Let’s face it, we are all human, I doubt no woman alive could possibly resist the grumblings of a man in the twilight of his power.  Every time I have an inkling my Cheney Pie is going to be on Fox News or ‘Meet the Press’ I have my DVR set…and don’t think I would ever record over any interview or speech our second in command might give because a girl in love has to watch something late at night! 

That piece of man meat ranks right up there with Russell Crowe and Brad Pitt.  If George Clooney came a’calling at this very moment, I would have to confess that my heart belongs to Cheney because he treats me so well – seriously, I think he might be interested in harvesting my heart if his stops ticking.  George could send me a hundred roses and case after case of expensive champagne, but I would have to spell it out for him…‘George, talk to the hand!’  George, Russell and Brad, despite their mixture of traits that drive heterosexual women wild, would have to accept that I’m playing hard to get for Dick.

            Sure, some of my friends are concerned about this latest crush, but try as they might, they can’t persuade me to stop loving that man of mine.  Some have pointed out he is a married with children (I don’t know if you heard this, but one of his daughters is gay) but just like Monica before me, I don’t care.  Something about a man who was born in Lincoln, Nebraska, was once CEO of Haliburton, and served as House Minority WHIP is catnip to me.  Lest anyone forgets, he is the only VP in history to drop the ‘F’ bomb on the Senate floor.  Meow!

            Others may quibble with my choice of heartthrob and ‘Tiger Beat’ may ignore my pleas for an older Machiavellian cover boy, but what can I say…I’m ungainly for my Cheney.  Sure, my University of Wyoming (Go Cowboys and Cowgirls) graduate might sound like a war hound, but when it comes to experience in fighting man to man, Gandhi had more street cred.  Apparently, my little Cheney bear was deferred five times from Vietnam because he had “…other priorities in the '60s than military service.”  Hello!  My furture baby’s daddy (hey Cheney, get out of my dreams and get into my car) is a peace lover at heart, he may have read ‘The Art of War’ but has never applied it.  Okay, there was that little incident with shooting his seventy-year-old friend, and major Bush campaign contributor, in the face, but accidents happen when you are shooting semi-tame retarded birds that can’t fly.  Come on, who hasn’t shot someone in the face?  

            Perhaps it is because this is the eve of a weekend and all I can think of is the company of a good man, yet I am left lonely because only one man is man enough to UnCheney my heart.  So to all you girls who think you have it going on, all I can say is if you see Air Force Two a rock’in, don’t dare come a knock’in.

© 2007 Westerfield