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Once upon a time — not very long ago, but in a very different country — George Bush was wandering in the forest, all dejected and forlorn, kicking aimlessly at stones. “Who will be my Vice President?” he asked the trees and the shrubs and the wind. “Whoo-ooo”, answered the wind.

George took that as a sign that a Vice would be difficult to find. When voices in the wilderness reply to your questions, and pretty much go “who indeed”, it’s pretty clear who’s talking to you. George almost asked “Who’s that?” But he knew in his immortal soul that there was no need. And, in any case, the answer would just come back: “Who indeed?”

George was a grown man (even if he didn’t always act like one). He knew that, in life, you have to answer your own questions. Even when God speaks to you. When he got back home, he called Dick Cheney. “Prick!” he said. (He liked to call him Prick.) “Prick, will you find me a Vice President?”

And Prick Cheney replied: “Yes, of course. I will find you a very good Vice President. I’m very good at finding Vice Presidents. Very good Vice Presidents, that is.”

And so Cheney sallied forth in search of Vice Presidents. Truth be told, he was only dawdling in the forest, stomping on toads, scooping up the field mice, pretending to search for a very good Vice President. Because he knew a very good Vice President very well indeed.

When the time was ripe he sidled up to Bush, and speaking out of only one side of his mouth, as he is wont to do, he went: “Not having much luck, George, finding a very good Vice President. If you like, I can be your Vice. I got conditions, though. I have to have a reserved seat at ‘every table and every meeting’, okay?” George thought of the forest, and aimlessly kicking at stones, and the voice of the wind. And he said to himself: “I’m sick of kicking stones, and what harm can it do? After all, I’m the damn POTUS.” So he went: “Yea!”

And then Prick Cheney said: “I get involved in anything I want. Everything I want. Okay?”

“Less work for me,” thought George, “and the cabinet will surely appreciate the extra help too.” So he went: “Yea!”

Bu Prick was not yet done: “I shall be neither of this world nor of that. I shall eat the fruit of both, but bear the burdens of neither.”

“He’s going all weird on me!” thought Bush. “Best say yea, or I’ll be late for dinner.” So he went: “Yea!”

“This is even easier than I thought!” thought Prick. “Let me push my luck.” And he tried: “No rules shall constrain me. If you make any rules, you shall exempt me.”

“Sh*t!” thought George. “I’m already late. Laura will be mad. Won’t be no rockets landing on the moon tonight, if you know what I mean.” He hadn’t even heard Prick, really. But what harm could it do? After all, he was still the damn POTUS.” So he went: “Yea! Whatever!”

Prick didn’t know why it was so easy. But he knew he had to shoot for the moon. “There’s other stuff too. I’ll let you know, by and by.”

George quickly said “Okay, okay!”, and tried to rush off. But Cheney wasn’t having none of that. “Not so fast, George!” First, he made him say “Yea!” Then he made him shake on the whole deal. And then he made him go “Cross my heart and hope to die!”. Then he let him scamper off, already wearing an indulgent look on his face.

George was already worrying as he went.

How do I greet Laura, he wondered? The “Sorry I’m late” smirk, or the innocent routine? “Sh*t! I should have asked Prick when I had the chance!” Just have to wing it now.