Cousin Dick comes through

Everybody's favorite cousin

Well, well, well...  Maybe I've been all wrong about Big Dick.
Maybe he is not an immoral, profit driven villain, twisted and warped by lust for wealth and rage at the deterioration of his corporeal form.  Maybe, in the end, he's just a family man.

Although no longer vice-president, Cheney has remained on the scene as a sort of national gadfly, carping and griping at various intervals over the last year.  Just last week, there he was, complaining to Politico that President Obama is “trying to pretend we are not at war.”

Pundits and journalists have expressed puzzlement at Cheney's motives.  Is Big Dick angling for political position in preparation for a run for public office?  Is he motivated by a sincere concern for the welfare of the American public?  Both of these motives seem unlikely.  After all, whenever Cheney spouts any of his seething, raspy diatribes, he is mostly greeted with scorn and derision and ends up making President Obama look good by comparison.

Perhaps the answer lies in the seldom-remembered fact that Big Dick is, in fact, President Obama's ninth cousin.  Maybe --just maybe --Big Dick is giving his cousin a helping hand.

***

(Imagine, if you will, that Big Dick is sitting in his Casper, Wyoming office, torturing a kitten, when the phone rings.  With a scowl that would curdle fresh milk, Cheney scoops up the receiver.)

Big Dick:  What is it?

Barry:  Whoa!  Bad day, Dick?

Big Dick (chuckling):  Don't push it, cuz.  You won't be Top Dog forever.

Barry: True that!  But I'll tell you, the White House kitchen sure can cook up some tasty lamb chops.

Big Dick:  Yeah, rub it in, you bastard.

(Mutual laughter.)

Barry: Hey, cuz.  You know I love you, but this is actually not just a social call.

Big Dick:  I'm listening.

Barry: You know, they're busting my balls out there.  The pussies on the left are whining about their "public health care option" and the Tea Party zombies are frothing like Wyoming cattle with hoof-in-mouth.

Big Dick:  Cry me a river.  You wanted the damn job.

Barry: Come on, cuz.  Don't be like that.

Big Dick:  You know, I've still got "ears" in the Justice Department.  There are stories that Eric Holder is getting too big for his britches.  You know anything about that?

Barry: Baseless rumors, Dick.  You know how people talk...

Big Dick:  Don't I, though?  I've always said that Scooter was one in a million.

Barry: One in ten million, Dick.  You've got a real soldier there.

Big Dick:  So, what do you want?  The usual?  Television interview with Sean Hannity?  Should I wear an eye patch and carry a coat-hanger in my sleeve?

Barry: Nothing that overt.  Maybe just a chat with one of the guys at Politico.  On the record, of course.

Big Dick:  Of course.  But, I sure am tired of the muckrakers in Congress making all those public demands for investigations.  All that whining about "war profiteering."  It gets tiresome.

Barry: Come on, Dick.  You know I prefer to look forward.

(Long pause)

Big Dick:  I suppose I could give Mike Allen a call.  He always laps it up, no matter how bad it stinks.

Barry: Now you're talkin', cuz.  You won't regret this.

Big Dick:  Yeah, yeah.  Whatever.

Barry: Well, in any case, I think we understand each other.  Give Lynne a kiss for me, eh?

Big Dick:  God!  Don't make me wretch!

(Hearty laughter.)