Great Nebraskans: Dick Cheney
Nebraska's Pride
(Born Jan 30, 1941 in Lincoln, Neb.) What constitutes a Nebraskan? Nebraskans are hard-workers, stand up for themselves, defend the principles that made their country – and state – the greatest that Jesus has ever ordained as his own, and/or you’ve lived part of your life there. Rufus doesn’t want to get into technicalities here, but it’s scientifically proven not at all that there is something in the water, or maybe the food, where prolonged exposure to it makes you a Nebraskan for life.
Dick Cheney, one of the longest-serving Vice Presidents in the history of this great country, was born in Lincoln, Nebraska, in 1941, enjoying the good life for several years before the state of Wyoming used their Cowboy Mafia to steal the family – in the middle of the night – and forced them through employment and making money to stay in Wyoming.
Let Rufus tell you something about Wyoming: It’s boring. You’re about as apt to find a person who wants to drive through that nationally protected grassland as you are to find a hardcover book in a trailer home.
After the least-populous state in the union stole the Cheneys and increased its population by 1%, Wyoming started grooming young Dick Cheney to bow to its evil, desolate ways, making him a U.S. Representative while those in Nebraska sat back and reflected on what could have been.
But he showed them that true Nebraska spirit once he got into the White House. Like a butterfly bursting out of its cocoon, Cheney showed the world the Stateriot, never-say-“what” attitude that’s a trademark of my people.
No weapons of mass destruction? So? Stop bitching. “Your chief of staff” ousts an undercover CIA agent? Boo hoo. Get over it. Your ex-company gets the biggest contracts for rebuilding Iraq? Duh, that’s called networking. It’s like Facebook for multimillion and –billionaires. Who doesn’t like Facebook?
And when Cheney shot his friend during a hunting retreat, these Coastal know-nothings had a great laugh. “Ha, ha, he shot someone in the face, almost killed him.” Yeah, news flash, that’s what friends do. But you slaves to Coastal Geography, you don’t understand what friendship is unless it comes with a rule book and tip-toe shoes. We don’t need rules to be friends – and to ask forgiveness of our friends the way that Harry Wittington, the man he shot, asked forgiveness of Dick Cheney.
“My family and I are deeply sorry for all that Vice President Cheney and his family have had to go through this week,” Whittington said to CNN at the time, when they got all the birdshot out of his mouth.
Damn right, get your head out of the way of his gun, old man. Ain’t you never been hunting with a Nebraskan before? Where he hunt, we don’t put our faces in front of other people’s guns.
Now that Dick Cheney is gone from the White House, the world is his Rocky Mountain Oyster. And my only hope is that, as he retires, he decides to return to his roots – to return to Nebraska.
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