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.