What Happened To Dick Cheney’s Old Heart? Rumor Has It, the Queen Ate It
ADAM MICHAEL LUEBKE
Dear Dirty America is not running a series called, Keeping Up With the Queen. But it should be. These days, that’s the kind of turf that gets covered by respectable reporters.
Queen Elizabeth II welcomed the Olympic torchbearers to her home at Windsor Castle. Her husband, Prince Phillip the Wayward, accompanied her. As it’s been reported, the affair seems to have been magical, as it always is when the Queen’s involved. As it’s written:
The queen looked shocked as the flame on Mrs. Macgregor’s torch was turned off, while Philip laughed and held the torch for a few seconds before handing it back.
And there you have it. The official reaction of royalty to the burning torches of freedom and Olympic prowess. One of the torchbearers afterward had an awkward exchange with the Queen. She was uneasy after having read reports that the Queen was, and has always been, a practicing cannibal.
Macgregor asked her about the weather. The exchange is reported as follows:
Speaking afterwards, the torch bearer said: ‘We were just talking about the weather, I said ‘what have I done to deserve this?’ the queen said, ‘This English weather, it’s not been good’.’
Normal people would look at this verbal exchange and skip over it, falsely thinking there is nothing special. In fact, there is an element worthy of further exploration. Just look at the Queen’s exclamation about the external elements: “This English weather, it’s not been good.”
Go ahead, read those words out loud. They are mellifluous. They clang off the vocal chords, but are then softened by the teeth and tongue, until they are pushed into the air with the tiniest puffs of breath. The ‘i’ in ‘this’ and then the ‘i’ in ‘English’ form a cozy union of sound that will have any English bumpkin repeating those two words as he strolls through the sweet-smelling meadows.
No wonder these folks are royalty. Moving on to the predicate, you can once again marvel at the glorious way “it’s not” weights your tongue to the floor of your mouth, but then how “been good” resurrects and glorifies the tongue by allowing it to lift and lilt.
If there are condemnations about this woman being Queen of England, they should end after the posting of this article. Without a thought or care in the world, the Queen makes bloody magic of language. She is a meadowlark. Every word a song unto itself.
To be frank, I’m a Queen enthusiast. That means I carry the belief (as do so many others) that not a single moment of the Queen’s life goes by unrecorded and unanalyzed. Dear Dirty America was there when she decided to take on her own bathroom responsibilities. And this publication broke the first disturbing blow that announced the Queen was a confirmed cannibal. Was? Is a cannibal.
And now, without disappointment, DDA is here when the Queen delivers her honor and grace upon the Olympic torch and its bearers.
Finally, the very last bit of news that shall be imparted with this posting is to address the grisly rumors about what truly happened to Dick Cheney’s old heart. The major reports that dominated the news were centered around his revolting behavior resembling a farm animal. Nose in the mud. Sliding his genitals over the lawn. Chewing on soda cans. Shitting over the backs of his white-pinkish legs as he trotted across the Cheney’s farm in Wyoming. “He’s turning into a goddamned pig!” Lynne, his wife, is purported to have screamed.
That’s where the story started and ended. The doctors admitted to have given Cheney a used pig’s heart, which is practically the same as a human donor’s, for all practical medical purposes. Chances of inheriting behavioral symptoms like the organ’s true host are slim, but not slim enough even for a vice president who playacted as King, to squirt by unscathed. Life is a shitty thing, sometimes, even for the American equivalent to English royalty.
Just ask Reverend Al Sharpton about divine cruelty. One minute he was being lifted by a godly beam of light sent from Heaven. He opened his mouth to proclaim himself the next Elijah. The next second, in a nasty turn of righteous reconsideration, the light cut short and let the good reverend plummet over one hundred feet to the hot Los Angeles pavement. Two broken legs were suffered, and a shredded ego.
Back to Queen Elizabeth. It’s a small world. The media never asked one of the most important questions of the 21st century. Talk about a failure. Where was CNN? Nobody dared ask: What did the doctor’s do with Cheney’s old, malfunctioning heart? Nobody imagined they’d chucked the forsaken thing over their shoulders and into the dumpster behind the hospital with all the other shredded hearts, popped spleens, and worn livers. But what do you do with a vice presidential heart that has a mind of its own and does its damnedest to rid the world of an evil villain by constantly choking itself, starting at age 37?
You let the Queen eat it. That’s almost too baldfaced and stupid to put into print. But this is the blogosphere –the perfect place for that kind of toe jam conspiracy theory. Hell, I’m just addressing the rumors that have been carefully documented and passed onto my desk. I have sources. They’re from distinguished levels of society. I have friends in high places, and they all know and love each other.
Why would the Queen eat Cheney’s fattened, diseased heart? A better question, I’ve been told, is, Why wouldn’t she? The oligarchy sticks together. She likes human organs. They give her vitality and put ruddiness into her cheeks. Cheney’s heart had a hell of a lot of confidence to be stopping itself on someone so important in world politics. That heart had character. It had balls. It must have cared for other people.
The Queen loves that. So she consumed its chi. Gobbled its energy. Smacked her lips around it and savored that particular tang of organ meat. Eating that heart is what is known as, keeping it in The Family.