He could no longer stand on his two feet.

He could no longer stand on his two feet. He could no longer stand at all, for he couldn't have imagined that

it was actually all "over." He'd had the manes of power in his liver-spotted fist. Gone. Back to citizen. Senior citizen. He couldn't stand, so Cheney left the Whitehouse in a whee

lbarrow powered by a high-octane blend of arrogance and spite. As Cheney's intrepid gaze swept over DC, lawns were scorched, heads exploded and monuments to lesser men

had always told himself, but all he could do now was whisper the words quietly as he was led away down the corridor. He struggled, but

the manacles were tight as he was dragged to the obliette. But his whispers did not fall on deaf ears, the rats heard him. By midnight, a horde approached the prison, prepared for

the escape of the Ratgod from the oubliette of Queen Felinia. They tunneled to the catnippy pit, whiskers naked tails a twitchin'. The Queen was in heat & her many suitors

were lined up to court her. Queen Felinia, despite her fiery furry loins, played it extremely cool. But then Ratgod popped his ragged face out from the catnippy pit & shouted

"I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'd love you to love me. I'm beggin' you to beg me." It was a cheap trick, but it worked. Queen Felinia bent over & bestowed Ratgod

a kiss while singing "He's a whore. He'd do anything for money. He's a whore. The things that he writes. He's a whore. The stories he can tell. He's a whore. Morning & night."