I Don't Get It

A frivolous waste of space.

Tom Toles - you may go fuck yourself.

A Little Seasick

Light posting - I'm busy scaring the Iranians shitless today. I'm sure you understand.

Check out that bad boy behind me here. I flew that fucker in from Baghdad and, from what I understand, proved to be the most natural pilot anyone has ever seen. How hard can it be if the Cheer Captain can do it?

Anyway, I'm having the boys load it with a nuke and we're going out later to see what kind of hell we can raise around Tehran. Watch for me on the evening news.

A Clarification

Dylan raises an interesting question regarding my seeming lack of consistency regarding Giuliani in drag versus my penchant for playing "Lockdown."

It's quite simple, really.

Dick Cheney doesn't have to explain himself.

In short, I'm fucking this dog, you just hold the collar.

Secretary of State - Paul Lynde

Yes, this is still the leader for the Republican nomination. The one on the right.

Why don't we just run the fucking rotting corpse of Liberace up the flag pole and see who will salute that? Trust me, with a solid "man" sharing the ticket, you can elect a fucking stump. Didn't we prove that in 2000 and 2004? To put this fucking queen over the top, though, you're going to have to put an uber-macho man such as myself or Tom 'Magnum' Selleck in as VP and let me tell you, my firend, men like us are not a dime a dozen.

Time grows short, my minions. Save yourselves.

Draft Dick '08.

Bollito Misto alla Piemontese

A word of advice, my friend: never get into a pissing contest with a heavy drinker and never start swapping what I would consider dirty jokes with The Queen.

My mistake today was starting, only to have her go on and on with one crude remark after another.

Ex. Young David came home from school one day and found his pet chicken laying on the ground with his legs pointing straight up into the sky. When his father got home, he explained that the chicken has died and his legs were pointed up to Jesus in heaven. They buried the chicken and that was that. Two weeks later his dad came home from work and David ran up to him yelling, "Daddy, Daddy, we nearly lost Mommy today." "What?" his father replied. "When I got home from school, Mommy was laying on the bed with her legs pointing up in the air yelling, 'Jesus, I'm coming, Jesus I'm coming.' If it wasn't for Uncle Terry holding her down we would have lost her for sure!"

I'm telling you, the woman goes on and on with stuff I haven't heard in thirty years. I tried pawning her off on Dylan for awhile, but she, like most women, seemed drawn to my magnetic sexuality. Who could blame her

Yes, my Beefaholics, I hit HRH up for her favorite beef recipe, and she gladly obliged.

It looks like a humdinger.

Enjoy the fucking beef.

QE2's Bollito Misto alla Piemontese

INGREDIENTS:
2 1/4 pounds beef -- the cut used in Italy is shoulder; others suggests beef brisket
2 1/4 pounds neck or breast of veal
1 1/4 pounds calf's head (see note)
A veal's tongue, weighing 1 1/4 pounds
A chicken, weighing about 2 1/4 pounds
A cotechino weighing about 3/4 pound (see note)
2 carrots
3 ribs celery
2 onions, stuck with 2 cloves each
Salt

PREPARATION:
Continuing with the introduction, Though seven kinds of meat may seem like a lot, the variety is important because each compliments the others, producing a whole that is greater than the sum of the parts. You should include beef, veal, pork, chicken, tongue, zampone or cotechino, and feel free to add whatever other cuts of meat you feel might work. The pieces should be from older animals, because they will be more flavorful, and should also be large - this means that a good bollito misto is ideal for a convivial meal with friends, or for when you want to make something that will provide the wherewithal for several meals. In terms of cooking technique, preparing a bollito misto is straight forward: Bring a pot of lightly salted water to a rolling boil and add the beef, veal, chicken and vegetables (the hot water seals the meat; see below for timing).

Boil, separately, the tongue and zampone or cotechino, assuming you choose to include them.

Notes -- Calf's head: Though required by tradition, this is becoming difficult to find; should you choose not to include it, increase the beef and veal, or add a pound of lean pork instead. A cotechino is a pork sausage, available in Italian delicatessens; you can also use a zampone, which is a stuffed pig's trotter.

And finally, the recipe:

Fill a large pot with water sufficient to cover the meat. Lightly salt the water, add the vegetables, set the pot on the fire. Since you want the flavor to remain in the meat, wait until the water comes to a boil before adding the beef (the heat will seal in its juices). Reduce the flame to a simmer, and after about an hour, add the breast of veal, chicken, and calf's head (should you prefer not to use it, increase the quantities of beef and veal, or add a pound of lean pork -- this isn't piemontese, but the emilians do it.) In the meantime, set a second pot of lightly salted water on the fire, bring it to a boil, and begin simmering the tongue when you add the veal and chicken to the beef. If you are using a fresh cotechino or zampone set it in a pot of cold lightly salted water at this time (prick the cotechino all over, or loosen the string of the zampone first) and begin simmering it. If you instead buy precooked sausage, follow the instructions on the package. The meats will be done when they are fork-tender, this will take about an hour or slightly more from when you add the veal and the chicken to the beef. Come serving time, the meats should be arranged on a heated platter, sprinkled with a ladle of hot broth, and carved at the table (cut the tongue and the cotechino or zampone, into 1/2-inch slices). In addition to meats and condiments you will need vegetables -- again, variety is important. Seasonal variability will of course dictate your selection, but it should include at least onions, carrots and celery, boiled in or steamed over lightly salted water until are fork-tender; I would also include potatoes, and would serve the vegetables with olive oil, coarse sea salt (kosher will do), and unsalted butter for those who want them.

In addition to the sauces, you should consider is Mostarda d'uva, a jam-like condiment made from grape must that goes quite nicely with boiled meats, and is also surprisingly good with a selection of cheeses (you can substitute granulated honey in this case). Alas, the recipes I have seen all call for beginning with a gallon or more of grape must, an ingredient not easily available in most places. Nor is mostarda d'uva easy to find outside of Piemonte. However, if you have access to a well stocked delicatessen, you may be able to substitute Mostarda di Cremona, a distinctive sauce made by candying fruit with mustard seeds. As a final pair of condiments for your bollito, you may want some balsamic vinegar -- the Emilians generally do -- and also mustard and mayonnaise. Finally, don't forget to serve good Italian-style bread. In this discussion we have overlooked one very important point: In a festive Italian meal, a bollito misto alla piemontese would be served as a second course. What to serve as a first? Tortellini in broth would be perfect: Degrease the beef/chicken broth(1) (the broths from the tongue and the cotechino will be too greasy), and serve each of your guests a steaming bowl of broth with 8-10 good quality store-bought tortellini of the traditional meat-filled variety. The wine? A good moderately aged Barbera D'Asti would work quite well; it's a medium-bodied red wine with nice fruit and a fairly high level of acidity that will do a fine job of balancing the fats present in boiled meats and sausages. Other possibilities include a robust Dolcetto di Dogliani, for example Giovanbattista Gillardi's Dolcetto di Dogliani Cursalet (his Vigna Maestra is also very nice), or a good Bardolino, for example Corte Gardoni's Bardolino Superiore or Bardolino Classico le Fontane. Dessert?

The choice is up to you.

NOTE: This may be our high point on recipes. It can only go downhill for quality and complexity...perhaps for the best.

Regarding Spanking

Throughout the course of ones life, one finds oneself at times pondering that best left unpondered.

I'll be the first to admit that Dick Cheney's mind strays from time to time. It's not always shit and giggles running wars and ruining lives - leisure activities assist in keeping the mind honed to a razor sharpness.

I, for example, find relaxation in dressing up as a police woman and playing "Lockdown."

I'm sure there are some dead-enders and various types of your "gotcha" gamers who will tend to call this "wrong," "perverse" or "immoral" in some way, but I find it to be a healthy diversion from the stress of everyday life.

Since the wombat to whom I am wed refuses to participate, I've sought surrogates to act out the other side of the "Lockdown" equation. Dick Cheney's name, therefore, may or may not surface in the DC Madam case. It should not be misconstrued for that other than which it is -- a simple brief diversion from the weight of the world.

Either way, I am an innocent bystander caught in scurrilous lies.

My Friends May Refer to Me as 'Doc.'

Yes, I am officially a 'Doctor.' Mandingo may now go fuck his know-it-all self. I am his equal.

Little did I ever dream that the kid from Casper Community College would rise to such academic heights, but it has come to pass.

I may try to practice medicine on the side a bit, just to get my feet wet and figure out what goes where. I'm having the SS boys set up an "operating room" in one of the spare rooms here in the bunker. We'll work on the interns a little before inviting the general populace.

NOTE: To the filthy fucking Mormon hippies who felt Dick Cheney did little to merit such consideration, you may all go fuck yourselves.

A Resumption of Regularity

I'm back.

Things have never been better.

Of the Republican candidates for President, none stand without serious flaws. I am looking better and better with each passing day. To think that there is any way that I don't walk to the nomination is presumptuous spittle-spattle on the part of my many enemies. Dick Cheney will be the nominee.

As for the general election, one word - CAKEWALK. The defeatist democrat candidate will find him/herself bloodied on all fronts as me and my media friends make short work of this election.

A few housekeeping items:

My good friend Rich Little killed at the correspondent's dinner the other night. As I wrote a couple of months ago, nothing less was expected. I nearly developed an irregular heartbeat laughing at his keen wit. My favorite, "If you overdose on viagra, how do they close the coffin?" Priceless.

Dr. Mandingo says that my aortal blockage seems to be improving somewhat. I no longer black out when standing or attempting to sit upright for periods of more than 3 minutes in length. I can sit for 10-15 minutes now without slumping into a coma and for this we have modern medical science to thank.

Dylan has signed on for another term as my chief intern. I believe this will be his fifth.

'Jose Jiminez' hangs on for dear life over at justice. He's a scrappy little bastard.

Beef continues to reign supreme.

Windsurfer Alert

Jesus Christ, you're telling me that this son of a bitch is actually considered a serious presidential candidate in the Republican Party?

Why not just hand the keys to the White House over to Barrett Alabama, or whatever his name is, right now? We'll have nappy-headed hos running through the goddamn halls in no time.

Meanwhile, Mr. New England Elitist tries to woo the Dick majority by impressing us all with his hunting prowress.

Listen, asshole, nobody kills more of anything than Dick Cheney. Understand? I'm so feared in the fucking bird kingdom that they are now throwing themselves into the engines of my plane on my approach. You, meanwhile, claim to kill "varmints."

I fucking shot an old man in the face for a fucking beef recipe! Top that, motherfucker!

And he's a fucking Mormon. He's a fucking Mormon who is married to only one woman. He takes the only good thing about his fucking religion (assembly of a harem) and fucks it up. Jesus. Sounds like he's more of a Moron. Get it, Mormon - Moron? Alright, fuck it; it's not funny, but you understand what I'm saying?

Save yourselves.

Draft Dick '08.

Steak and Bacon Tournedos

As a young man, I worked for a short time in a business where a good number of comely young women were also employed. Temptation was always about for a virile young man with a head for sexual conquest. There were times when my job was the last thing on my mind as the pretty girls paraded themselves about in an attempt to catch my eye. My boss saw what was happening and gave me some advice, words of wisdom that day that I carry with me still:

Keep your dick out of the cash register.

Now my old friend Paul Wolfowitz finds himself in something of a pickle because he failed to follow those simple guidelines. It seems that Paul found himself a lady friend who agreed to do the dirty with him, but he had to provide her with career advancement in order for this relationship to continue.

Let's admit up front that Paul is not the most handsome man in the world. Certainly he will never be mistaken for Tom 'Magnum' Selleck on any occasion. Perhaps because of his looks, Paul has never been one to go out and birddog tail like some of us. I mean, I don't have to chase women - they tend to throw themselves at my overpowering virility. I am so virile, after all, that even my daughter bags chicks. Paul, however, lacks something in the manly machismo arena. He's something of a wet noodle, if you will.

He's also not very well-endowed. Trust me on this.

Some may want to draw some sort of parallel between Wolfie's situation and the pile of shit we caught that bastard Clinton in back in '98, two consenting adults and all of that bullshit. No good - completely different. For one, Clinton was married. Even if it was and is to a castrating butch woman who doesn't know her place, it's still his burden. Wolfie is a single man, free to play the field. Who here among us can honestly say that if we were in Wolfie's shoes that we would handle the situation any differently?

If I was as unattractive and "tiny"as Wolfowitz, then I would do whatever it took to corner the market on tail.

You would, too.

Admit it.

Okay, today we have a recipe from an evening with Wolfie.

I don't like dining with unmarried men. They tend to be somewhat unkempt in all things hygiene related. I'm not sure if this is a result of their bachelorhood or the cause of it. His apartment smelled like a mixture of old socks, Brylcream and a dead cat. After a couple of bottles of wine, however, we managed to get over the stench and force ourselves to eat this beef dish. Turned out to be not as bad as feared. I was drunk enough to ask for this recipe.

Enjoy the fucking beef.

Wolfie's Steak and Bacon Tournedos

INGREDIENTS
1 1/2 pounds flank steak, pounded to 1/2 inch thickness
unseasoned meat tenderizer to taste
10 slices bacon, cooked, but still soft
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper to taste
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon seasoned salt
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

DIRECTIONS
Preheat an outdoor grill for medium-high heat.
Score one side of the flank steak with diagonal cuts.

Season meat on both sides with tenderizer, pepper, garlic powder, and salt; lay flat, scored side down.

Sprinkle with parsley, and lay bacon strips lengthwise on steak, then roll up jellyroll style. Skewer with 8 evenly spaced wooden toothpicks.

Form 8 steaks by cutting in between toothpicks with a serrated knife.
Place steaks on preheated grill.

Cook for about 15 minutes, turning once, or to desired doneness.

Commie Sympathizers

Under a Dick Administration, these turncoats would choose between jail and deportation.

I don't have enough lifetime remaining to match wits with these multi-wife marrying, delusional cultists. No victory can be gained by engaging them in some little shell game of right and wrong.

You know the country is on the wrong track when Utah drifts too far left.

Draft Dick '08 to push back against these stoned-out hippies.

Eternity Update

I'm sure that many of you recall my little "situation" with the Dark Lord.

First, let me state that, no, I have no regrets at all regarding my decision. It was a choice that served me well for many, many years. After all, I went from Casper Community College to leader of the free world with relatively few obstacles. Don't act like you didn't think there were outside forces at play.

Well, as stated, now that I'm reaching what one might consider a moderate-to-late middle age, I've grown somewhat apprehensive regarding the prospect of an eternity in Hell, even if I've been promised the upgrade.

Reverend Moon finally got back to me with his findings and, according to him, for a $448 million "donation" to his church, I can buy my way out of the deal. Luckily, I happen to be worth $448 million - almost to the penny. It seems that I can buy my way out of Hell.

But, I've been thinking.

Do I really want to spend the $448 million?

Not really, no.

Do I want to spend eternity in Hell?

Not particularly.

So what to do.

Well, I came across this article recently. I met this guy a time or two and was never really impressed with him. He was all about 'forgiving' and 'loving' and bullshit that did nothing except reek weakness that your enemies would immediately exploit. There was nothing in his diatribe which I felt applied to me.

Now I undestand the church is considering him for sainthood. Aren't sainthoods based on miracles? I think I've got just the test for John Paul's case for sainthood - get Dick Cheney out of his deal with the Dark Lord. You do that, John Paul, and not only will you be a saint, but I'll get you the Presidential Medal of Freedom, just like Tenet.

Come on, JP II, don't puss out on me.

Failing that, I plan on writing a check to Reverend Moon while on my deathbed - hopefully very close to my final breath as I scribble my name one last time.

I think I've cornered this situation once and for all.

What?

What's the hubub?

I don't find this odd.

Not in the least.

If he steps out of line, I hit the 'Code Black' button.

Don't ask what that means, or I'll have to 'Code Black' your ass, as well.

About Goddamn Time

My friends, finally America is beginning to see the light.

Humbly, I accept your fawning praise, but refuse to consort with the types necessary to realize some type of "election win." Dick Cheney is not about "getting votes." Dick Cheney is about ruling.

I will be surprised only if I'm not elevated to some sort of President/King position well before election day.

Draft Dick '08.

Bringing Heat

Unfortunately, prior commitments kept me away from throwing out a traditional first pitch today as the national passed time gets underway.

I was quite the ball player during my days at the old CCC and still am the holder of multiple records, if I'm not mistaken. Fleet of foot, muscled to perfection, beautiful hair flowing in the wind, Dick Cheney could have been the best ever, but I had other priorities.

The years may have faded, but the skills remain strong. After throwing out the first pitch last year, a speedball using the special "Cheney-Grip," I was approached by an official with the Texas team who told me that never had a throw been clocked at such velocity. Well, then! I asked how fast, but he refused to reveal - probably from fear of embarassing his professionals.

"80?" I asked.

He just smiled.

"85?"

The official again refused to verify.

"You're not telling me I topped 90 mph?"

Nothing but a slight snicker.

I knew I was getting close.

"How near 100 was it?" I asked.

He just rolled his eyes.

That told me that not only had I been close to 100 on the radar, but that I had topped it.

Dick Cheney knows how to translate information when it comes in bits and pieces, how to distill it, break it down and then reconstruct it to form the truth. Trust me, I topped 100 easily according to this guy.

Unfortuantely, I didn't have the opportunity to top it this season, although I'm sure my devoted legion of fans nationwide left their games massively disappointed shortly after the first pitch because of no Dick Cheney.

Perhaps next year, my friends.

Perhaps next year.

The Road

Goddamn.

This is one bleak motherfucker.

I read this back in the dead of winter. It haunted me for weeks, perhaps even months after.

Never have I been shaken to my core like this.

Not many books have changed Dick Cheney and who he is, but I now live my life in a different way.

Can you imagine a world with no beef?

That's what McCarthy proposes here.

Sure, human flesh may be tasty in its own right and we may one day have a blog dedicated to fine human recipes, but for beef lovers, this book stands as our worst nightmare.

I have therefore taken the liberty to have the Corp of Engineers begin carving out vast caves in the Wyoming Rockies large enough to hold herds of America's finest beef.

Dick Cheney refuses to consider a beef-free future.

Hurt Feelings

I can't say that I'm not a little hurt by the fact that the National Cattleman's Beef Association offered its prime speaking engagement to the Cheer Captain and not a true purveyor of their offerings.

How can Beef be discussed in Washington D.C. without the involvement of Dick Cheney?

Goddamn, I love beef.

Well, I speak plenty, trust me. Dick Cheney doesn't have to go begging for speaking opportunities.

I'll be giving the commencement address at Brigham Young next month. Some motherfuckers apparently support America's defeat and are openly opposing my appearance. They may feel free to go fuck themselves. I only agreed to the gig because of my curiosity regarding their stance on multiple wives. I would gladly offer my endorsement to their batshit crazy ideas on religion if it meant I could add Miss Katherine Harris (aka Tits on A Pony) to my stable.

These reconstituted protests are growing tiresome and I feel like something must be done to set things right again. I'm thinking about something involving martial law, but that's going to take some jiggering.

Stay tuned.

A Personal Moment

After a day spent in the bunker considering the current situation within the ranks of this government, various falls from grace, etc., I believe that, for the first time, I may currently be the most popular member of the administration.

Dick Cheney has never been popular in any sense of the word.

Ever.

I am so overwhelmed that I think I can feel my heart beating.

Draft Dick '08.

Glory Awaits.

BBQ Beef Ribs

Enough with the charade.

It's time to come clean.

I am sick and goddamn tired of hearing charges of incompetence leveled at this administration. Sure, the Cheer Captain is an incompetent buffoon who, with any other surname, would be a night manager at a Denny's somewhere around Odessa, but for some of the rest of us - well, shit, enough already.

Let me tell you something - things are running beautifully. When this little experiment hit the ground running some six years ago, we could never have anticipated being this successful. It's like a fucking wet dream.

You say, well, it seems things are mighty rough for you fellows.

Hogwash.

What you are witnessing is the complete and utter destruction of the federal government as you and I and our children have known it. Good riddance. We had long range plans, sure, but never did we believe that they would be realized in such short order. I mean, look at the strokes of luck we've fallen into:

9/11 - A Godsend. Scared the living shit out of every fucking one of you, didn't it? People rolled over on that and we fucked them hard, let me tell you. All of the nuisance laws regarding 'personal rights' were pretty much voided on the spot. I would estimate that we saved 10-15 years of tough slogging through congress with bill after bill simply because of 9/11. Of course, that leads us to:

The War - Many, many good and decent American people lost vast amounts of money during the so-called 'New Deal.' Taxes, social security, more taxes - Jesus, it got to the point where a man of means was supporting entire villages of vagrants and outcasts with his hard-earned tax dollars. With good, solid no-bid deals done during wartime, we have been able to alleviate some of the suffering.

Scandals - Please, nobody could fuck up this much without some type of extraordinary effort. New Orleans? Hey, move to higher ground, Bojangles. Walter Reed? How about a little gratitude for the fact that Hezzbolah's not rolling Molotov cocktails right under your bed, you ingrates. Jesus, peppered with a little shrapnel and suddenly you become Martha Stewart. Show some goddamn backbone. Fired attorneys? Who gives a shit, they're fucking goddless lawyers looking to sue some poor businessman under the table. Fuck them. Scooter? Be quiet, he's almost forgotten.

What you are witnessing is historic and I want to continue this for at least eight more years. Remember, Glory Awaits America - Draft Dick '08. We'll make this look like a fucking tea party.

Today's recipe comes from none other than the Cheer Captain himself.

I don't recall the first time he served this, but I'm relatively certain it was the first time I dined on his "ranch." He serves the same damned thing every fucking time. I guess it's all he knows. But, it was tasty the first time or two, so I pass the recipe (stolen from his kitchen counter) to you.

Cheer Captain's BBQ Beff Ribs (Sic)

2 racks of beef back ribs (7 ribs per rack)
2 Tbsp. black pepper
1 Tbsp. ground oregano
1 Tbsp. paprika
2 tsp. celery salt
1/2 tsp. ground cayenne pepper

Combine all spices.

Rub over surface of ribs to coat well.
Preheat oven to 300°F.
Place ribs on a rack in a roasting pan. Add 1/2-inch of bourbon to bottom of pan.

Cover pan with foil and tightly seal edges.
Bake at 300°F for 2 hours.
Remove ribs from pan and place on grill over medium coals for 15 minutes.

Serve with your favorite barbecue sauce.
Cut between ribs to serve.

NOTE: I figured that by stealing this fucker, it would put an end to "rib night" on the ranch, but I was mistaken. Apparently he does this by muscle memory as they once again were served during my last trip to Texas. Worse, I was seated next to Condoleeza - something akin to being seated next to a porn star as she rams the bones into her mouth, oohing and ahhing with each thrust. Sickening slut.

Red Wine Steak

Holy fucking hell. What a confusing moment in which to be trapped.

I remember a time before this hellish age of communication when a man could live his life free from the fear of having his personal data strewn about like so much rubbish.

As a younger man, I was pulled over one late evening by a Wyoming state trooper. He determined that I was operating under the influence and ticketed me for such offense. I won't go into the details here about whether or not I was driving impaired, that's not important. A few weeks later, I was pulled over by a different Wyoming state trooper who, again, determined that I was driving under the influence. Again, my level of sobriety is not the issue here.

Instead, it's communications.

The State of Wyoming had no way to connect the two arrests as there was no system in place to do so. In both cases, I was treated as a first time offender. Let me say that if the second judge had knowledge of my first arrest, the penalty would have been much harsher and, in all probability, Dick Cheney would not be working in government today. For small things we can be thankful.

My point is that we have entered into an era of darkness. I currently have top people working on ways to undo this internet phenomenon that plagues our daily lives and return the world to a time of clarity and governmental privacy.

New motto: Dick Cheney: Building a Bridge to the 19th Century.

Today's recipe comes from a great Republican, Mr. Bruce Willis.

Perhaps second only to Tom 'Magnum' Selleck in the sweepstakes to be the Republican heir to Dick Cheney's virility, a race that may be too close to call. Standing between those two hunks of manhood leaves one weak in the knees, however.

Trust me.

Bruce served this delicious meal on a crisp Autumn night in his Rocky Mountain hideaway. We have been long time friends, as you may or may not know. Not many people are keen to the fact that Dick Cheney made a guest appearance in the last Die Hard movie. It's true. I played the part of a government official. Some have said that I'm not photogenic, but those fuckers have never been in a Bruce Willis picture, have they, so what the fuck do they know? Motherfuckers.

Anyway, Bruce really knows his meat and can throw it out there with the best of them. He concocted this tasty dish and it absolutely melted in my mouth. Never have I enjoyed a piece of meat more. I'll admit that the spirits were flowing and that I probably had no business driving back to my room that night, but I made it safe and sound. No harm, no foul, I say.

I had to call later and ask, but Bruce was kind enough to share this recipe and now you have access to the meat of a real American movie star.

Enjoy the fucking beef.

Bruce Willis' Red Wine Steak

1 pound sirloin steak, cut in strips

2 cups dry red wine

2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

2 teaspoons dried oregano

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground black pepper

1 teaspoon minced garlic

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

2 cups sliced mushrooms

1/2 cup chopped onion

1 tablespoon cornstarch

2 tablespoons water

Cooked noodles for accompaniment

Place steak into bowl or glass dish.

Mix together red wine, parsley, oregano, salt, pepper and garlic.

Pour over steak and marinate for 8 hours in the refrigerator.
Heat oil in a large skillet; sauté mushrooms and onions until soft.

Remove vegetables from skillet and set aside.
Remove steak from the marinade; reserve marinade and set aside.

Brown in the same skillet.

Add marinade, mushrooms and onions to the skillet; simmer for 30 minutes over low heat.
Meanwhile, prepare noodles according to package directions; drain.
Remove steak and vegetables from pan.

In a small dish, dissolve cornstarch in water.

Add to the pan juices in skillet.

Cook until thick, stirring constantly.

Return steak and vegetables to the pan.
Serve over noodles.

Garnish with extra parsley.
Makes 4 servings.

NOTE: You ladies in Aspen watch out next October - Bruce and I go out birddogging tail on occassion and you just may find yourself sharing time with the two stars of Die Hard: Something or Other.

Enchilada Caserole

One of the funniest people I've ever seen is the guy with the 'Mexican Astronaut' bit, you know him, "I Jose Jiminez. I want to be astronaut." Remember, he used to do the Sullivan show all the time. That was a funny motherfucker.

Well, he represented my closest encounter with someone of the Hispanish persuasion until being forced to work with some of these fuckers the Cheer Captain brought out of Texas. Of a dimwitted lot, perhaps Speedy Gonzalez is the biggest dullard. Not funny at all, no sense of humor, a fucking dishrag. I tried to get him to do 'Jose Jiminez' in every staff meeting, but he just gave me that goofy grin. His popularity would have soared if he'd just gone out in front of the cameras last week and done the entire 'Mexican Astronaut' bit. Trust me, my political instincts are never wrong.

Well, now it looks like we're losing him. Certainly not a big loss; he had no place in the coming Dick Administration, but you hate to see the cocksuckers who oppose me and this country get away with something like this.

They will pay. That's all I'll say.

Today's recipe comes from my evening meal at the Gonzalez home back a few years ago.

It was much more normal than you would think.

None of them were wearing sombreros or ponchos like in the movies.

They did have a Chihuahua, however; a little rat fucker named Pepe.

So, the evening turned out to be as dull as dish water, but Old Lady Gonzalez served this Mexican caserole that was a keeper. I asked for and received this recipe. Now, as our failed 'Mexican Astronaut' makes his way into the history pages of the shamed, I give you his Mexican caserole.

Enjoy the fucking beef.

Alberto Gonzalez' Mexican Caserole

INGREDIENTS
1 (1.5 ounce) package dry enchilada sauce mix
1 (6 ounce) can tomato paste
3/4 cup water
1 1/2 pounds ground beef
1 teaspoon garlic salt
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1 (16 ounce) can refried beans
1 (12 ounce) package corn tortillas
1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese
1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese

DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C).
In a medium bowl, mix the dry enchilada sauce according to package directions, replacing tomato sauce with the tomato paste and water
In a large skillet, brown the ground beef with garlic salt and onion powder; drain fat. Mix refried beans and 1/2 cup of the prepared enchilada sauce with the meat.
Dip enough corn tortillas to cover the bottom of a 3 quart casserole dish in the remaining enchilada sauce. Arrange tortillas in the dish. Spoon in half of the meat mixture, covering the tortillas. Spread half of the Cheddar and Monterey Jack cheeses over the meat. Cover with another layer tortillas dipped in enchilada sauce. Spoon in remaining meat mixture and top with a final layer of tortillas dipped in enchilada sauce. Pour any remaining sauce over the layers and top with remaining cheese.
Cover and bake in preheated oven for 20 minutes.
Remove from oven and let sit for 5 minutes before serving.

Hogwash

This is precisely the type of unmitigated hogwash that sends me into a murderous dither.

Ann Telnaes, you may go fuck yourself.

Rest Easy

As you know, Walter Reed Army Medical Center is the hospital designated for many government officials should they require medical assistance.

I am one of those officials.

I know there have been revelations regarding conditions at the center and, while I cannot comment regarding those particular accusations, I can say that you, my friend, can rest easy in the knowledge that should I require care, special accommodations have been set aside, as you can see here.

I know that concern for a beloved leader weighs heavily on the national psyche, but set your fears aside; Big Dick will receive excellent care should the need arise.

RIP Yvonne DeCarlo

Dylan informs me that Miss Yvonne DeCarlo (see post below) passed away ealier this year. Certainly Dick Cheney wishes to pass along his sympathies.

Miss DeCarlo had a magnificent rack and was a mastubatory fantasy for many adolescents.

She will be missed.

Gay Follies

You're telling me that this motherfucker leads all Republicans for the '08 nomination?

Jesus Christ.

What, is Yvonne DeCarlo otherwise occupied?

I cannot emphasize with enough vigor how important the appearance of strength is to the Republican Party.

If this son of a bitch is elected, streaming hordes of your Middle Eastern terrorist types will stream unimpeded across our borders ready to blow us off the map - as soon as they fuck our "lady president." Seeing photographs such as this leave little doubt that they would have an excellent chance at achieving tremendous success in both ventures.

Save yourself - Draft Dick '08.

Dick's Bracket

Obviously all of my early picks will be correct, so I'll skip to the Elite Eight round.

In the West - UCLA.

Look for Georgetown in the East.

I'll take Ohio St down South.

Midwest - should be Florida.

In the Final Four, I'm going with Georgetown beating UCLA and Florida topping Ohio St.

I believe that Florida then defeats Georgetown to set up a terrific championship game.

Unbeknownst to some, a special "National Championship Play-in Game" has been arranged between Wyoming and Casper Community College. I'm taking Wyoming in this battle for state bragging rights.

In one hell of a national final, it looks like Wyoming takes home the big prize with a 91-24 victory over the Gators.

Note: Look out for Casper Community College next season. They've got 2 starters returning and one hell of a recruiting class coming in led by Reagan Cheney, a 5'7" hotshot guard out of Cheyenne. He's my nephew; a kid with the old Cheney moxie. Let me say that it's all I can do to slow him down on the basketball field. I believe the last time we faced off, I was forced to battle mightily to top him by a final score of 11-9. He walked away bloody and beaten, but fully aware of who the better man was that day. Hard to believe that nine years have passed since then, but, as they say, time flies.

Greenwald is French for "Homo"

"Cheney-type paranoid militaristic hysterics?"

Again, Dr, Mandingo tells me not to micromanage the world around me, but this kind of attack-hound hogwash from Glenn Greenwald (again) leaves me no option.

Sure, the U.S. has the third worst image of any country in the world, but we're moving in on #1 and, under a Dick Administration (Draft Dick '08), it is my assertion that not only will we achieve this noble goal, but that we will leave our competitors in the dust.

You, Mr. Greenwald, opt to refer to this title as something of a "negative image." Typical.

I choose to call it "World's Leading Badass."

What would you rather be, "World's Leading Badass," or cocksucking France?

Dick Cheney and his like-mided "Cheney-type paranoid militaristic hysterics" choose strength through fear.

And Mr. Greenwald, you may once again go fuck yourself.

Speech is Murder

I want to make certain that everyone sees this.

If you speak out against what I am trying to accomplish, you do me no harm. I am impervious to harm.

No, the harm you do is to the mission, to the troops. You harm America itself. You undermine our way of life with your arbitrary measurements and limits. You are guilty of treason, sedition and, under the coming Cheney administration, you will also be charged with conspiracy and with being a foreign agent.

I believe hanging is the current punishment for the aforementioned crimes and I stand by that as fitting for such debasement to this country.

Now, some have asked how my six deferments during Vietnam could be seen as not doing harm to America during a time of war. They ask how my refusal could be viewed as positive.

Quite simple.

And I will answer those questions when I feel they should be answered.

For now, accept that any opposition to Big Dick is a declaration of war on me and this country and prepare to face the full force of my wrath should I decide it warranted.

A Nation Cries Out

The calls for President Dick grow louder daily.

I understand the need for leadership in times like these and recognize that there is no single embodiment of bold, decisive, exciting, cocksure manliness alive right now than Dick Cheney - except, perhaps, for my good friend, Tom 'Magnum' Selleck.

Ridding the nation of this frat boy presidency would allow for a reassertion of presidential power the likes of which we have never seen. Perhaps the less said about that, the better. Assuming power now, coupled with my 'victory' in the '08 election followed by the landslide in '12, gives me time to punish our enemies in a deep and meaningful way.

I hear the voices calling for Dick. I sense the rising tide.

Patience, my friends, patience, Big Dick hears you.

Good times in the offing.

Mesquite Smoked Texas Brisket

Fucking Hungry Hungry Hippos.

I agreed to take on one of the grandkids a couple of weeks ago in a 'Hungry Hungry Hippo' match. Never played before, knew nothing about the game, perhaps went in unprepared for the frantic pace, expectations a bit too high. My three year old opponent, who, may I add, possesses a severe lack of focus (sort of like the Cheer Captain, maybe not as scatter-brained) gave rise to my short-lived optimism.

'Hungry Hungry Hippos' is a brutal, vicious game. Not one to back off a challenge, I gave it my all. Just as I pulled ahead with what I surmised to be the winning margin, the three year old begins taking the marbles from my hippo and putting them back into play. I explained the rules again and we restarted, but, again, he began taking my marbles and putting them back in play.

Now, some back story. My bum knee kept me out of most sporting activities as a youngster, so the keen edge provided by youthful competition eluded me. I never got the finesse lesson. The old lady says that I have trouble playing with others. Point taken, perhaps not accepted.

It soon became obvious to me that the youngster had no intentions of abiding by the rules. I cancelled the game by tossing it across the room. Tears, loud words, anguish - it wasn't pretty afterward, but if Dick Cheney shows weakness to a three year old, the emboldened enemies of this country would waste no time in their attack.

So, last night I got up to take a whiz (damn prostate) and stepped on a loose Hungry Hungry Hippo marble. Now I've got a stone bruise that hurts like a motherfucker.

Lesson: Fuck it, there is no lesson.

Today's recipe comes from an old friend.

I've hunted with Harry Whittington a time or two and believe him to be a decent man who knows a fine piece of beef and how to serve it. He served this delicious meat for lunch last winter on a hunting trip to Texas. I asked for the recipe a few times and was rebuffed - rudely, I felt. I've never told anybody this, but post- "accidental shooting," as he rolled on the ground moaning in pain, I knelt down beside him and said, "give me the recipe, motherfucker, or I finish the job right here."

From his thought-to-be dying words to you.

Enjoy the fucking beef.

Harry Whittington's Mesquite Smoked Texas Brisket

INGREDIENTS

8 pounds beef brisket
15 cloves garlic, peeled
1/4 cup Greek-style seasoning

DIRECTIONS

Make deep cuts into the brisket with a paring knife. Place cloves all the way into the cuts. Liberally sprinkle brisket with Greek seasoning.
Place mesquite wood over gray/hot charcoals.
Put brisket fat side down on the grill. Smoke for 2 hours and do not turn the meat.
Take the meat out and wrap tightly 2 times in extra heavy aluminum foil. Put in the oven for 2 hours on a cookie sheet at 250 degrees F.
Remove from oven and let sit (still wrapped in foil) 30 minutes to 1 hour before serving to let the meat "firm up" and the juice to be absorbed.

NOTE: I sent Harry a signed photograph later in apology. I suppose 'peppering' a man in the face with a shotgun blast for a brisket recipe could be considered overboard, but people should realize that Dick Cheney means business.

Hey, I like that, 'Dick Cheney Means Business.' I think we have a 'Draft Dick '08' slogan.

See, all things happen for a good reason, there's your lesson.

I Hate Cats

Some may question why Dick Cheney refuses to answer the allegations put forth by the preceding article.

Quite simple, my friends - no need.

Why should I justify the existence of some second-rate publication which chooses the journalistic suicide route of taking on the most powerful man in the world?

It's like feeding a cat, my friends. Feed a cat and it will continue to show up with expectations of more Friskies. Ignore it and it goes away to find an easier mark.

This article accuses me of, "serial assault on the constitution." First off, Mr. Robert Kuttner, you may go fuck yourself. But I - alone, steadfast and resolute - refuse to play along. What gain awaits defeating this type of uprising? National dialogue? We have national dialogue. It's called 'elections.' Big Dick won, you lost. If your precious "constitution" weren't so fucking important, then maybe we could make some real headway in our war on the anti-Dick forces coalescing within our national borders. Instead, a man of my power has to struggle along, unable to 'legally' inprison his enemies or hang those guilty of sedition and what I would consider treason. It's fucking bullshit the things I have to go through to simply wiretap a goddamn home phone.

My point is this, you don't like the way I run things - too bad for you, motherfucker.

The Verdict on Time

Precisely the type of hogwash and claptrap one might expect from the purveyors of leftist propaganda represented by this nation's media elite.

'Cheney's twightlight?'

'Cheney's fall from grace?'

Cocksucking motherfuckers.

Dick Cheney wields more power right now than the rest of you combined and I'm not afraid to use it.

Don't tempt me.

Time magazine, feel free to go fuck yourself.

As I Said

Wienerschnitzel

People keep asking me about "Scooter."

Apparently someone named "Scooter" worked in my office for a short time and committed some minor infraction for which I am now supposed to take the heat.

Bullshit.

I have heard the name "Scooter" mentioned, but I don't know the man - never met him in my life.

Why the hell should I be held responsible for his shortcomings?

There, how did that sound? Too over the top? Jesus, those motherfuckers bring down Scooter and all eyes turn to me. It's a high dosage day, let me tell you. I've fought off death no less than three times in the past week and now this. Cocksuckers. Well, Cheer Captain pardons Scooter when I give the word. For now, forgive my lack of frivolity.

Motherfuckers.

Today's recipe comes from America's Sweetheart.

I had dinner with Ann Coulter in the Spring of '02 and it was quite an eye-opening experience. I mistakenly considered myself the most vengeful, hateful person on the planet until dining with this dynamo. Let me tell you, she is a seething bag of hate, an evil cunt (assuming she is in some notion of the word, "female") but I'm glad she's on my side. Despite the vitriol, she sets out a marvelous piece of meat.

Enjoy the fucking beef in the knowledge that Scooter's going to be okay.

Ann Coulter's Wienerschnitzel

INGREDIENTS

1 1/2 pounds veal cutlets
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
2 eggs
1 teaspoon minced parsley
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 pinch ground nutmeg
2 tablespoons milk
1 cup dry bread crumbs
6 tablespoons butter
4 slices lemon

DIRECTIONS

Place each veal cutlet between two pieces of plastic wrap, and pound with the flat side of a meat mallet until about 1/4 inch thick. Dip in flour to coat.

In a medium bowl, stir together the Parmesan cheese, eggs, parsley, salt, pepper, nutmeg and milk. Place bread crumbs on a plate. Dip each cutlet into the egg mixture, then press in the bread crumbs to coat. Place coated cutlets on a plate and refrigerate for 1 hour or overnight.

Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Cook the breaded cutlets until browned on each side, about 3 minutes per side.

Remove to a serving platter, and pour the pan juices over them. Garnish with lemon slices.

Funny Boy

Bill Maher, alleged comedian, has a real hit piece out today attacking my family without provocation.

It looks like Mr. Greenwald could have company on his little trip to Bulgaria.

Bill Maher, you, sir, are no Rich Little and you may go fuck yourself.

Pigs in the Blanket

Contempt for American public opinion? Hogwash.

Fuck you, Glenn Greenwald, and fuck your notions of "American public opinion."

I don't rule by public opinion. Never have, never will. To insinuate that Dick Cheney is a "petty tyrant" makes me want to have you shackled and hauled away to Bulgaria, have some electrodes placed just so and listen in over a phone line as you are "questioned" regarding your hatred of America. It's the unappetizing gall of your ilk which must be eradicated if my struggle is to be won.

"Petty?" "Bizarrely megalomaniacal?" "Contemptuous?"

I fully defend your right to free speech, no matter how misbegotten it may be, but you, sir, have stirred a hand in the hornet's nest and what you reap, no matter how horrific, will fall far short of what you deserve.

Glenn Greenwald - American traitor.

Today's recipe comes from a true modern hero.

It is far too seldom that we see a man of personal fortitude and vision like Senator Joseph Lieberman. Sure, he's a Jew and, worse, a Democrat, but he's doing what he can to overcome those failings. A recent convert to the Dark Lord, Joe wants nothing more than the ultimate rush that only power - substantial, unimpeded and remorseless - can bring.

Recently I sat down for a meal with Joe and his old lady, Jew-name that I can't remember. They put out a decent spread, but the centerpiece of the meal were these delicious concoctions. I asked his old lady, Jew-name I can't remember, for the recipe and she obliged.

Enjoy the fucking beef.

Except you, Glenn Greenwald.

Motherfucker.

Joe Lieberman's Pigs in the Blanket

Ingredients:

• 1 large head cabbage

• 1 lb. ground beef

• 1/2 cup raw rice

• 1 small onion, grated

• 2 eggs, beaten

• 1 large onion, sliced

• 2 8 oz cans tomato sauce

• 2 No. 2 1/2 cans tomatoes

• Juice of 2 lemons

• 1 t. salt

• 1/4 t. pepper

• 1 large can sauerkraut

• 1 cup brown sugar

Method:

Remove large leaves from cabbage.

De-vein.

Wilt with boiling water.

Combine meat, rice, grated onion, eggs, salt, and pepper.

Place mound of meat mixture on each cabbage leaf.

Roll loosely. Place remaining cabbage, diced, in bottom of Dutch oven.

Drain can of sauerkraut and place kraut in Dutch oven.

Alternate layers of rolls and sliced onions.

Combine remaining ingredients to make sauce.

Bring to boil. Place over rolls.

Bake covered 1 hr; uncovered 2 hours at 375.

Note: A word of caution before dining with the Lieberman's - Joe never washes his hands after pissing. If it can be avoided, don't let him toss your salad.

Ever the trooper, I ate mine without complaint.

I doubt that Glenn Greenwald would be so heroic.

Note II: Is it just me, or have you also notcied that Joe has a more than passing resemblance to the Star Wars Emperor? Spooky motherfucker.

Harvest

The insinuations in the comments here that I would have people "killed" for their organs are both absurd and way off base.

Human life is precious and sacred - especially mine. The advocacy of killing randomly in order to harvest life sustaining body parts is, at best, misguided. Random killing and harvesting could lead to the introduction of inumerable problems and a myriad of disease onsets. The risks far outweigh the gains in most cases.

A far better solution, one set forth by no less than Dr. Mandingo, is growing and nourishing a crop of replacement parts which will be ready when necessary. I have taken some steps in this regard, but would rather not discuss it for fear of spooking Dylan.

Mediterranean Braised Beef

War is hell, my friends.

I've seen it up close, heard it, smelled it, lived to tell about it.

It's not pretty, not for the faint of heart.

Bombs, blood, shrieking - Jesus, the horror. Despite wanting to race directly to my plane and get the fuck out of that god-forsaken hellhole, I pasted a placid demeanor on my face and continued my duties. Let me add that there was little delay in getting to the plane afterward, but we carried on as if no battle raged outside.

Never have I been more certain that five deferments during Vietnam were the right thing to do.

Carnage and death are not for the civilized.

Now, it's time to take my mind off such atrocities and offer this fabulous beef recipe.

As one of my fellow followers of the Dark Lord, William Rehnquist was a man with whom I spent a good deal of time. Sure, he took advantage of my "initiation" period that I spoke of previously, but we developed something of friendship that carried on over the years. Yes, he was a son of a bitch who would sodomize his dead grandmother's eye sockets if it meant a moment's adulation for him, but he could put out a mean piece of meat. He served the following on a getaway we had in the winter of '90 - fond memories.

Here's to you, Rehnny, you old cocksucker.

Wm Rehnquist's Mediterranean Braised Beef

Ingredients:

1 boneless beef chuck shoulder pot roast (2-1/2 to 3 pounds)
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
2 small onions, halved, sliced
4 medium shallots, sliced
1/4 cup chopped pitted dates
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon pepper

Instructions:

1. Heat oven to 325°F. Lightly coat beef pot roast with flour. Heat oil in Dutch oven over medium heat until hot. Brown pot roast; remove.
2. Add 1-1/2 cups water and vinegar to Dutch oven; cook and stir until brown bits attached to pan are dissolved. Return pot roast. Add onions, shallots, dates, salt and pepper; bring to a boil. Cover tightly and cook in 325°F oven 2 to 2-1/2 hours or until pot roast is fork-tender. Remove pot roast; keep warm.
3. Cook liquid and vegetables over medium-high heat to desired consistency. Carve pot roast. Serve with sauce.

Makes 6 to 8 servings.

Note: Despite what you may hear, I never cried out "Mommy" when the explosion occurred. I was calling out "More for me!" I invite the evil-doers to take a shot at Big Dick. For now, however, I relish the thought of sleeping back home in the bunker.

Blow Me (Up)

They're going to have to do better than this to bring down Big Dick Cheney.

I'm fine, my friends, and looking forward to a fine beef dish later.

"Lyin' Cheney Sweepstakes"

Dr. Mandingo tells me that I am prone to micro-management and that my stress level is a direct result of such attentions to the seemingly trivial details that others may be able to push aside. Mandingo preaches relaxing, "not sweating the small stuff."

Hey, there's no such thing as "small stuff" for a modern day Caesar, Mandingo. Go bang the white woman while you can and leave national affairs to someone who knows what the hell he's doing.

Things like this, from Official Cheney Enemy of the State, Talking Points Memo cannot go unanswered.

You Karl Marx-worshipping dead-enders are way off base with this hogwash.

In short, go fuck yourselves.

Bloomin' Onion

Australia is an inherently fucked-up nation.

Being accustomed to things working a certain way, one expects them to continue sans interruption.

Post morning constitutional, I flushed and the goddamn water starts swirling around counter-clockwise. Aware of this southern hemisphere phenomenon, but never having witnessed it, I was struck by the oddity of the damned thing. I stared at it long enough to give myself a severe case of vertigo and the next thing I know I'm on the floor and Dr. Mandingo is coming at me with the defibrillator again.

Such are the hazards of life.

Well, being on the road, we decided to live it up a little last night, to go out and sample some of the native fare, as it were. Dylan chose our dining locale and we opted for a little place called 'The Outback Steakhouse.' (Note: The 'Outback' is a region in Australia. It is also a Subaru. With a fair degree of certainty, I believe this reference is to the outback in Australia.) I suppose even the Aussies can't fuck up a good piece of meat as there were several acceptable selections available. My beef landed squarely in the 'quite edible, but not truly outstanding' range, still I recommend that upon visiting Australia give 'The Outback Steakhouse' a shot. Nothing lets you see life among the natives better than a visit to their local watering holes.

You can also get your hands on a tremendous artifact of fried deliciosity. Dylan spotted a delightful appetizer hidden on the menu - a local eccentricity referred to as a 'Blooming Onion,' although it seems the Aussies purposely drop the 'g' and it becomes the 'Bloomin' Onion' - was the inadvertent story of the meal.

Once into it, I couldn't resist.

Mandingo continued to "advise" me against eating this tasty dish (cholesterol, cholesterol, cholesterol), but it was a succulent treat and I refused to stop until the damn thing was gone.

I asked for the recipe and was initially rebuffed, but there's no saying 'no' to a couple of Secret Service men armed with tasers.

So, here for your enjoyment is our first non-beef recipe.

Australia's Bloomin' Onion

Ingredients:
1/3 cup Cornstarch -- more if needed

1 1/2 cup Flour
2 teaspoons Garlic -- mince

2 teaspoons Paprika

1 teaspoon Salt

1 teaspoon Pepper

24 ounces Beer

4 Sweet Vidalia Onions

2 cups Flour

4 teaspoons Paprika

2 teaspoons Garlic powder

1/2 teaspoon Pepper

1/4 teaspoon Cayenne Creamy chili sauce

1 pint Mayonnaise1 pint Sour cream

1/2 cup Tomato chili sauce

1/2 teaspoon Cayenne

Directions:

Mix cornstarch, flour and seasonings until well blended.

Add beer, mix well.
Cut about 3/4" off top of onion and peel.
Cut into onion 12 to 16 vertical wedges but do not cut through bottom root end.
Remove about 1" of petals from center of onion.
Dip onion in seasoned flour and remove excess by shaking.
Separate petals to coat thoroughly with batter.
Gently place in fryer basket and deep-fry at 375F to 400F 1-1/2 minutes.
Turn over and fry 1-1/2 minutes longer or until golden brown.
Drain on paper towels.
Place onion upright in shallow bowl and remove center core with circular cutter or apple corer.

Serve hot with Creamy Chili Sauce.

SEASONED FLOUR

Combine flour, paprika, garlic powder, pepper and cayenne and mix well.

CREAMY CHILI SAUCE

Combine mayo, sour cream, chili sauce and cayenne and mix well.

This recipe for The Outback Bloomin' Onion serves 4 (although Dylan, Mandingo and I made short work of this one by ourselves.)

Note: Rolaids can help determine the difference between heart attack and heartburn.

The Dick Look

What pompous fool declares Dick Cheney unpopular?

As you can plainly see, all the hip young kids, like Republican Brittany Spears, are after the sleek, sexy Cheney look.

I am, as they say, quite a 'happening' fellow.

May I add that there has been no notification from People magazine that I am out of the running for this year's 'Sexiest Man Alive.'

Move over George Clooney, you left-wing man whore, this could be the season of the Dick.

Salt Encrusted Ribeye Roast

I must admit that there are times when even I am surprised at the stupidity of the defeatocrats.

Fox News (some call it my official mouthpiece, I say that's hogwash, but refuse additional comment) will host the first defeatocrat presidential debate in August.

Losers.

You know that all the big names will show up - as a matter of fact, I'm counting on it. Dylan and I are busy formatting suggested questions for our friends at Fox right now.

Here's what we have so far:

1. Hillary Rodham Clinton: Megabitch or murdering whore - discuss.

2. In what ways will your presidency resemble that of Jimmy Carter?

3. Name one thing that should not be taxed - no repeat answers.

4. Why do you hate America?

5. The way in which I am most gay is ______________.

6. How will you, as president, win the war on Christmas?

7. In your honest opinion, which of your fellow Democrat presidential candidates is most likely to go on a murderous killing spree?

8. Which of these is a Democrat candidate:
a. Osama bin Laden
b. Saddam Hussein
c. Barrack Hussein Obama
d. Muqtada al Sadr

9. Name 3 reasons why Dick Cheney should be president.

10. Which Democrat candidate do you consider most likely to be the antichrist?

11. One thing that I really dislike about US troops is __________.

12. Fill in the blank, John Edwards' hair is so gay, ______________.

13. Hindenberg or Titanic: which will your administration most resemble?

Stupid Fucks.

Okay, today we have a little something from the kitchen of my great and loyal friend, Prince Bandar of Saudi Arabia. Even though he likes to lie about the size of his dick (see photo), the man has pocket loads of cash, we're talking Wal Mart-type dollars here, yet he still knows how to set out a superlative piece of meat. It was Tuesday last we sat down to a meal crowned by this terrific dish. I asked for and received what I consider the finest recipe of its kind.

Enjoy the fucking beef.

Prince Bandar's Salt Encrusted Ribeye Roast

1 4-6 lb. well-trimmed beef ribeye roast, small end
1 Tablespoon vegetable oil
2-3 teaspoons cracked black pepper

Salt Crust:
1 box (3 lbs.) coarse kosher salt
1 1/4 cup water

Directions:
1. Heat oven to 425° F. Line shallow roasting pan with heavy-duty aluminum foil. Combine salt crust ingredients; mix well. (Mixture may appear dry, but do not add additional water.)
2. In roasting pan, pat 1 1/2 cups salt mixture into a rectangular shape about 1/2 to 1 inch larger than the size of the roast.
3. Brush roast with oil; press pepper evenly into surface. Insert ovenproof meat thermometer into thickest part of roast, not resting in fat; center roast on salt layer. Starting at base of roast, pack remaining salt mixture onto sides and top of roast to encase roast in salt. (Occasionally, some salt mixture may fall off exposing small areas of the roast. This will not affect cooking.)
4. Roast in 425° F oven approximately 1 1/2 to 1 3/4 hours for medium rare; 1 3/4 to 2 hours for medium doneness.
5. Transfer pan with roast to cooling rack; let stand uncovered, 15 minutes.
6. Remove and discard salt crust from roast, brushing off any remaining salt. Carve roast into 1/2 inch thick slices.

Note : To my friends in Tehran...I was off by a week...So, next Monday the eagle flies at midnight. These fucking pills Dr. Mandingo has me on leave me goofier than Al Gore.