Dick

On a recent date, Dick and I started talking about those mundane subjects that usually come up on first dates like family and hobbies. Early on in the conversation, Dick asked me the predictable question about pets. I told him a little bit about my cat and then returned the question. He answered that yes, he had a dog named Cheney. The first thought that ran through my mind, “Shit, are you fucking kidding me???” Giving him the benefit of the doubt, hoping that he chose that name because Cheney is a family name, or that when he kicks the dog it is because he is trying to make a political statement. Of course, there was no such luck. Instead my dates response was “I LOVE Cheney. He is the ultimate man, my hero.” The second thought that ran through my mind was “oh please, someone shoot me, put me out of my misery.”
As the date goes on the fact that our morals, values and ultimate outlook on life could not be any further apart could not become any more apparent. We part and I promptly went home and texted my friend: “Just went out with a criminal who named his dog Cheney. Think I should give him another chance?”