And speaking of wingnutty books, here’s an excerpt of the ABC News excerpt of Mary Cheney’s Now It’s My Turn. I did punch it up a little, since it was kind of tedious, but I think you’ll find it remains true to Mary’s vision (i.e., get a $1 million advance for a 200-plus page memoir dealing basically with one comment from the 2004 presidential debate).
So, happy reading!
Chapter One � The Decision
Early in the summer of 2000, Dad invited me to go with him on a trip to South America. We spent a week sitting in duck blinds in Argentina, hunting pen-raised perdiz in Uruguay. Sure, these dove-like birds may look harmless, but they would peck out your eyes and rape your daughters if they got the chance! Besides, Dad had intelligence from Doug Feith which said that they were linked to Al Qaeda. Or maybe he heard that later. In any case, we killed a bunch of them. Then we shot some peons, just for sport. Good times, good times.
And when we weren’t killing God’s creature, we spent time talking about typical father-daughter topics: my plans for starting business school in the fall, how the rest of the family was doing, whether Mom would ever publish Sisters 2: Titillating Threesomes of the Old West, and whether or not we would be able to get the Death Star operational in time to crush the Rebel Alliance for Memorial Day.
It wasn’t until we were halfway into the flight home that he turned to me and asked, “What do you think about me running for vice president?” The question caught me so off-guard that at first I thought he was kidding. I mean, geez, who would vote for him? Besides, he and my mom were happily living in Dallas, Texas, where he was the CEO of Halliburton, a Fortune 500 company which was raking in billions thanks to the government contracts which Dad was able to steer their way, courtesy of his evil cronies. And he was doing the kinds of things that former politicians do, like helping Governor George W. Bush, the presumptive Republican nominee for president, find a running mate. And learn to mate. Stuff like that.
Besides, at first glance, my dad seemed like an odd choice for vice president. He was old and mean and scary, and nobody liked him. And he’s not even an American citizen! It had been twelve years since he last ran for office, and while he led an active and vigorous life, his android body needed frequent repairs, and unless we could secure some foreign oil fields, it would be too expensive to keep him running. In addition, he was from Wyoming, a state that nobody had ever heard of. And even there, the voters hated him. Nominating Dick Cheney to be vice president violated just about every piece of conventional political wisdom (and the principles of every religious and ethical belief system) I could think of.
Once the initial shock wore off, however, I realized that he wasn’t joking. He was crazy.
But he was doing what he does so often, bringing up a subject he’d given a lot of thought to � but that no one else would have guessed he was pondering. That’s why he always won our family games of “Guess What Dad is Pondering or Get No Allowance for a Year.” I’d spent the last week with him and didn’t have a clue. I still don’t. I blame my mother and her lack of nuturing.
I spent the rest of the flight home from South America talking about what a run for national office would mean for our family, particularly for me. A national campaign would subject everyone in our family to intense media scrutiny, and he was concerned that people would target me and my sexual orientation in an attempt to attack him. However, since I didn’t know that I was a lesbian until John Kerry announced it during those 2004 debates, I had no idea what Dad was talking about. In fact, I didn’t even have a sexual orientation at that point in time. But I volunteered to get one, just so Dad could be outraged if anyone brought it up, and thereby distract people from the fact that no WMDS would be found in Iraq.
“Personally,” I told him, “I’d rather not be known as the vice president’s lesbian daughter — unless I could get a million dollars writing a book about it, of course. But, if you’re going to run, I think the country would be lucky to have you. Well, some country would — have you considered trying out for the job of vice president of Belize? Anyway, I want to do whatever I can to help out on the campaign … as long as you pay me handsomely for my services. In return, I will happily support George Bush when he calls for a federal amendment which would prevent people like me from getting married. Because that’s how you raised me, Daddy. But you’d better win!”
To Be Continued . . . Or Will It?
9 Responses to “My Experiences With Dick, by Mary Cheney”
I hope you review that book on Amazon.
intelligence from Doug Feith
maybe the $1M was the grand prize in the oxymoron contest
maybe the $1M was the grand prize in the oxymoron contest
Of course it should be borne in mind that the cost of announcing a million-dollar advance is exactly zero.
Definitely post a review on Amazon! The book was barely holding on to two stars as of yesterday. I’ve never seen the like!
“You know, it really didn’t help my mindset any when, in 2000, dad leaned over the spacious, first-class airline seat and confided in me that, “I really wanted to name you ‘Snuffy’ back around, if you will, the time of your birth.” Damn that motherfucking bastard, John Kerry–I just knew that this was his fault, somehow! And that little prick, John Edwards, too! I couldn’t imagine how either of those two chumsicles could have anything to do with each other, except for their being Demoncrat senators, but my gut was trying to tell me something. “Or Aloisius. I always like that one, too,” continued dad. “Shit-sucker Kerry,” I blurted out from between clenched teeth. “That’s my boy girl!,” said dad.”
Oh, I hope it will! (be continued). This is very funny stuff, what with the backhanded cracks slipped in and all. Good goin’.
Was the title of the post from the long ago “Name Mary’s Book” contest?
“I blame my mother and her lack of nuturing.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a case where a typo actually improved the whole meaning of the sentence before. Brilliant!
Ya know, S.Z., if you had written Mary Cheney’s book, I would definitely buy it.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a case where a typo actually improved the whole meaning of the sentence before. Brilliant!
Ya know, S.Z., if you had written Mary Cheney’s book, I would definitely buy it.
So, first there’s this. And then, there’s this.
All of which leads me to hand a little slip of paper to the kj, step up to the microphone, and as most of the patrons in the karioke bar continue to stare sullenly into their nearly empty plastic pitchers while sparing me at best the vestigial, beer-battered remnants of their concentration, I begin to sing –
I wake up feeling cautious joy
for it seems Fitzgerald finally will deploy
his major blue-backed weapons where we want them most
could it be that creeps Cheney and Rove are finally toast?
they’re giving up the ghost,
Oh won’t you hang a few indictments on Karl Rove’s fat ass
add a few for Cheney, if that’s not too crass
if they both wake tomorrow with a legal rash
Karl’s weeping and stunned, Dick goes for his gun
while Dubya’s ratings crash
if you’ll only hang a few indictments on the VP’s ass
Now this week can’t come soon enough
I have to know if Patrick’s getting tough
oh sure, he gave us Libby, but to me that’s a lot of fluff
I need to see ol’ Dick Cheney and Karl Rove wearing cuffs
Oh baby, that’s the stuff!
Oh won’t you hang a few indictment’s on ol’ Dick’s big butt
sign a few for Karl while you’re gearing up
with both of them asserting that they don’t know what
this whole thing’s about, they think that they’ll pout
while ‘pop!’ go the wing nuts
when you hang a few indictments on these goons’ enormous buttsNow the whole damn left is yearning
cuz we really want to see
The VP and Turdblossom resigning on live TV
All of which leads me to hand a little slip of paper to the kj, step up to the microphone, and as most of the patrons in the karioke bar continue to stare sullenly into their nearly empty plastic pitchers while sparing me at best the vestigial, beer-battered remnants of their concentration, I begin to sing –
I wake up feeling cautious joy
for it seems Fitzgerald finally will deploy
his major blue-backed weapons where we want them most
could it be that creeps Cheney and Rove are finally toast?
they’re giving up the ghost,
Oh won’t you hang a few indictments on Karl Rove’s fat ass
add a few for Cheney, if that’s not too crass
if they both wake tomorrow with a legal rash
Karl’s weeping and stunned, Dick goes for his gun
while Dubya’s ratings crash
if you’ll only hang a few indictments on the VP’s ass
Now this week can’t come soon enough
I have to know if Patrick’s getting tough
oh sure, he gave us Libby, but to me that’s a lot of fluff
I need to see ol’ Dick Cheney and Karl Rove wearing cuffs
Oh baby, that’s the stuff!
Oh won’t you hang a few indictment’s on ol’ Dick’s big butt
sign a few for Karl while you’re gearing up
with both of them asserting that they don’t know what
this whole thing’s about, they think that they’ll pout
while ‘pop!’ go the wing nuts
when you hang a few indictments on these goons’ enormous buttsNow the whole damn left is yearning
cuz we really want to see
The VP and Turdblossom resigning on live TV
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