This here is the story of a man, a powerful man who run the whole dang country for a while, then, not too long ago, he jus’ up and disappeared; his name was Deadeye Dick Cheney.

He was born on the great plains of the Midwest. Some say his father’s name was Richard, others say it was Lucifer. Ain’t a soul around who knows for sure…’ceptin maybe Lucifer. Soon after bein’ born, Deadeye found hisself in the Wyoming terror-tories. There he grew into a fine young man who flunked out of Yale and had few run-ins with Johnny-law for driving his automobile after taking a nip or two.
He come outta that mess with a clear head and when it came time serve his country and fight the godless commies, he told Uncle Sam he had other priorities… five times.
Eventually he had to serve somewhere (the someone ain’t quite so clear), so got hisself elected to Congress and served there a while. But ol’ Deadeye wasn’t a fella who thought small and being a congressmen was small potatoes. So he worked his way up.
He got hisself a job with “Doubtin’” Donnie Rumsfeld. (Donnie was called “Doubtin” ‘cause he doubted anyone but hisself knew anything.)  Ya see, Doubtin’ Donnie was already a member of the Fumblin’ Ford Gang, and when the big boss found hisself running the whole dang show, well, there was ol’ Deadeye in the thick of things.
That come to an end, and the next thing ya know, Deadeye is working for Big Daddy H?Dubya, whose could trace hisself back to the dang Pilgrims or some such thing. These were fellas who knew the business of governin’ and Deadeye was now amongst ‘em.
Deadeye helped ol’ H-Dubya do all sorts of things, like plannin’ wars and such. Even back in the Daddy H-Dubya days, Deadeye had ideas about transmogrifyin’ the desert into somethin’ useful like Texas. But he also knowed when to hold ‘em, so he stopped our boys from marchin’ too far and getting’ all bogged down and the like.
Then, without no one askin’, Deadeye was chucked out on his ear ‘cause a new fella took over and he didn’t have no use for ol’ Deadeye.
Deadeye wandered for a long time, doing little jobs here and there with some new fellas called Hallie and Burton. They robbed a few banks and the like, just doin’ this ‘n that to get by, all the while bidin’ his time.
Then, as these things go, Daddy H-Dubya’s boy, simple ol’ Dubya, (if you was to talk to him just once you’d know why they call him ‘simple’), who couldn’t do mucha anything else, up and decides to be President of the United States. Well, presidents need vice presidents and simple Dubya asks Deadeye to help him find one—and Deadeye does; he finds his own self.
Now Deadeye got the run of the place and ain’t no one can tell him what to do or when to do it. Right off, he gets a buncha money for his friends and right after that he goes and invades that country that he invaded back in Daddy H-Dubya days. But, this time, he don’t take his own counsel and marches them boys right into the middle a things. And man-oh-man did he make a mess. Some folks reckon it’ll take years to fix it, others up and say it plain can’t be fixed and we should just get on home. Either way, ol’ Deadeye backed the wrong horse.
For a fella who always seemed to be in the right place at the time, he sure was wrong a lot. Fact is, ol’ Deadeye has been pretty much dead wrong on just about everything he’s done as the Number 2 man. Not that he cared, I mean to say Deadeye got his and everyone was else was left to suck hind tit. But other folks started to care and real quiet like, Deadeye up and disappears.
Last I hear tell, he’s holed up somewhere in the desert, sneakin’ in and sneakin out so as not to let folks know what he’s up to. I even hear they got him a big new office in one a’ them deserts over there.
Oh, and as for that name, Deadeye; no one knows how he come by it, but I’ll bet that story is a humdinger.
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