What I Learned About Being a Dickhead

by JEENIE CRISCENZO

Visitors to the San Diego Zoo today had a surprise in store for them–the chain gang trio (Bush, Cheney and Condi) were bobbling their heads and performing their antics, dressed in prison stripes and waving big money around. I got to wear the Cheney head, which I reluctantly admit, means that I spent the morning being a Dick-head.

As always, I never pass up the opportunity to learn from my experiences, so while I stood there on the corner of Park Blvd. & Zoo Place, telling everyone walking by that they should be in Iraq, I came up with a short list of observations. I’ll share them with you, in case you were considering becoming a Dick-head yourself one day.

First–getting inside the head of a neo-con is a terrifying experience, but wearing the paper-mache head is no picnic either. It’s heavy! And something in the helmet embedded in the contraption kept pulling at my hair. I was certain that when I finally un-donned the beast, I’d have a bald spot in the back of my head. Dick-heading gave me a headache. No wonder Cheney always looks so angry!

Second–there’s a very narrow view of the world when you are seeing it from Dick Cheney’s mouth. I couldn’t see on the left at all because that side of his mouth was scrunched in his trademark talking-out-of-the-side-of-his-mouth snarl. Then there was the big hundred-dollar bill stuck in the mouth which forced me to look at everything through the money lens. I wear progressive bifocals, so it was a trick to position my glasses to focus without the head sliding forward and blocking my view completely.

Third–People might pretend they like you when you’re a Dick-head, but secretly they were wishing me dead. At one point I had to pull Bush Bobble-head away from the curb where cars turning the corner. Call me paranoid, but some of those cars appeared to be trying to run us over! Mothers walking by with their kids in tow, eyed me suspiciously, even though their children thought I was a Disney character. I tried to be friendly, inviting the little darlings to join the military, offering them a ride in my un-armored Humvee. But while they laughed, no one asked to have their photo taken with me like they did with my boy-George. It was pretty lonely being a Dick-head.

Fourth–People don’t seem to be too happy about my little war game. The majority of people going by were holding up two fingers in that snarky, Communist peace sign! They yelled out some pretty nasty things–like "Impeach the bastards!"

I started out thinking there were five things I learned today. But my head hurts and my feet hurt and my feelings hurt. So I’ll just end it here. All in all, I wouldn’t recommend being a Dick-head. Thank God I was able to extricate myself from the mess. It was easy–I simply impeached myself. In case the original Dick-head is listening, I suggest you do the same–you’ll feel a whole lot better afterwards–as I do now. In fact. We’ll all feel a lot better. And I won’t have to waste another beautiful Sunday in May standing on the corner being a Dick-head.

Jeeni Criscenzo is a flaming liberal who ran for Congress in 2006 and now spends her time writing and working to get Dennis Kucinich elected President so we can all go home and be content again.

 

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