Huntin' With Dick--A play in one act

(Lights up. Stage is empty but for a single, scrubby bush. NAMELESS CRONY #1 and NAMELESS CRONY #2 enter stage right, dressed in business suits underneath bright orange vests. One of them is carrying a quail.)

NAMELESS CRONY #1: ...So then Andy Card is like, “Another fucking spelling bee champion? How many fucking spelling bee champions are there? What am I supposed to say, I’m sorry Vladimir Putin, but the President will be unavailable because he’s busy shaking hands with every acne-scarred teen geek in the nation?”

NAMELESS CRONY #2: That’s Andy for you.

NAMELESS CRONY #1: Yeah, but that isn’t the good part. The good part is that the kid’s dad is sitting right there. And get this–he’s some kind of bigwig in some Republican fund-raising committee in Montana or Minnesota or whatever.

NAMELESS CRONY #2: That Andy. Fuckin’ Andy.

(Here NAMELESS CRONY #1 stoops down and pulls out a leash from behind the bush. NAMELESS CRONY #2 holds the quail as NAMELESS CRONY #1 attaches the leash to the bird’s neck. They set it down then, turn around, and walk away.)

NAMELESS CRONY #1: So the guy goes back to wherever he’s from and starts making noises about changing his party on us...

NAMELESS CRONY #2: What are you gonna do? Another one bites the dust.

NAMELESS CRONY #1: Yeah, but you know how Karl’s been lately. He had some treasury dude cut this guy a couple breaks. I guess he had some charges pending with the SEC.

NAMELESS CRONY #2: They always do, don’t they?

(They exit. For awhile, the stage is quiet but for the cooing of the quail. Soon DICK CHENEY and HARRY enter from stage right. They are wearing orange camouflage jumpsuits and carrying shotguns.)

DICK CHENEY: We got leaks in Defense, we got leaks in State, and of course the goddamn White House leaks like Rumsfeld’s bladder! It’s a disgrace, Harry, a disgrace! I mean, is this a government or is it a goddamn Catholic girls’ school?

HARRY: You’re like a rock, Dick, and these people are ants. So tell me this, do ants upset a rock?

DICK CHENEY: Christ Almighty, there you go speaking in riddles again! Now tell it to me straight: are you on my team or are going to spout off like goddamn Kung-Fucious all day?

HARRY: It’s Confucius, Dick.

DICK CHENEY (pointing to quail): Mary-mother-of-Jesus-in-her-Maidenform-bra! There’s another one! This one’s mine, Harry!

HARRY: Right, Dick.

(HARRY runs to the edge of the stage, crouches down, and covers his head. DICK CHENEY begins shooting wildly: down at the ground, up at the sky, out into the audience–anywhere but at the bird. As he is doing this, a SNIPER appears at the top left of the stage and shoots the bird. He then slips away unnoticed.)

DICK CHENEY: I got him! I got him good!

(HARRY tentatively looks up and then, with great dignity, rises and returns to DICK CHENEY’s side.)

HARRY: Great shooting, Dick.

DICK CHENEY: You’re damn right it’s great shooting! I’m on fire today! Hell, they ought to let me loose in the New York Times office!

HARRY: Good ol’ Eagle-eye Cheney!

DICK CHENEY: Now where did that goddamn Bird Boy go? Bird Boy! BIRD BOY! The Veep got a fresh kill for you, heh-heh-heh!

(From stage right comes a man wearing a chicken mask, riding a tricycle. A cape with the letters “RNC” emblazoned on it flutters behind him.)

BIRD BOY: Attaboy, boss!

(He rides across the stage to the dead bird, scoops it up, and pedals away.)

DICK CHENEY: You think John Kerry’s ever bagged this many?

HARRY: I doubt it, Dick.

DICK CHENEY: He couldn’t hit Bill Clinton’s ass with a heat-seeking missile, that one. Remember how me and George whipped him?

HARRY: You whipped him good, Dick.

(They exit stage right. After awhile, NAMELESS CRONY #1 and NAMELESS CRONY #2 return from stage left, carrying another quail.)

NAMELESS CRONY #1: ...then Ken Mehlman storms in, all up in arms, and he’s like “Is it true that John Bolton called the cupcakes I baked for Condi’s birthday greasy? Is it? Is it true?”

NAMELESS CRONY #2: He’s the sensitive type, isn’t he?

NAMELESS CRONY #1: You’re telling me. Eventually, you just can’t lie to the poor bastard anymore, so I kind of nod and I immediately regret it because I know–I just know–that he’s going to start crying. It’s embarrassing for everyone, really, and–just before he starts bawling–he’s all like, “T-t-that bitch!”

NAMELESS CRONY #2: Wow.

NAMELESS CRONY #1: Yeah, wow. But it’s like a daily occurrence, you know? Say, how long do we have to keep doing this?

(As they talk, they are hitching the new bird to the leash, just as before. When they finish, they turn around and head back the way they had come.)

NAMELESS CRONY #1: Until he gets sleepy.

NAMELESS CRONY #2: That shouldn’t take long, right?

NAMELESS CRONY #1: You’d be surprised.

(They exit. DICK CHENEY and HARRY enter stage right.)

DICK CHENEY: I’ve been shooting birds left and right today! They ought to call me ‘the Bird Flu’, I’ve been shooting so many birds! For Christ’s sake, I’m on a tear here! I’m going to break the world record! If you see the game warden, tell him to go fuck himself!

HARRY: I’ll pass along the message, Dick.

DICK CHENEY: You think Scooter can shoot birds! Hell, that skinny little dipshit can’t shoot a goddamn thing, I don’t care what he tells the press! That Scooter is a bad sonofabitch, I can tell you that much! I almost miss the little shit!

HARRY: Yes, it was a great shame--

DICK CHENEY: There’s another one! I’m taking her out!

(DICK CHENEY begins shooting wildly once more. HARRY runs towards the edge of the stage again, but he trips and falls. DICK CHENEY shoots him.)

DICK CHENEY: Goddamn piece of goddamn bird goddamnit! I think she got away from us, Harry!

HARRY: Owwww...

DICK CHENEY: What the hell are you talking about, man?

(He turns and sees HARRY laying on the ground, bleeding.)

DICK CHENEY: Aw, hell! We’ve got a man down!

(DICK CHENEY pulls a whistle from his pocket and blows it. From stage right comes several men wearing lab coats underneath bright orange vests. They lift HARRY onto a stretcher and carry him away as DICK CHENEY continues to shout.)

DICK CHENEY: Did you see who hit you, Harry? Who was it, man? Did they look swarthy to you? Because, goddamnit, if they did we might have another goddamn international incident on our hands. Just tell me the truth. I’ll call in a goddamn airstrike! I’ll call in the goddamn marines! Take it like a man, Harry! Don’t let those bastards think a little buckshot can take us out of the game, alright?

(They exit stage right. DICK CHENEY is left alone on the stage with the quail.)

DICK CHENEY: Where did that goddamn bird go? I got a score to settle with that sonafabitch...

(The BIRDBOY pedals in from stage right. Riding on the back of his tricycle are two men in black suits and sunglasses, each wearing a bright orange vest. They jump off the tricycle and the BIRDBOY pedals away.)

SECRET SERVICE AGENT #1: Come with us, sir...

DICK CHENEY: Goddamn it. I was on a roll.

SECRET SERVICE AGENT #2: Right this way, Mr. Vice President...

(They lead DICK CHENEY off stage right. Still leashed to the bush, the quail coos a couple of times and then tries to fly away, but the leash holds it to the ground. As it tries, the SNIPER slowly appears high stage left. He shoots it dead and the lights go off.)