Somebody told Mr. Rove about my NyQuil bong and he took it away. I think one of you people snitched. I'm not going to write stuff here anymore if you tattle on me. So stop it.
Last night, I went down in the tunnels to drink my NyQuil without my bong. The tunnels are cool. They connect the president's house to all of the other important buildings in Washington like the Space Needle. There are little golf-cart-like thingies down there that you can use to drive from place to place. I like to drink my NyQuil while I drive around exploring the tunnels.
Anyway, last night, I was sitting in one of the golf cart thingies drinking my NyQuil when I heard this awful bellowing in the distance. It sounded like a heifer in distress. I decided to check it out.
The bellowing seemed to be coming from the tunnel to Mr. Cheney's house so I headed that way. Sure enough, the closer I got, the louder it became, and as I pulled up beneath the house, it was obvious that it was the source.
I climbed up the stairs until I came to introspection of a bunch of different hallways. The sound seemed to be coming from the hall marked bedroom, so I went that way. I slowly squeezed through a door at the end of the hall and found myself in a closet.
I could now make out words between the bellows. Mr Cheney sounded like he was in pain. He was kind of moaning the words, "deeeeeeper, Lynne, deeeeeper."
I could partially see Mrs Cheney through a crack in the door to the bedroom. SHE WAS NAKED! I wanted to see more, so I tried to crack the door open a little bit further. In in my excitement, I moved too fast, tangling my feet up in one of Mr Cheney's kimonos and tumbling through the doorway and into the bedroom. I was met with the most horrible sight I've ever seen. Mrs Cheney had her arm in Mr Cheney's rear-end clear up to the elbow.
I started to scream. I screamed and screamed for what must have been at least twenty minutes. Mrs. Cheney pulled her arm out of Mr, Cheney and tried to comfort me with a hug. That just made me scream more. Her arm was all slick and stinky. It was horrible. I'm crying right now just thinking about it.
Finally, someone handed me a bottle of Wild Turkey and after a few swigs I was able to calm down a little bit. Mr Cheney was screaming at me. He kept yelling: "See the butter. I was like Brando. You see the butter don't you?" Sure enough, there was a bunch of cubes of "I can't Believe it's not Butter" spread out on the floor around Mr. Cheney, but I didn't understand what he meant. He just kept screaming about Brando and butter.
Finally, Mrs. Cheney kicked him really hard in the jaw, knocking him out. She then explained things. It was a fundraiser. I hadn't noticed until then that there were a bunch of men sitting in folding chairs around the room. Each one wore a name tag with a picture of an oil derrick and the words "Hi, my name is ..." printed on it. According to Mrs Cheney, they were all in town for an oil industry convention. The Cheneys decided to raise money for our next campaign by by charging them to watch the couple perform scenes from the Marlon Brando movie, "Last Tango in Paris."
It still seemed kind of weird to me, especially since General Ashcroft had recently given me one of those "special gifts" talks about sex and stuff. I told Mrs. Cheney that, and said I'd have to ask General Ashcroft about it. She just laughed and looked toward the back of the room. General Ashcroft was there, holding a pair of binoculars. He yelled out to us that he had asked Jesus about it and that Jesus said it was OK, because the money would be used to re-elect me and then I could give more money to faith-based programs.
I guess I can't argue with Jesus, but I'm still a bit scared of Mr. and Mrs. Cheney. Whatever you do, don't let her touch you.