TO: Vice-President Richard Bruce Cheney
FROM: Old Horny, Prince of Darkness
RE: Failure to deliver/breach of contract/eternity
Dick: ever since you shoved your fall guy, Scooter, off the political cliff (albeit onto a stuntman mattress filled to capacity with your own hot air), I simply cannot get in touch with you. Perhaps you thought the conditions of the contract we signed went up in smoke along with the document, but I assure you I can access the pact much more easily than I seem to be able to get hold of you.
This is particularly enraging when I see you cavorting with my minuscule minions at the EIB Radio Network and FOX News. Why waste your Satan-given talents speaking directly to an audience that, according to our pollsters, Frank Luntz and Dick Morris, is already 98 percent signed, sealed, and delivered to Me? For eternity!
The other two percent are hopeless do-gooders who monitor those broadcasts the way My ancient and Almighty Enemy eyes the gates of hell.
So what's the percentage in that, Dickie? Have you forgotten that your job is to recruit souls to our cause? Oh sure, Luntz and Morris have determined that, since you forcibly took office six and a half Earth-years ago, belief in Me has skyrocketed while faith in that little socialist bastard Jesus Christ has flat-lined. But trends show a growing planet-wide disgust with evil. And all you seem to manage is to put a face on it — a smug, sweaty face at that. This makes Me look ridiculous, and an entity in My position cannot afford to look ridiculous.
Most recently, you've been telling people you're not part of the executive branch of the US government. No kidding! You are on loan to the RNC from the bowels of hell, and it is the bowels of hell to which you shall return! And there you shall remain — unless, of course, I reassign you as a soul-skimmer in one of those lovely mega-slums, which are such a necessary part of the corporate profiteering that's led to the purchase of both American political parties for such low, low prices!
Make no mistake about it, Cheney, your undead status is under review. I can't put it any clearer than that. And even if you somehow do manage to escape diabolic recall, you'll be back here anyway if you keep eating those bacon cheeseburgers. (Even My powers are limited.)
Now don't try threatening Me by suggesting you might reveal My presence at your secret energy meetings. I'm not exactly worried about sullying My reputation. In any case, only hardcore atheists and the Rapture Right could fail to see my cloven hoof-prints all over an energy policy that's led to unjustifiable war and occupation, environmental calamity, and economic doom. That's the kind of work I sent you to do and, granted, you have completed your misdeeds well.
Except for one thing: so far the only people you’ve been able to take along for the entire cynical ride were already in our column.
But enough of the polling data; hell is full of loaded questioners. Of course, they're a day at the beach compared with the conspiracy freaks, who are everywhere down here. These crackpots believe they're the victims of a plot to make them think they're in hell so they don't believe they're actually here. But believe me, everyone they come into contact with knows exactly where they are.
So I'm not going to mention a certain Earth date in 2001, because it's hot enough around here without giving those paranoid maniacs more documents with which to fuel the eternal hellfires. You know I have done everything I can for the dummy half of your Edgar Bergen and Joseph McCarthy act. You try conjuring a 91 percent approval rating for a human hat stand and tell me I didn't part the Red State Sea for you. You became so full of yourself, so full of your new powers to torture and disappear people, that you told Me that this over-funded yokel had the chops to be the Antichrist.
There's just one problem, fuckhead: the true Antichrist has to be popular. Were that not the case, you'd have had the job long ago. In what was an eye blink of time to Me, this nincompoop went from being enormously popular in America and a sympathetic figure to the rest of your world, to the bane of all humanity. Doing this while becoming increasingly impertinent is no small feat, but the Antichrist? If you'll forgive the expression, spare Me.