Dick Cheney’s Mistress
I watched a really cute zookeeper give his tiger a scratchy
scratchy and I got jealous because I wanted a scratchy
scratchy but I couldn’t tell him I wanted a scratchy
scratchy because even though this morning I blow-dried upside
down and finished with a light hold constructor spray, because
even though I spent hours trying to maximize every strand
with a light mist and a spray-on gel, today I have hair from hell.
Dick likes it when I do that thing his ex-girlfriend used to do.
Generally speaking, I have a rule about this, but rules
are meant to be broken, so I tell Dick that size doesn’t
matter, which really gets him hot.
Two weeks ago, I suggested Dick use a male
enlargement system, and for a few short days I was amazed as
his penis grew into the biggest, thickest, hardest one I’d
ever had. I told Dick I would remember his penis
forever. Then he stopped taking the pills and shrunk back to his
small old self. At first I pretended not to miss the
vigorous thrust I had received from his juiced-up Johnson, though
of course I did miss the sheer intensity and
concentrated power of the orgasms I had had the
week before. But how do you tell a guy you’re not that
into him because his package is too small? As Lyndon
Johnson used to say, Just wait for the right moment and pounce. Like
for example last night when he mentioned Benazir Bhutto,
the former prime minister of Pakistan. It’s one thing to
feel like you don’t measure up to some dippy model, I screamed
hysterically, but a sexy prime minister is
really threatening. Another time, during cunnilingus,
Dick asked about the scar on my belly, to which I
responded by telling him I had a C-section when I
gave birth to the baby I gave up for adoption when I
was sixteen. In other words, Dick, let your boner rest in peace.