Wednesday, February 15, 2006

You give hunting canned quail a bad name.

All joking aside, we can accept the fact that maybe Dick Cheney could not have anticipated the breach of Harry Whittington's atrial levees. But we're a little put off when Cheney relates:

But we really didn't know until Sunday morning that Harry was probably going to be okay, that it looked like there hadn't been any serious damage to any vital organ.

Okay...but you did know that you shot a man in the face, right? My hunting buddies are awfully attached to their faces. I get the feeling that most of them would prefer to remain attached to their faces as well. Let not the union be put asunder by rifle shot, as they say.

Why is it that we imagine that in those first few minutes after the shot, a slurring Dick Cheney stood over his friend, barking: "Come on Harry! It's just your face! Walk it off you fucking pussy!"

Well, we're willing to bet that we have the slurring part right, anyway.

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