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Dr Evil, I mean, Dick Cheney, to attend Inauguration in wheelchair.


Hey Dick, Kharma’s a bitch, ain’t it?

You know, Dick, when you’re moving that large, heavy safe of yours filled with orphaned kitten hearts or unicorn pelts or the tattered remains of mankind’s very soul, you really should bend with your knees. That shit’s heavy.

I’m a pretty compassionate person, but I dislike you so much that I don’t even feel bad for you. In fact I have a big smile on my face right now. I’m sure you’re not too uncomfortable. I’m sure you got some good pain killers and muscle relaxants. In fact, you’re probably snoozing as I write this, dreaming your dreams of the perfect world: a world in which you can kick a puppy, arrest a queer, toss him in Gitmo, and waterboard him to find out the location of the rebel alliance. Oh, wait, I’m confusing you with Darth Vader. Honest mistake.

So enjoy your drugs and dream your dreams while you can. And hope that our new President is a much kinder and more forgiving person than I. Because, believe me, if I were being sworn in as President tomorrow and using the slogan “Let’s Get to Work,” that would SO mean finding a prosecutor for your war crimes. As it stands now, all he has to do is stand aside while someone else does their job. And I think there are plenty of people who would love to get a crack at tossing you in prison. And I think they’d win old man.

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