The White House is full of monkeys

VP Dick Cheney
1600 Pennsylvania, Ave. NW
Washington, DC. 20500

Dear Dick,

Greetings again. I am a resident of the small college town of Chico, Calif., where I write a column called “Cheesespread” for a local alternative weekly. As you’ve probably already guessed, this is the ninth installment in a series of 11 letters I am sending you concerning a Siamese housecat named Scoody-Do, who controls my thoughts from her sitting position inside a sequin-lined baby chair.

Of all the human foods I enjoy most, watermelon and cantaloupe take the cake. After I eat, my stomach bulges and I like to rest it in the soles of Nike Air Kobes. But they often smell, and sometimes I tear them apart.

When I notice a human boy with allergies, I like to rub against him. Why? Because he’s not paying attention to my tail at all. For all he knows, it could be writing, “I love you,” in the air. Do you understand, Dick?

I can jump pretty good. Not good enough to keep from getting my ass kicked by an apartment yard squirrel, though. Boy, was that embarrassing.

When I go to the vet for a fluff job or major surgery, I flex like the Rock. The vet tells my owner that I am “the weirdest cat.” Then, at night, my owner looks into my eyes and asks if I have brain damage. I savor these moments.

My favorite part of the Godfather Part II is when Al Pacino kisses his brother and says, “I know it was you, Fredo.”

I know it was you, Dick.

Thanks for listening Mr. Vice President. Your next letter should be arriving sometime soon. Remember, the elephants dancing on your chest might go away (maybe) if you would stop poisoning the world with fear. No arsenic in the water, no more Cold War ideas about the Chinese; no more drilling for oil when we could be changing consumption patterns. There’s a start.

Take care,

Rev. Gus Wagster

Weekly props
1. Beat L.A.!!!

2. Experimental Dental School

3. No more Survivor