I have a confession to make, one that will show how badly in need of therapy I am. I feel guilty for being the only blogger in the world who has not covered the Cheney shooting incident. And here it is, a week or more after the fact and I still haven’t really said much about it, except in the previous post where I stated the obvious, which is that I had not commented on it.
It’s not that I didn’t find the story entertaining. I vacillated between feeling sorry for the poor guy who got shot, marveling over the demise of the Bush administration’s marketing machine, and laughing over Cheney’s folly, which is sick in itself because his folly is that he shot someone. I’ve said it before: I’m not a very good person.
What bothers me about this, and what should bother everyone, is that Cheney enjoys watching innocent things suffer. And I’m not talking about Harry. We’ve learned a lot about his hunting habits in the past week. Recently, 500 birds were let loose for his hunting enjoyment, and Cheney shot 80. That’s like shooting fish in a barrel. And quail hunting, please, the damn things don’t fly. Just toss him a litter of kittens and let him shoot them.
While we’re on the subject of Cheney, as a friend pointed out to me, how can he be so against gays and yet have a close relationship with his daughter?
Cheney’s entire life is one well-strategized political move. He’s the stereotype of the heartless corporate icon, living, breathing, ruling our world, and frankly, slowly ruining this country. He doesn’t care. He has no intention of running for president. He’s a VP with a constituency of 1: W. He has nothing to lose, he can’t even drag W down, but that’s because W can do that just fine on his own, thank you.
Word from my friends who are tied into Washington is that right before W’s term is up, Cheney will resign for health reasons, and Bush will put in someone who can run for prez and continue their legacy of evil, corrupt, I mean, neoconic policy. Condi Rice, put your running shoes on – you know, the Ferragamos you bought on 5th Avenue when New Orleans was in chaos right after Katrina. In the meantime, stay away from Dick and guns.
