And, I gotta say, it couldn't happen to a vicer guy. Dick Cheney makes Spiro Agnew look like Mother Teresa.
I wouldn't be entirely candid if I didn't admit I have also become fascinated by the conspiratorial and sexual-innuendo aspect of this disgrace.
Howard Dean gets the Ouija Board Medal for his remarkable prescience, only hours before the story broke, when he said on TV that Dick Cheney was just like Aaron Burr. And he said it without peanut butter in his mouth, too. Dean was referring to the report this week that Cheney "authorized" Libby to leak classified information. But clearly, Howard intuited more.
Yet the weirdest part is still to come. Fasten your gun clips, ladeez and gents!
Several years ago a woman named Cathy O'Brien published an "autobiography" in which she said she had been a victim of a sinister mind control game performed by the CIA, in which she was turned into the sex slave and torture victim of every major player in the White House.
I know, that probably happened to you, too!
In her torrid "confessions," Cathy described a scene that seems all too realistic after last weekend's revelations on the Armstrong Ranch!
Dick Cheney had an apparent addiction to the "thrill of the sport." He appeared obsessed with playing A Most Dangerous Game as a means of traumatizing mind control victims, as well as to satisfy his own perverse sexual kinks.
My introduction to the game occurred upon arrival at the hunting lodge near Greybull, Wyoming, and it physically and psychologically devastated me. I was sufficiently traumatized for Cheney's programming, as I stood naked in his hunting lodge office after being hunted down and caught.
Cheney was talking as he paced around me, "I could stuff you and mount you like a jackalope and call you a two-legged dear. Or I could stuff you with this (he unzipped his pants to reveal his oversized penis) right down your throat, and then mount you. Which do you prefer?"
AIYEEEEE! Mommy, make the bad man go away!
I keep hoping the White House Mob is going to stage an intervention with Cheney, the way The Sopranos crew did when "made man" Christopher Moltisanti became strung out on drugs, booze, violence, and denial.
Remember how gravel-voiced capo Paulie walked up to Chrissie, and grabs him by the scruff of his shirt? "You're WEAK— you're OUT OF CONTROL— and you're an EMBARRASSMENT to the organization."
Tell it, sistah!
What is YOUR most far-out, perverse, psychic reading into this whole affair? As of this writing, my own colorful paranoia is that Dick Whittington has already expired, and they are just pretending he's still alive, or keeping him propped up, Terry Schiavo-style, while they spin their next story. Possible? Probable? Let's call Howard and have a seance!