Motorcade

D.C. is like Hollywood for people who don't give a fuck about pop culture.

Whereas LA has Mann's Chinese Theater, that stupid Hollywood sign, and countless handprints in its sidewalks (who are those people anyways?), DC has the White House, that stupid phallic Washington Memorial, and countless people in suits doing important things.

I saw a motorcade today. Six black SUVS with tinted bulletproof windows, led by two police motorcycles. If I had been in LA, I would have thought, "huh. Paris Hilton is going back to rehab. What a stupid whore."

But I am in Washington D.C. That means motorcades typically transport important people. Just before the motorcade came around the corner I felt the wind stop. The sky became dark but not because of gathering clouds. Oh no, dear readers, it was because the sun literally lost some of its ability to shine. A police horse shate itself, bucked its rider, and galloped down the street nashing its teeth and screeching like a banshee. Infants began to wail, and I'm pretty sure I saw a squirrel willingly leap off a high branch, plumetting to its death. Men that looked important suddenly realized an urge to call their wives and desperately confess their transgressions with their mistresses. It was incredible.

The motorcade passed by, and then around the corner again out of view. Only then did I feel breeze on my face. It was as if God himself was gently cooing in a soothing voice, "It's ok baby. He's gone now, no one's going to hurt you. I'm here. I'm here," as he gave me a shoulder massage. Tears I didn't even realize I had been shedding were drying thanks to the sun's newly triumphant and restored brilliance. All was again right in the world.

It's just a guess, but I think that was Cheney.