No Comment — June 26, 2007, 11:16 am

Defund Dick Cheney

He sputters obscenities on the floor of the Senate, peddles torture to members of Congress behind closed doors like crack, and has an unnerving habit of mixing alcohol and firearms (ask Harry Whittington, who took more than 100 pellets in the face and chest, suffered a heart attack, and then in an act worthy of a North Korean dictator was compelled to apologize to the man who shot him on television!) And yet this hardly begins to describe Vice President Dick Cheney or the damage that he’s done.

You can do something about it. Write your Congressman and Senators today and urge them to support Rep. Rahm Emanuel’s measure to defund the Office of the Vice President. That’s right, defund it. Since Dick Cheney insists that he’s not a part of the Executive Branch (in order to avoid oversight of his abuse of classified information – which, as those who followed the trial of Scooter Libby know, is the specialty of the Office of the Vice President), why should the taxpayers pay for it!

Courtesy of Todd Gitlin, more on the move to defund Dick right here.

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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