Lots of folks think Dick is a petty, bullying megalomaniac whose life of privilege has poisoned any feelings of human empathy; a hunchbacked handwringer who holds democracy in contempt, whose only faith is in the cock-hardening rush that comes with playing God. But the truth is, he's a lil' hugga bear who only did what he thought Richard Nixon would think was right. And make no mistake, he regrets throwing a close friend and confidant under the bus in order to save his own ass. Let me correct that: he regrets suggesting to his close friend and confidant that he throw himself under the bus, because in my book and in Uncle Dick's book, love of political party trumps love of country. And everybody say "A-MEN!"
Let's get back to poor ol' Scooty: sumbitch faces 25 years and a $1 million fine for what? Telling a tall tale about how some squat DC barfly's dyke bitch wife was a spy? All because said squat DC barfly wouldn't do his patriotic duty and lie to the American people about something that I can't really recall right now? Fuck him, and fuck his Jane Bond slag in her fucking Hot Pocket. Make no mistake, Scooty is a hero in my eyes. Makes me misty. Out on the range, cowpokes got only one thing to count on. Each other. Loyalty is the greatest virtue. Shit, the range is full o' crazy insurgent Injuns, and banditos, and rattlers, and checks and balances, and the rule of law, and fair elections and government ruled by the consent of the governed. You need peeps who got your back, and always have your back, the bloodcurdling screeching of one's conscience notwithstanding.
And so, in that light, I am prepared to make this statement concerning the Libster: you're doing a great job, boy. Just keep eating shit, smiling, and don't you worry none - Uncle Dick and I forgive you your sloppiness. You had every right to try and defend yourself, even if Uncle Dick and I had decided you were going down a loooooooong time ago. In the future, whenever I write something down, I will remember to use that little grade school chalk board Pickles gave me. I thank you for your service, Uncle Dick thanks you for your service, and so does Karl, even though that brainiac meat pear sure hasn't been earning his keep recently.
Don't worry about your family, we will care for them with all the sensitivity and attention of the mafia caring for the tacky wife of a capo sent up the river. Hopefully, you are not despairing. No need to go the Ken Lay route – although I hear Buenos Aires is nice this time of year. In closing, I am attaching a little something-something that you can cash in while I'm feverishly burning the midnight oil December 31st, 2008. Keep your pimp hand strong, Scooty!