Get Me The VP...NOW!

Okay, check out this headline...

Singer Don Ho Says Procedure Saved Him

HONOLULU - Legendary Hawaiian crooner Don Ho' says he could barely walk, let alone sing, and would have been a "goner" without an experimental stem cell procedure on his ailing heart earlier this month in Thailand.

Seems innocuous enough, yes?

Well, there's a problem with this story. A big problem.

See back in the early eighties, during a dark, dark time in my life, I used to pull black bag jobs for Dick Cheney. This was when he still ruled the world in secret.

The jobs I pulled were the nasty ones, the suicide ops. Sure, I was scared, but you eat the fear with a little Grey Poupon and it's quite delicious.

Anyway, so I get this call from Mr. Cheney (or as we liked to call him back then -- King Of All Evil -- and he tells me there's a traitor in the operation.

My mind raced through the possiblities. madonna was too chickenshit to pull anything like this and Boy George was busy establishing his street cred. at that point.

There was only one name left. Mr. Cheney, or KOAE, had hung up by this point but I knew what I had to do.

The flight over was bad, real bad. Bumpy and ugly, and that was just my seatmate. The bag of peanuts hardly put a dent in the raging hunger that consumed the center of my being.

The girls proferring lei's were pretty enough, sure, but I wasn't distracted for a second. I made my way to Ho's lair, catching a taxi at the airport.

Ho's place was dark and dank. Cigarette smoke whirled lazily, blown this way and that by the ancient ceiling fans. The man was no where to be seen so I staked out a booth and a gin and settled in to wait.

It wasn't a long wait. He strutted out on stage and started warbling some crap song about tiny bubbles. About halfway through the song he noticed me, his swarthy face blanched like lobster dropped in the pot and squealing from the pressure.

He made no pretense at playing it cool and bolted off the stage. I followed. The night air washed over my sweaty frame like a tonic, his little feet pounding down the alley set off something primal in my gut and I took off after him.

He ducked and dodged but somewhere around block three I managed to snag a handful of his greasy hair and bring him to a stuttering halt.

Pleas and entreaties filled the alley. Like I cared. The gunshot when it came was like a gentle kiss compared to what he deserved, the rat bastard.

So I ate his liver, with a nice Chianti.

So, whoever this guy is in Thailand? Take it from Jake, it ain't the Ho.

Don Ho
Dick Cheney
Black Bag Ops