An Ode to Dick Cheney

Snookums!

Christ, what a trip! One hit on the pipe and there was the Big Dick dancing naked save his wingtips, screaming into a dead phone, “Level it! Level it!” Spinning, spinning to keep the spattering pus off his wingtips while bloodied children sat staring in a circle, waiting for Uncle Dickey to tell them a story ‘til the earth cracked and the eternal flame charred and scorched their skin even as they sat silently waiting for the story to begin ‘til only the black dust of their bones remained and natives fled the dancing wingtips in a rustling, undulating swarm like lice leaving the cooled carcass of the newly dead, and my heart sang songs of potency and power ravaging the dead and breaking the weak to the thrumbulation of fife and drum piping and pounding the cadence of the damned.

Your Prophet