Having last week completed the units on blood, the heart, and the circulatory system in my biology class, I am filled with a sense of purpose about how best to help solve the nation’s problems. Namely, Dick Cheney and his lackluster pumporgan. No, I mean his heart. Now, initially, my thought about the difficulty in treating his cardiac problems had to do with the fact that the undead rarely even have a pulse, so where would you begin? But then I figured, nah, that’s really more Karl Rove territory.

Here is my theory:
Dick Cheney’s chest pains are not actually caused by cardiac disease, and that is why the many, many treatments do not seem to be fixing him. (Seriously, isn’t the phrase “a heartbeat away” just a little cruel in his case?) It is instead that he has spent the last decade or so with his hand up Dubya’s ass, making his mouth move. There is nothing really wrong with his heart in the literal sense: the intermittent and worsening chest pains are caused by the sheer weight of having a 180-pound guy pressing down on his shoulder all this time. I understand the puppeteer who runs Big Bird got a wicked crick in his neck from being inside that suit in much the same way.