Dick Cheney's Secret Boot Camp, Volume 1

 The putrid smell of stale cigars, coffee and unfettered disdain for Democrats emitted in a thick cloud from his lower esophagus, a balmy splash of spittle raining down on Hillary’s face. Sergeant Cheney’s massive frame loomed over her and she could see the earthworm-shaped vein pulsating in his neck, beneath paper thin skin. She tried not to look at the jagged enamel tombstones protruding from his lower lip as he issued the verbal abuse. 

“YOU THINK YOU’RE SOMETHING SPECIAL BECAUSE YOUR HUSBAND CREATED A SURPLUS?” he interrogated out on the muddy Vice President Boot Camp training grounds. A slight drizzle landed on the broad shoulders of his impeccable uniform.

“No, Dick…” she said, dryly. “I think I’m something special because I’m going to be the first woman president of the United States.”

“WRONG ANSWER!” Cheney bellowed, as thunder cracked in the distance, as if on cue. “LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING, MAGGOT! HERE YOU ARE NOTHING! HERE YOU ARE A PEON! HERE YOU ARE AN ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT! HERE YOU ARE A PIMPLE ON OSAMA BIN LADEN’S ASS! IS THAT CLEAR?”

“Yes, Dick… err, sir! Yes, sir!” Hillary corrected herself quietly.

It’s not that Cheney enjoyed being here, although his natural penchant for abusing new recruits might imply otherwise. He recalled asking, “Do I HAVE to run this? Can’t we order that loser John Kerry to run it or something? Al Gore? What’s that tree-hugging asshole doing these days?” But George insisted that the creation of this camp had been included in one of the Patriot Act clauses that no one actually read. He understood that part of his job was to pass on the Bush legacy and ensure that no one graduated without sufficient indoctrination. This top-secret job couldn’t be entrusted to just anyone. They may have lost the battle when more Democrats flooded congress… but they weren’t about to lose the war.

Heavy boot steps plodded through the thick mud, splashing through the occasional odd puddle, metal clinking and jangling with each awkward motion. Cheney could see it was McCain, running late again. He wore his combat helmet and he had his silver star, two purple hearts, Legion of Merit for Valor, Distinguished Flying Cross, three Bronze Stars, two Commendation medals and several service medals crookedly fastened to his jacket. They could always hear him coming a mile away.

“Sorry I’m late, sir. I was playing the new John McCain game online …the John and Hillary Show… have you heard of it? That darn thing is just so addictive! I can’t stop! I almost got em all right… but that Mitt question’s a tricky one.”

McCain stood at attention and stared straight ahead, with a solemn expression, his hand poised at his brow. “No, SIR!”

Cheney lowered his voice and paced back and forth in front of the five recruits from the Democratic and Republican parties. “I don’t care how many medals you have. Those medals aren’t going to teach you how to rigorously shake the hand of Kim Jong il. Nor will they teach you how to continue working during a heart attack… and there will be many on the job, I can assure you. NOR will they teach you how to defend your principles and your nation against Liberal fascists. You come here AS nothing, KNOWING nothing. I will break you and reshape you dung heaps into possible Vice Presidents, the most important job in all of Congress.”

As Cheney’s icy gaze lasered through McCain, Giuliani leaned over to Mitt Romney and muttered, “How is he qualified to train us in defense against fascists when he’s never served in the military himself?”

“I DON’T NEED TO HAVE MILITARY EXPERIENCE!” Cheney roared, spinning on his heel and grabbing Giuliani by the jaw. “I ALREADY HAVE DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE CLEARANCE! Drop and give me 500, you liberal-loving, wife-cheating baby killer.”

“Aw, sir, gimme a break, would ya? It’s all muddy.”

Cheney stood stoically and pointed. “Next time you can do em in the latrine.”

With a classic scowl, Rudy lowered himself to the ground and proceeded to do several push ups the best way he knew how.

Hillary smirked and spoke to Barack Obama out of the corner of her mouth like a ventriloquist. “I can do a better push up than that.”

“There’s only five of you here. Who’s missing?” Cheney demanded, resting a boot on the back of Giuliani’s head, who was struggling to finish his punishment.

“Edwards, SIR!” McCain shouted out, hoping to gain some sort of recognition for his dedication. “He was writing a letter to Elizabeth as I was on my way out, SIR!” Cheney scowled.

"Private Giuliani, get that sniveling, prosecuting fascist out here."

TO BE CONTINUED....