I didn't go to the Dick Cheney fundraiser today, but I thought I would give you a look into what could have been if I had.
After getting up at the crack of dawn, I had my coffee and actually put on shoes and socks. After all, I had to distinguish myself from the hippies somehow. Nice and cleanly shaven, I was ready to face a roomful of Republicans.
I got to the Hilton late, as usual, and had to show proper ID and press affiliation to the guy at the door. Because this was a fundraiser, dinner was served with everyone standing. It was some kind of boiled/steamed/rubber chicken with potatoes. I complained to the server, "I thought I ordered the Buddhist Pasta" which only drew nervous laughter from those standing around me.
The iced tea wasn't much better, since Waco water has domesticated animal fecal matter in it (a nice way of saying cow sh--). I was having none of it. I was determined to get a rise out of somebody, no matter how tough the crowd was. If I had to, I would do The Aristrocrats.
The Vice President went to the podium to give his speech. I wasn't listening. 'Blah, blah gay sex... blah, blah Congress.' Boring stuff. I was just killing time until the reception line when I could shake hands with the veep and get my photo taken. The line formed and I ended up somewhere in the middle. There was a secret service guy standing next to me most of that time so I thought I should strike up a conversation.
"Is it true you guys aren't allowed to laugh no matter what? I mean, hypothetically, if I hit someone in the groin with a football, you couldn't laugh?"
"Sir, move along please."
Then it was my moment to shine. I approached the man famous for
surviving the most heart attacks being vice president. I stepped up, shook hands and smiled for the camera. Then I reached for my business card.. let me explain, I thought we had a connection, an unspoken bond at that moment that transcended partisan lines. We could agree that we were both American. And I thought this connection was one that must be furthered and that he felt it too. I was wrong.
Someone shouted "Oh my God, he's got an ACLU card!" I don't know if you watch Animal Planet, but you know when a bunch of prairie dogs or mongeese (sic) all turn their heads and look at the same direction in unison? It was like that, only with old white men.
Secret service men jumped on top of me, ready to keep my evil, commie, pink leanings from infecting the vice president. Someone handed him a handi-wipe, even.
As they were carrying me out the service entrance to throw me into a dumpster I was screamin "But I support free trade! And I was a Federalist in a former liiiifffeee!"
I was outside with the riffraff. A group of some 25 protestors were outside with some creative banners. One really creative guy had a Superman t-shirt on, his tighty whiteys on the outside of his pants and a towel safety-pinned around his neck. He was someone I had to talk to.
"Hi there. What exactly are you protesting?" I asked.
"I'm protesting the illegal war in Iraq. I'm here to fight for truth, justice and the American way."
"You don't say."
"What happened to you," he asked noticing my quite dishevelled appearance.
"Well, I had infiltrated the fundraiser so that I could have my picture taken with the vice president. I thought I could photoshop it later and make him look funny when I posted it on my blog. I was wearing pants, so I don't know how they figured out I am a liberal."
"Liberals give off a special scent."
"Yeah, it smells like Axe Tsunami body spray."
"So that's why I like it so much. Hmmm."
That's when I realized I was talking to a grown man wearing his underwear on the outside of his pants and I got the hell out of there. Safe at home, I was slightly bruised but none the worse for wear. I had just enough time to get ready for work.
You see, next time you should invite me, Mr. Vice President. I'll make these little trips to Waco so much more fun.