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December 2, 2005
Alaskan in Exile
by Neil Zawicki

    I called Dick Cheney yesterday to ask him his opinion on Christmas tree selection, to get some advice about auto maintenance, and to find out how he feels about the current climate in the movie industry.   

    “There aren’t enough car chase movies anymore,” he said quietly. “I like a good car chase. Jim Baker and I went out and saw Smokey and the Bandit back when it came out, and man were we laughing. Excuse me a minute…”

    I sat on the phone for several minutes, and could hear hushed conversations on the other end. Then I heard what sounded like an axe handle striking an oak desk, and then a voice shouted, “Put it back down, you sonovabitch! I’m not going up the goddamned Potomac for some limp little—”

    There were some rustling sounds, and then Dick returned to the phone.

    “Sorry about that,” he said. “Uh…ah…do you remember Dom DeLouise in Cannonball Run? Now that was a good movie.”

    I steered the conversation to auto maintenance, and the vice president offered advice like a kind grandfather.

    “Well, generally an oil change will keep your car running smooth for years, but the best preventive measure is always—”

    A loud bang interrupted Dick, and I could hear what sounded like a very agitated Don Rumsfeld.

    “Did you tell Karl that Scott told Condi that I said the president lost his pills on the Asia trip! What the Christ is wrong with you?! Do you want me to rip the phone out of the fucking wall?!!”

    I was a little confused at this point. When I phoned Dick last month, we had a long and revealing conversation about fly-fishing, and even shared some laughs. But now the mood seemed tense, and even when he spoke happily, there seemed to be a precarious, urgent atmosphere in his office.

    I suppose the inner workings of the White House have a flavor all their own, and I do not profess to be familiar with it at all, but something told me things were a little less than stable over there.

    “Look, ah ... I’m sorry I can’t really talk right now, but maybe next week we can—”

    He made a sort of choking sound, and I heard the phone strike the floor, and then a shouting voice sounded from the background…

    “There might not be a next week if we don’t do some serious paper shredding and cook up some fake passports by morning. Understand, Dick?”

    There was a long silence. I couldn’t place the voice, but had a hunch it was Rumsfeld. More importantly, I was concerned for Dick.

    “Is everything alright over there?” I said nervously.

    There was no immediate reply, but from the sounds on the phone I felt there were now more people in the room, and I could hear Dick rapidly talking about what sounded like a ship in the Gulf of Oman. Then a voice came through the phone.

    “Mr. Cheney thanks you for your time, but he’s going to have to say goodbye now.”

    I thought I recognized the voice.

    “Karl?”

    No answer. Finally, a dial tone told me the call was over.

    I don’t think I’ll be calling Dick for a while. It’s just getting too weird over there.

    Maybe he’ll call when he’s ready.

    Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.



   



 
Neil Zawicki, exiled Alaskan, is Editor at Large for Insurgent49, a former reporter for the Alaska Star, and winner of the Alaska Press Club's 'Best Columnist' award. He is now living out the rest of his days in an undisclosed location in Oregon. He can be contacted at -  neil@insurgent49.com
- Columnists -

Editor's Desk
by Aaron Selbig

Red Alert
by Soren Wuerth

Alaskan In Exile
by Neil Zawicki

The
Bramble Bush
by Kevin Morford





- also by this writer -
Copyright 2005 Insurgent Media. All Rights Reserved.
in-sur-gent (in sur'jent), n. 1. a member of a group which revolts against the policies of its leadership.