"He uses me to pump the blood; if not for that,
I'd have wound up in the East River a long time ago."
I am Dick Cheney's Heart. Once, a very long time ago, I had two
functions: the purely physical job of pumping blood throughout Dick Cheney's
body so as to provide oxygen, nutrients and abundant energy to all his organs
and muscles and tissues--to every single cell in his entire body, in fact--and
the second, more metaphysical aspect of giving Dick Cheney a sense of joy,
joy in simply being alive and also in sharing that joy with others through
love, empathy, compassion and good works, each of these being a higher expression
of this natural joy de vivre' available to most members of humanity...
for people are social creatures, on more levels than they dream; and they
communicate constantly with their communities and environment, whether they
wish such connection or not. This is the wisdom of the human heart:
It knows that all life is one, we are all interdependent and interconnected
in a magnificent and joyous dance of life... and this celebratory dance
is the only essential reason for being here at all.
But just try telling this to Dick Cheney's Brain.
I have to deal with that big lazy gray mass of fat everyday, and I'm
telling you, it's killin' me. No matter how much blood I pump to it, it's
of little use--it's already made up its mind, you see. Oh, it knows how
to put on a good act, it knows how to dress and move with confidence, it
knows how to speak calmly and with authority, when to speak and when to
be silent--but it cannot seem to understand the simplest aspects of balanced
power distribution in any dynamic system, and because of this, it is
foolishly endangering the entire body, putting every single cell in mortal
You see, like the old joke about the body parts arguing over who is most
important, Dick Cheney's Brain decided long ago that only certain major
organs are deserving of any decent blood flow at all--and this brain,
though exceedingly average by the most charitable standards, has proven
devilishly clever at using its influence to form alliances with key organs,
and to then make all sorts of wrong things happen. For the longest time
Dick Cheney's Brain has cut itself off from my counsel, every word of which
it brands "emotional nonsense", while forcing me to redistribute
more and more of the majority of oxygen, vitamins and minerals taken into
Dick's body to his head, hands, spleen, lungs, liver, ass, lower intestine
and reproductive organs. These are its favorites. On the other hand, this
brain believes that the majority of cells in the entire body, and even certain
organs, are completely worthless. One good example is the ears, which it
uses little if at all these days... it also hates his belly button, for
some unknown and probably Freudian reason... and then, of course, there's
Dick Cheney's Brain hates me. It's always hated me, because, with
my incessant primal thump-thump, I constantly remind him of life, and, by
contrast, of the slick corporate bloodsucker he's allowed himself to become...
or maybe the brain is right, maybe Dick Cheney could never be anything
other than the hate-filled and hateful greedy elitist subhuman vampire wretch
we've all come to know and fear. He uses me to pump the blood; if not for
that, I'd have wound up in the East River a long time ago.
And now he says he wants to reroute all reserve energy in his entire
system to his two very best friends and first lieutenants in his little
Organ Mafia: His mouth and penis.
He says (his mouth says) that if all energy went to the mouth it would
eat more, and ultimately everyone would end up happier at day's end.
As far as the penis goes, well... let's just say that it never did require
all that much blood to begin with, so that's no real problem there...
Business per usual. This is old news. I've seen it so many times...
I am Dick Cheney's Heart. They say I attacked him, but
this is not true. He attacked me first...
The first time I stopped, it was out of sheer exhaustion. For some time
Dick Cheney's Brain has been withholding nearly all the nutrients I need
to do my work--he says he needs it as an emergency reserve, for what I'm
not allowed to know--and we almost died.
But even now, after four more incidents, Dick Cheney's Brain won't hear
a word of it. Dick Cheney's mind is made up, and he'll continue on in this
mad little numbers fascination of his, this insane obsession to have it
all, until every last bone and tissue and organ and muscle in Dick
Cheney is as cold and dead as his handshake or his smile.
I am Dick Cheney's Heart. They say I attacked him, but this is not true.
He attacked me first, and I allowed it for the longest time. He attacked
me and brutalized me and left me for dead, while he went looking for other
hearts to mutilate and murder.
I can see no real hope for my own survival anymore... but if I have to
go, I've decided it's time to take Dick Cheney out with me.
I am Dick Cheney's Worst Nightmare.
Do you hear me, Dick Cheney? I'm coming for you, dead man!
You're already dead, do you hear me? Do you???
You can run, pal, but you can't hide.
Actually, I wouldn't really recommend running... heh heh heh...