« In Which It Took Us An Hour To Get There »

Night on the Hudson

by DICK CHENEY

There is a scene in Steve McQueen's 2011 sex addiction movie Shame that I think about a lot. Michael Fassbender has absconded to a lovely hotel on the Hudson with a co-worker. He actually cares for her, so he is unable to maintain an erection during sex. You see, his erotic imagination is only enlivened by subjugation; with a real woman, he is powerless. Afterwards, she tells him that it's all right. He cries anyway.

The morning after the debate I walked down Fifth Avenue. Donald Trump owns a $350 million dollar corner store that he rents to Gucci for $16.5 million a year. Since they pay the rent, they hired some terrible graffiti artist to paint dumb shit all over the facade. When tourists walk by, they think some crazed individual is trying to make Trump look like a fool. I guess little do they know he already did it himself.

In a New York City cafe, various people discussed the previous night's events. "Nuclear containment is a serious issue," a man in a black suit opined. His hair looked plastered on, an up and coming look. Lynne says that Trump combs all the hair on his head forward to create his signature look. I don't even remember what it was like to have hair.

About two hours earlier in Miami, Florida, a band played an odious instrumental version of a terrible song, "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." The New York Mets hugged the Florida Marlins since a Cuban pitcher on Saturday night rammed his 30 foot boat into a jetty, travelling at a speed of 60 miles per hour. His body and those of his friends were destroyed on impact. It sounded like a word problem.

It takes great skill to make complicated things into simple things, and this is the reason that I think we never give our politicians enough credit. Hillary Clinton was brilliant enough to gain entry to Yale Law School. I don't understand why she doesn't show it. Barack Obama never lets you forget that he is a lawyer and a professor. What would we do if we ever realized who Hillary Clinton actually is?

Jose Fernandez, the Cuban pitcher I mentioned, was scheduled to pitch on Sunday afternoon at one o'clock, in a game that will never be played. "Jose was supposed to pitch tonight," explained a Marlins radio broadcaster, but this was not really true. The team had moved his appearance to Monday so that he could throw against the Mets; the owner of the Marlins, art dealer Jeffrey Loria, is a native New Yorker who always loves sticking it to his hometown. Because he did not have to pitch Sunday, Jose had a free Saturday night. It was his last night of any kind.

By percentage, Tulsa has half as many African-Americans as Charlotte. Both candidates expressed their regret at the various shootings that occurred this week. There were no questions about any other shootings, or any other communities. Hillary made sure to explain that there were a lot of positive things happening in low-income areas and it would be poor form to lose sight of that. Okay.

After the debate, Clinton campaign chairman John Podesta told Chris Matthews that perhaps Trump would want to back out of the next two debates, the first of which is scheduled for St. Louis, the same county where Michael Brown was shot and killed by a police officer. Brian Williams interjected almost immediately, asking Podesta where he has heard that Trump was not interested in participating in another debate. Podesta cackled like a rabid hen; he resembles the Grim Reaper and is quite literally desiccating in front of our eyes. You have to understand one thing about all these people: winning is the only thing they care about. They would love to be the president of anything.

News of the separation of Liev Schreiber and Naomi Watts hit me the hardest, if I am being honest. I always imagined that his dick was huge and he gave it to her a lot. A couple in their late forties is the most important type of couple that we have. When Lynne and I were in our late forties, I was so attentive to her every need. I brought her a glass of milk every morning. She never drank the fucking thing, but I liked her knowing it was there.

In my wildest dream, I imagine Hillary Clinton falling in love. I know she does not love her husband, he pats her on the back like I stroke my iPad in bed. How long has it been since she has felt the embrace of a man who is committed to her and no other? Even if she does not always desire this intimacy, it is reassuring to know it is possible. Liev Schreiber just wanted a woman who was happy to be with him in New York; their first date was at Magnolia Bakery. Hillary could have someone who loves being with her, anywhere, anytime.

Sometimes Liev Schreiber gets upset. When he feels angry, he is at his most lonely. I would love to hear two people debate that in front of the world, because it is probably as important as a trade agreement. I love the idea of renegotiating everything we know about each other for a more favorable deal. But I suppose on some level when we hear Donald Trump say that, we know it could be so much worse.

Dick Cheney is the senior contributor to This Recording.