You Can't Have a Lemon Party Without Old Dick

Our former Vice-President made a showing from his underground lair the other day to throw some wilting barbs at Obama. I don't have much of a problem with this kind of banter; whatever Cheney says, the voting public will believe the opposite to be true, anyways.

It got me thinking though - what's Dick Cheney up to these days?

Love, America

It's nearly impossible to find info on his current status, but I suppose he never was a outgoing guy. Therefore, it's in his best interest that I make some educated guesses on his day-to-day affairs.


Huntin'. Fishin'. Killin'.
He is an avid sportsman, so I bet he has his own ranch in the West, stocked with rabbits, pheasant and Chinamen.



The Baskin-Robbins Down the Street
I've long thought Cheney was a Rocky Road man - besides, you don't have multiple heart attacks eating TCBY.



World of Warcraft
An obvious choice, considering that this is what he basically did in his previous job. And if anyone has Blood Elf Warlock (class 3) written all over them, it's Cheney.



Basement Recording Studio
Here's Dick, wizened by the world, crippled by his name, hated by anything with a beating heart...he's gotta get away. No beachside resort for him, though. All he needs is a six-string and a tape recorder, outfitted with a coupla D batteries. Keep takin' that Lost Highway, big guy.

Mr. Cheney, a.k.a. Förmidius Zarfan (4th from left)

Intimidating Smart-Alecky Teenagers
We see several high school-aged boys, smoking cigarettes and standing with skateboards outside a convenience store.

A portly, older man in Dockers and a polo shirt shuffles past.

BOY 1: "Hey, the nursing home's the other way, Gramps."

BOY 2: "Yeah, and say hey to Bea Arthur for me."

The man stops and faces the boys. From 20 feet away, he slowly raises his right hand and makes a small, almost unnoticeable gesture.

Suddenly, the leader of the boys grabs his throat in pain and collapses to the ground. As he realizes the complete suffocation about to envelope him, the boy looks up at the old man. The man is briefly reminded of a business trip to Canada, many years ago, when a young seal had looked at him with a similar expression in its eyes as a swift baseball bat met its skull.

Out of disgust more than pity, he drops his hand. The boy feels the invisible grip released from him as he takes a deep, welcome breath of the cool air around him, sating his burning lungs. He now knows.