People who say that there's no such thing as a bad headache are big woofin'. My headache was so fucking bad, it felt like there was a ninja in my frontal cortex singing about millionaires. I needed some fast relief, so I stepped out onto the street, and trudged on over to the corner store to get some black tar heroin.

Just then, Blake Schwarzenbach, lead singer for the indy-pop group Jets To Brazil, ran by me. I yelled, "Blake!" He turned around. I yelled, "What's up?"

He tells me this story about this dude who was talking shit about Ving Rhames. I'm like, "Dude. Nobody fucks with celebrated actor Ving Rhames! Who is this squirrel-fisting motherfucker?!"

Blake Schwarzenbach blinked, then ran home.

So I hurried over to The Trout Pond, which is this bar out in Newcastle, where Fernando sometimes chills, but he wasn't there. I called up Ving. "Dude!" I said. "That emo bitch told me that some fool's been straight punkin' you."

"It was Dick Cheney," admitted Ving. Then I heard a click. Ving Rhames had hung up on me! What a wad!

I bounced 'cause I had to be at Katie Couric National Park 'cause I was filming a commercial for bears. On the way there, I saw a large crowd gathered around something. I'm all, "What's this crowd gathered around?"

It was the Vice President and Ving Rhames, sitting across from each other at a picanick table. They both had delicious rhubarb pies in front of them. It's a pie eating contest (obviously Pat Sajak's idea), and everybody knows Ving Rhames hates a pie. HATES a pie.

I'm thinking, "Ohhhh fuck. Shit's about to go down."

At first, Ving had the advantage. Cheney had only made it through half his pie. Whereas if Ving's pie was a pie chart, his remaining slice would represent the percentage of Americans who both know all the words to Jessica Simpson songs, and shouldn't be instantly murdered for it. But Cheney was catching up quickly, shoving pieces of goeey pie through his laryngectomy hole.

I knew something had to be done. But I hella couldn't think of anything.

Then it occured to me: why don't I start training penguins to wear jetpacks? That would be tight!

As I was leaving, Cheney finished his pie and rang a bell. "I'm gonna fuckin' BEAT YO ASS, mothafucka!" screamed Ving Rhames. Cheney sneered back at him, but his heart reacted differently.

Vice President Richard Cheney was pronounced dead on Saturday, Febuary 8th, 1997. But that wasn't really when he died. He faked his own death to avoid a dance-off with Rob Lowe. He actually died, like, yesterday.

Dashboard Confessional performed at his funeral.

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