Cheney and the icy hand of death

If looks could kill...

Junior had better watch his back, eh, Dick?

Word has it that you're writing your own tell-all book about those dark days when you, Richard B. Cheney, lorded over le monde politique like Hades on his Underworld throne. There's gonna be some nuggets in this one, eh?

Speaking through an intermediary, you let it be known that you felt Bush "went soft" in the second term, conceding to public disapproval, retreating on some of your hard line policies. Poor, hapless Junior is soon going to be on the receiving end of that vampiric bite. He's going to relearn to his chagrin that Dick Cheney doesn't let trivialities like "truth" or "integrity" get in the way. Well, somebody has to be the goat, and it ain't gonna be you, right, Dick?

At first glance, the idea of a Cheney blab book is a mind-twister. According to associates, you don't give a tinker's damn about your low public approval ratings. They say that you are driven by concerns about a hostile state obtaining nuclear weapons and giving them to terrorists.

Real, patriotic motives, eh, Dick?

Well, sorry, but I don't take anything you say at face value. You've already uttered too many demonstrable lies for me or for any rational person to do that. I have absolutely no faith that your motives have anything to do with concern for anyone other than yourself and that narrow group of people that compose your "tribe."

And you've been pimping out that hideous daughter of yours, haven't you? Sending her out on the cable talkie shows to perpetuate your lies, to try to garner some faction to carry the flag for you. Between her and John Bolton, who whined about President Clinton getting those journalists out of North Korea, and Frank Gaffney, who shrieked that President Obama "actually may still be [a Muslim] himself" (heaven forfend!) you've got the makings of your very own Scream Machine.

But, now we're getting at the truth, aren't we?

I think what we've got here is a panicky reaction to the icy hand of death. We all know that your ticker is weak. (That's right, Dick, "weak." I know it rankles that anyone would associate that adjective with you, but there it is.) And now that your life's work is largely done (after all, you will never again hold public office), you've started to notice a chill spreading over that obdurate little black nugget that serves as your heart. But a man wants to leave something behind, yes? Some little marker for future generations.

I suspect that your aim is to rehabilitate the family name, to associate the Cheney appellation with hard-boiled patriotism, with true-blue no-apologies American exceptionalism. God knows there are plenty of dumb-ass rubes out there who respond to that kind of claptrap. If you get enough of them to buy into it, daughter Liz can continue on as you have done, eh? She can keep the Cheney dynasty rolling.

For most people, to be included in the memories of those they leave behind is enough. Or, maybe a family heirloom. But you've always held such quaint nostalgia by the plebs as pathetic, eh? For Big Dick Cheney, nothing less than full scale global conflagration will do. You're every bit as much an historical figure as some faggot like Alexander or that French midget with the funny hat.

So, here you are, with your fingers crossed, hoping that there will be a cataclysmic terrorist attack that will vindicate you in the eyes of a fearful public. This book you're writing, and the public appearances by that witch of a daughter are all part of the plan, eh?

Well, Dick, you're in a race against time. And with a ticker like yours, I'm betting on the latter.