He ventures from his cleaned limousine, mystery administration

Top Romantic And Sweet Kiss He ventures from his cleaned limousine, mystery administration specialists fanning out around him.

Deadeye Dick Cheney.

He grasps a shining dark magnificence, a pump activity, $12,000 dollar shotgun with a hand engraved stock demonstrating a scene of fowls in flight.

Adore me. Kiss my weapon.

This isn't only any man's leisure activity, such as painting a work of art. This is critical. Adjacent, a little tidy secured quail cringes under a shrub, attempting to experience the rest of its hopeless short life.

Cheney isn't going to eat the quail. He doesn't rely on upon the quail for sustenance. He doesn't care for quail furthermore, who needs to mash down on a shot pellet and potentially destroy their costly, government paid-for dental scaffold work.

Cheney is a self-broadcasted nationalist. Since I'm composing this, I'm a backstabber.

Adore me. Kiss my weapon.

Dick is keeping alive the soul of the pioneers. Dissimilar to Dick, the pioneers needed to chase to survive. The westbound vagrants were Argonauts, they were pathfinders, they were trailblazers....they were MORONS!

Adore me. Kiss my weapon.

Dick Cheney, the man who transformed the US into the world's most effective terrorist state (alongside China). The world's driving weapons supplier, running a gulag of torment camps (even Herman Goering at Nuremberg had entry to a legal counselor).

Unlawful keeping an eye on Americans. Cheney said Lincoln did it as well, so did Washington, even Caesar (listened in on his troops by snaring strands of dried spaghetti to a tin can).

It's lawful. It's good.

Cherish me. Kiss my weapon.

A weapon is power....like a penile erection. The erections are less nowadays. However, not the weapon.

The force of life and demise. When you murder something, for delight, not for nourishment, need, survival. The rush of the chase, on a costly junket ex-attorney man farm. Taste mixed drinks. Joke with comrades.

Offer the experience of a decent clean slaughter.

Cherish me. Kiss my weapon.

It really is ideal Dick doesn't need to toss a lance or pursue the winged animal.

It really is ideal the minimal spotted budgie sits still like posturing for a picture.

A man is a man is a man who bargains death....to things.

Hold up a moment! The winged creature tries to spare itself and flies. Dick needs to respond quickly...and shoots his partner.....also a silver haired, legal advisor loyalist.

Interestingly, Dick feels repulsiveness.

We did an air strike on a country town in which two suspected terrorists were killed...and likewise five youngsters. Dick didn't feel frightfulness for the youngsters. They merited it. Those kids were simply anonymous, faceless appearances.

Dick! You once had five draft suspensions. You were excessively occupied with, making it impossible to serve in the military while storing up a fortune. You generally let some other person do the battling while you sat warm and comfortable. This is your first very close experience seeing with your own eyes what transpires who's on the wrong end of a barrel. Your barrel.

Dick! Dick! It's verging on like you're in battle.

Benevolent flame.

Adore me. Kiss my firearm.

Dick will attempt to cover up what happened, as he does everything else. Until compelled to approach by feedback.

Until the following chase, he'll mount his weapon on a divider in a regarded place alongside a religious symbol, a cross.