Dick CheneyFormer Vice President of the United States

Sometime last year I was on my way back from Histori-Con ’09 in NY and I ended up stopping at the Houlihan’s in Weehawken, NJ. Every time I come back from any gaming convention in NY and I’m just over the bridge into Jersey, I start to desire bar food at restaurant prices.

I started on a Wings & Things appetizer sampler, and then I realized that there were five suits crammed into the booth behind me. When I looked at who was sitting there, I was shocked; it was none other than former vice-president Dick Cheney and a contingent of black-suited, mirror-shade wearing, secret service agents.

Shrugging aside the newly arrived Wings & Things, I approached Cheney’s table. The booth was overloaded with secret service personnel. The former vice-president looked up at me and uttered a few choice words: “What the fuck do you want?”

“You blaze?” I asked him, gesturing toward my face as if holding a joint.

* * *
Several minutes later we were lighting up a bowl on the bench seating of my 1990 Oldsmobile station wagon. Two of his secret service guys were in the back seat. They weren’t smoking, but that didn’t matter too much in a sealed vehicle.

For several passes of the bowl, we didn’t say anything. It was a very Zen moment, but Cheney eventually shattered it and asked me: “So what, are you like some deadbeat or something?”

“Sure,” I said. “I mean. It beats doing stuff, right?”

“True dat,” he said and took another hit.

“How about you?” I said.

He laughed. “What do you mean?”

“Well what if I asked you the same thing, right? Like, ‘so what, are you the prophesized antichrist?’”

Cheney laughed again. “You’ve got the wrong idea, friend,” he said with an awkward grimace, that I quickly realized was his version of a smile. “All I did was try to create stability where there was none.”

“Yeah but, dude, there’s no real stability anywhere.”

He smiled again; still a frightening visage. “Then you do get it,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, you said it, there’s no stability. We don’t live in a stable world. It’s like that Men in Black movie with… ummm… Ice T, was it?”

“Will Smith.” I said.

“No no, he was a rapper.”

“Yeah, Will Smith,” I said. “Remember, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince? Parents Just Don’t Understand? He even had a sitcom, the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.”

“Was that the one with Urkel?” Cheney asked.

“No, that was Family Matters. Remember, Fresh Prince had that catchy theme song: In West Philadelphia born and raised / On the playground was where I spend most of my days… ” Cheney suddenly joined in: “…Chillin’ out maxin’ relaxin’ all cool / And all shootin’ some b-ball outside of the school / When a couple of guys / Who were up to no good / Started makin’ trouble in my neighborhood / I got in one little fight and my mom got scared / She said ‘You’re movin’ with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air.’” Both of us switched to squeaky, high-pitched voices for the last line, and then laughed until we were out of breath.

“Yeah, I remember that shit,” Cheney said, lighting the bowl for another hit. “…what was I talking about?”

“Men in Black,” I offered.

“Oh right,” he said, exhaling. “In that they’re telling him how, like, the world is always about to be blown up by aliens, or some shit like that, and the only way people could get on with their lives was not to be told about it. You see what I’m saying?”

“So we’ve been threatened by aliens before?” I asked.

“It’s just an example, all kinds of crazy shit is always going on. If it’s not aliens, it’s the Koreans, if it’s not them it’s the French…”

“But aliens have threatened us?”

“Just drop the thing about the goddamn aliens, okay?” he said.

“Alright, alright…” I dropped the issue. He was only the slightest bit bothered by the question, but seeing the potential in his eyes for a terrifying outburst of anger, I decided to quit while I was ahead. I also decided not to inquire why the former vice-president of the United States, and possibly secret ruler of some New World Order shit, was quoting Men in Black.

Cheney took the piece to eyelevel and looked down the chamber. “This shit’s kicked, dawg,” He said in the lamest ‘hip old uncle’ voice I’d ever heard. “Let’s get order some food or something.”

“Dude,” I said. “We’re at Houlihan’s already.”

“Fuck… Houlihan’s,” Cheney muttered.

* * *
Back in the restaurant, we were sitting at a booth across from each other, with one of Cheney’s bodyguards sitting next to each of us. The remaining secret service personnel sat at the booth I had originally occupied. The former vice-president browsed through the menu, while I poked my cold Wings & Things platter with a fork.

“What the fuck is an Itty Bitty Burger? Why the hell would I want them to make a hamburger smaller? I know it comes with a few of them, but if you want more of something why not just make it bigger? I just don’t understand America anymore,” he said, then looked over at me dissecting my food. “What’s your problem?”

“It’s kind of cold,” I said. The server walked by at that moment, a pimple-faced gangly kid with the beginnings of a mustache. “Excuse me, could I get this heated up?”

“Oh man… I don’t know,” he said, scratching his scraggly hair. “I mean, I think… like, you might have to buy another one… or something… let me check with my manager—”

“Listen, you little shit-stain,” Cheney blurted out, gesturing at the server with a fork, “you put that fucking food back on the burner for him or you and all your stupid little minimum-wage friends here will be strapped upside-down to the ceiling of a rape-room in a Ukrainian ‘Re-Education’ Center so fast that your family will still be expecting you home for dinner! You understand?”

The server, terrified beyond belief, nodded, grabbed my food, and ran back to the kitchen. I began to crack-up.

“What?” Cheney asked, with a grin. “Sometimes you just have to represent.”

For the rest of our encounter we ate our food (Cheney, out of curiosity, decided on the Itty Bitty Burgers) and discussed Battlestar Galactica, Entourage, and the latest season of True Blood, which Cheney felt “was too far out there.” Eventually, Cheney’s schedule dictated his departure. We exchanged Xbox gamertags, shook hands, said we’d keep in touch, and that was the end of it. As Cheney’s limo pulled away, I could faintly hear the music of the Fresh Prince blasting from its sound system. I waved as it passed, but its tinted windows prevented me from seeing if my gesture was returned.

And that was the time I smoked a bowl with Dick Cheney at the Houlihan’s in Weehawken, NJ.