for Harry Wittington, only silver birdshot can kill a were-quail, and he will heal with time. Instead cry for Dick Cheney and his loss of innocence. If a sitting Vice President can't go hunting with a 78-year old Texas lawyer safely, whom can he go hunting with?

Seriously, who? Cheney's looking for volunteers.