IF CHENEY & HIS HUNTING PALS WERE JEWISH

by Jake Novak

EXTERIOR the Woods. Vice President Cheney has just shot a fellow hunter.

CHENEY: Oy! I'm sorry I didn't see you there!

WHITTINGTON: So now he's sorry? For 20 years I'm trying to get a private meeting with this big shot and he only notices me after I get sprayed with birdshot? Listen, don't do me any favors. Just make sure your secret service golems don't try to finish me off before the ambulance gets here to take me to the goyishe hospital without the Jewish doctors.

EXT. The woods a few minutes later. Ambulance workers are fitting Whittington onto a stretcher.

CHENEY: Are you comfortable?

WHITTINGTON: Who me? I've got bird pellets over half my face and this guy wants to know if I'm comfortable. If I wanted this kind of a question, I would have voted for that idiot Quayle. At least he has decent eyesight.

CHENEY: That's not what I meant.

WHITTINGTON: You're right. When you said: "are you comfortable?" I should have said "Nu, I make a living." Listen, Mister... I just donated $200 thousand to the Republican Party. For that kind of money I expect a little better treatment. I'm thinking maybe Kerry's not so bad. At least he would have given me one of his purple hearts for this. Thrown them at me is more like it, but you get the idea. Listen, do me a favor and take Scalia with you next time.

INT. a hospital room a few hours later.

CHENEY: The President sends his best wishes.

WHITTINGTON: That's nice. Listen, I hope I didn't bother him. God forbid. Kayin hara I'm not from New Orleans.

CHENEY: Here come the police to ask you a few questions. You know what to say, right?

WHITTINGTON: He asks me, "do I know what to say?" He shoots me in the head and now HE'S the expert on what to do?

A large Texas county sheriff wearing a 10-gallon hat enters the room... turns out he is Jewish too.

SHERIFF: Nu! Yiddin! Who's niftir?

CHENEY: Ay! Don't say that! What you want me to be the next Spiro Agnew? I got three more years in office, pu pu pu.

WHITTINGTON: Excuse me, can I say something?

SHERIFF: You want to make a statement sir?

WHITTINGTON: Yeah. Halevay this should happen to bin Laden. Yimach schmoe.

SHERIFF: There are some members of the press outside. Should I let them in?

WHITTINGTON: Sure, sure. Who's ashamed? I look like a six-day old tzimmes, but what's the problem? But whatever you do, don't let the New York Times reporter in. Cartoons of Muhammad they won't print, but me looking like a piece of raw flanken will be on the front page!

Int. Hospital room. The next morning. A nice looking blonde doctor with a thick Texas accent is examining Whittington.

DOCTOR: It looks like y'all gonna be fine. You took a tarring from that Winchester, but I reckon you got a few good years left.

WHITTINGTON: I get shot and suddenly I get good years? Listen, I was happy when I was miserable.

The Doctor leaves the room.

CHENEY: He seems like a nice fellow.

WHITTINGTON: If it's all the same to you, I'd like a second opinion from another doctor.

CHENEY: You mean one who has more experience?

WHITTINGTON: I mean one who has a bris. Mamish, I couldn't understand a word that shaygitz said.

CHENEY: To tell you truth, me either. It's like this every time I try to talk to the President. Nebuch, you'd think the Commander-in-Chief could get a decent speech coach. It's a shanda.

WHITTINGTON: Speaking of shanda. What's with that daughter of yours. She's still not dating a nice bocher?

CHENEY: Actually, she just went out on a date with your daughter.
Whittington's monitor starts flat-lining, alarms ring out

NURSE: Code blue, code blue!

FADE OUT