The Greatest Love Story of All Time

(Lynne and her boyfriend Dick Cheney are sitting on a bench in her back yard.  It’s spring time, and the flowers are in bloom.  Love, naturally, is in the air.)

Lynn

You’re such an asshole, Dick.  That must be why I love you so much.  I’ve always had a thing for assholes.

Dick

Me too, honey.  I have lofty dreams for both of us.  Together we can take over the world and crush it in our bear hands.  

Lynn

Do you think we can save the human race from itself?

Dick

Even better.  I see you becoming the president of the most lucrative weapons dealer the world has ever known.

Lynn

Oh, what a beautiful vision!  Tell me more, do!

Dick

Okay.  Sit tight, and don’t spill your lemonade on my plaid shorts.

Lynn

We wouldn’t want our Dick to get wet.

Dick

I’d laugh at that if I had a sense of humor.  As it stands, I’m a heartless robot, although I am programmed to love only you.

Lynn

I must be the luckiest gal in the world!

Dick

That’s an understatement, Toots.  Try the universe–nay, the multiverse.

Lynn

Oh, Dickybird.  You know I’ll always be your number one cheerleader.

Dick

Anyway, as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me with your gushing blandishments, I will climb the ladder to success over the decades, stepping on a lot of fingers along the way.

Lynn

Dicky Bee, I am so proud of you.

Dick

Well, don’t be.  I haven’t done anything yet.  This is all conjecture.  But I’m possessed of an indomitable self-confidence and an utter dearth of empathy that promises to serve me well in the worlds of both business and politics.

Lynn

And you’re so clever, I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to merge the two.

Dick

You don’t know the half of it.

Lynn

I just hope you’re not going to lose this gorgeous head of hair.  I just love running my fingers through your curls.

Dick

I’m afraid that’s inevitable, darling.  But it will be a small price to pay.  In the words of future Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, “the reason I’m bald is that my brain is so big, it pushes all the hair out of my head.”

Lynn

(laughing)  My little choo-choo Dickey-poo!  And you say you have no sense of humor.

Dick

(seriously)  That wasn’t meant to be a joke.

Lynn

You said you went to see a fortune teller yesterday.  What did she tell you?

Dick

Well, she looked at my palm after wiping it several times.

Lynn

Why did she have to wipe it?  Had you run out of toilet paper?

Dick

Ha-ha.  Remind me to laugh at gunpoint.  She saw so much blood on both of my hands, it took her a long time to find the lines in my palms.

Lynn

And what did she see–er, say?

Dick

She saw me as the leader of a great empire.

Lynn

Oh, goody!  That will make me an empress!

Dick

Yes, she said you would impress people too.

Lynn

(giggling)  You’re such a card, my little Dicky-pie.  Go on.

Dick

She saw me making a killing in more ways than one, as a man who both kills and drills for oil.

Lynn

Chills!  Thrills!  Oil and blood spills!

Dick

Take a quaalude, Shakespeare.  There’s only one catch.

Lynn

What’s that?

Dick

She said my boss will be a moron.

Lynn

Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that too much.  I’m sure you’ll be able to get him to do your bidding.

Dick

(chuckling, albeit reluctantly)  That’s true.  Torture does have its charms.

Lynn

We’re going to be so happy together, Richard Bruce Cheney.  I simply cannot wait to win the war against the world.

Dick

Neither can I.  I’d jump out of my seat if I weren’t feeling so uptight.  As a matter of fact, I’m so overjoyed I think I might even be having a heart attack.

Lynn

Oh, no!  Not again!

(Dick clutches his chest and grimaces.  He makes a sound like an angry pirate, keels over, and tumbles to the ground.)

Lynn

Help!  Someone help my Dick!  My God, sweetheart, are you all right?

(Dick gets up and brushes himself off.)

Dick

Don’t worry, angel-drawers.  I was only faking it.

Lynn

(wagging a finger at him)  Now you be careful about that kind of behavior, young man!  Who do you think you are anyway, Marlon Brando?  Besides, it’s dangerous.  It could become a self-fulfilling prophecy.  The Boy Who Cried Wolf.

Dick

Only I’ll be The Boy Who Cried Terrorist.

Lynn

Dick Cheney, I am terribly in love with you, mister!

Dick

Me too, honey.  Me too.  Now let’s go for a ride on my scooter.  After that we’ll get some cherry cokes at the diner and go to the hop.

Lynn

Very well, my lovably loquacious Lothario.

Dick

You’re cuter than Cupid, honey.

Lynn

He fried my heart with a Lockheed-Martin flamethrower.  It waits for you to eat it like a charred, smoldering marshmallow on a stick.

Dick

I shall do so apace, good lady, as soon as we’ve each devoured a burger or two.

Lynn

And who says there’s not enough love in this world?

Dick

Sour grapes for sore losers.  If I live long enough to rip someone’s heart out of his chest–since I haven’t got one–it will belong to you.

Lynn

I will eat them right before your eyes–

Dick

Please don’t eat my eyes.  They give my glasses something to do.

Lynn

–so everyone knows it’s mine.

Dick

We’ll be as happy as Iago* and Lady Macbeth, the match poor old Shakespeare didn’t live long enough to light.

Lynn

I’m ready to go for a toot on your scooter now, Skipper.

Dick

Okay, Libby–I mean, Lynn.  Get on board, my pretty little hostage.  This thing ain’t built for kids.

Lynn

(jealously)  Who’s Libby?

Dick

Just a slip of the tongue, honey–I promise.

Lynn

All right.  I trust you.  How could I not?  Look at that sweet, innocent face.  Please drive safely, okay?  But not too safely–you know how much I love to live dangerously.

Dick

You backed the right hearse.

(And off they go with a muted roar, Lynn’s hair trailing behind her in the breeze like the fire of a burning Iraqi oil field being blown over by the breeze, Dick’s countenance as impassive as the facade of the Federal Reserve building.)

                                                         

                                                           FIN (del Mundo?)

* I got the analogy from New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd.  Please don’t sue me for plagiarism, Ms. Dowd. But if you must, contact my wife, as she’s got all my money.  As you implied by the title of your last book, I guess we men just aren’t necessary.

Apologies to any perfectionists for some of the anachronisms in the story.  I inserted them for humor’s sake, not to willingly distort good old reality, whatever that is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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