No 107: QUAIL HUNTING
Duck!
Really? Where? I thought we were hunting qu. . . Ouch! I’ve been hit. Who do you think you are, Dick Cheney?
Aw, c’mon. It’s just a bit of birdshot. And thanks for the compliment. Do you really think I’m like the US Vice-President? Must be my aura of inscrutability and power.
I’m in agony! If I’d known you were so much like Cheney, I’d never have gone hunting with you.
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Look, I’m sorry. Big time. But I still don’t follow all this Cheney stuff. I suppose I am kind of a big swinging Dick. And a straight shooter.
Straight shooter! That’s exactly what you’re not. And neither is Cheney. Didn’t you hear that he shot a man in the face?
Way to go! Who’d have thought it, eh? Who was the unlucky victim? Some pesky Democrat? Please say Bill Clinton. Or a peace protester.
No, it was a solid Republican friend. They were quail hunting.
What, Dan Quayle, George Bush Sr’s Vice President? The one who couldn’t spell potato? What a loser. I’m not surprised Dick took against him so violently.
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He didn’t. Q-U-A-I-L. The birds were in the sky, the man was on the ground. But the most powerful Veep in history got confused and hit Harry Whittington, a 78-year-old Republican donor and hunting partner of Dick’s. He’s OK, fortunately.
But some are trying to suggest that it was Whittington’s own fault for not making his presence known.
I’m sure that was it. Honestly, people can be so careless.
Are you trying to blame me?
Do say: “Hello, Pentagon? I’m off for a day’s hunting with the Veep. Got any body armour?”
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Don’t say: “Mr Vice-President, some recalcitrant Senators/hostile journalists are waiting to see you. Go out there and give ‘em both barrels.”