Rescind The Look Marring Your Daughter's Face
by DICK CHENEY
When I was young, not much older than most of the readers of this website were when they first exposed themselves to illicit drugs and questionable blogposts, I decided to write my own autobiography. Last week I revealed the back-of-the-book blurbs I could not include, and criticized The Atlantic repeatedly.
The response was simply overwhelming. I didn't realize how bored people were by The Atlantic, and I certainly didn't realize how defensive they were about the man currently slipping inside Leslie Knope after a long day at City Hall. I deeply regret the jokes I made about Adam Scott, 38, although to be completely frank, I was persuaded to avoid including my photoshops of Kermit the Frog superimposed over his face because it was felt it would make too many children confused about why a green amphibian was tongue-kissing Amy Poehler.
In order to square things with my fanbase (what are we politicians without our faaaaaaans?), I offer a special treat today. What follows is an exclusive excerpt from my forthcoming memoir, In Ma Time:
with my younger brother in 1952
When I was born, I was already five years old and I loved fishing. (I also loved crossbreeding animals. Did you know that when you mix a monkey and a cat, it's called a grinnet?) I would take my little brother, who I had nicknamed Scorpion, and make him kill animals in front of me. After he did, I would nod very seriously and ask him if he had thought of invading Iraq lately, familiarizing myself Ender's Game-style with a process I would repeat twice more in later daze.
I didn't really like school. I spent most of my time in class drawing cartoons of dragon orgasms and planting bags of oregano in girls' lockers to let them know I liked them. One particular young woman showed up at my locker with the bag of oregano I had placed there, and demanded to know if it was I who had done the deed. I told her it was one of my friends, and she went over to his locker, and cut her initials in his arm with a knife. I was so turned on that roughly eight years later I asked her to be my wife.
even back then, we were 86% percent sure that helmets were for pussies
My wedding to Lynne was a glorious affair, highlighted by when the priest asked me if I consented to whatever rigamarole he was putting forth, and I said, "Already did" and mimed penetration. This got a huge laugh among my frat brothers, and also from Lynne's slightly disturbed mother. But the truth was - I hadn't. Occasionally Lynne would permit me to softly violate her with my pinkie, but usually she was tired after the third orgasm and the ensuing sight of my penis only amused her.
In the past, I had met girls I liked, but when I asked them if the government had a right to tax the rich, they answered either that they supposed so, or that they didn't care. My response to either answer was to bellow "Krugman spawn!!" and ask them to undergo a Friedrich Hayek reeducation course in the Pyreenes if they wanted to continue to associate with me. Most, if not all, of these girls resembled a more hickish Faith Hill.
August 29th, 1964: my wedding day
That night the honeymoon began. Lynne placed her hand on my own and whispered in my ear, "I'm all yours, big boy. Just be sure not to use a condom, or criticize the estate tax, even in jest, or our daughter will come out gay." Unfortunately, I had anticipated trouble placing the rubber on my soda can penis and so had already applied several layers of protection. When I placed the sweating phallus inside my new wife, she said, "Jesus, Dick, that feels like a hot dog in saran wrap." After that one mishap, we had unprotected sex continuously for the next 64 years, even on 9/11:
a chair "conveniently" blocks my porcelain hammer in this photo from that fateful day
Game of Thrones' Ned Stark reminds me a lot of Al Gore, although he is missing many of Al's finest qualities: the willingness to back down from a fight, the hepatitis, the blonde tips in his hair, the lisp. Al does match up when it comes to rampant paranoia about the weather, though; "Winter is coming" is dangerously close to a bumper sticker on Al's family Volvo, or a tattoo Tipper features above her lady parts. In this last episode, Neddard was so dreadfully stupid that he didn't even talk to his daughters during the entire hour, even after the King died. At the very least you could say hi or give a heads up to Sansa that you're about to out her betrothed as a product of incest.
The incest "mystery" was the silliest part of Game of Thrones. It was like a writing prompt to get GRRM started on other, more important matters. Creators David Benioff and D.B. Weiss proved they understood the novels by revealing all as soon as possible. The television adaptation has judiciously ignored this "mystery", and in fact many of the secrets of Game of Thrones have already been come out earlier than they did in the novels, including a bizarre glossing over of Robert's death. What exactly was the point of not showing him gored by a boar, it cost too much money? I haven't seen a direwolf since episode six.
Actually, Jon Snow's direwolf, Ghost, did put in an appearance, with a human arm in his hand. Ooh, scary. Bring me some balls, you albino wolf, or bring me nothing. JK Ghost, you were a "good boy", but you also took up Robert Baratheon's waning screentime to hype a storyline that won't be paid off until 2019. We get the picture: there are some mean happenings north of the Wall, and the completely awesome Mance Rayder seems to be at the center of many of them. Each episode I keep hoping Samwell Tarly will be played by Matthew Broderick, but my dreams never come fully true unless I exert my Powers. In this photo, for example, you can see me giving Ronald Reagan Alzheimer's through the telepathic charge emitted from my huge brain:
on the reags
I'm not really sure how you do a Game of Thrones episode with no Tyrion, Bran, Robb, Sansa, Arya or Catelyn. Theon Greyjoy needed yet another nonsensical scene? This is beginning to approach the mystery of Jane Krakowski's continuing screentime in 30 Rock. Actually, that's not much of a mystery, Tina Fey just takes out her hatred of blondes on the character and her disgust with black people out on Tracy Morgan.
The five most useless characters on television are Theon Greyjoy, Dog the Bounty Hunter, the kid on Two and a Half Men once he passed puberty, David Spade, and Meredith Grey. An honorable mention of course goes to Don Draper's new wife Megan, whose teeth revolt every part of my being. If I have to hear Jon Hamm's voiceover in another car commercial, I will run him down like I did Paul Ryan's presidential bid.
If the audience clicks with a character, they will watch him or her do anything. There was one episode of I Love Lucy where Ricky grew a moustache and in order to compete with him Lucy pasted on a white beard. And it was five times better than The Hangover Part II, trust me. I had to watch the former in order to forget the latter. The one thing we don't want our characters to be is stupid, and there is nothing the least bit silly about pretending you have a solid white beard. There is, however, something completely retarded about trusting the guy who was in love with your ginger wife.
The only thing more unsurprising than The Hangover Part II was the fact that the sole surviving Targaryen has fallen in love with her rapist. (She tumbls about him a lot and calls him "the hubby" or "Oggo Drogo.") I would be mad if I did not know where this storyline was going. The Daenarys chapters of Game of Thrones were collected into a novella called Blood of the Dragon, and it won the 1997 Hugo for that form. "English" "actress" Emilia Clarke is getting a little hammy with her performance of the Khaleesi, and her longing looks towards her persecutor are becoming a little grating.
The last refuge of the epic fantasy is a sudden breath of realism. I suggest they strand Ms. Clarke somewhere in Pakistan and tell her to find her way back across the black seas. Some enterprising music executive did the same thing to Ke$ha and look how well that worked out for her.
Dick Cheney is perhaps the most senior of all This Recording contributors. He is a writer living on the banks of Hades. You can find his last Game of Thrones recapitulation here.
"Return to Innocence" - Enigma (mp3)
"Animal" - Ke$ha (mp3)
"A Song For You/I Can't Make You Love Me" - Bon Iver (mp3)
