My parrot's adventure as a Sunday talking head

Last night I had the strangest dream. My parrot was the token "liberal" commentator on a Sunday talking head show. In the dream, the role was actually called "color commentator", like John Madden on football games. It seemed appropriate because my parrot is very colorful.

Dick Cheney was on, and the professional journalists asked really tough questions, like: "Don't you think it would be a good idea to attack Iraq?" To which Cheney replied, "Yes, exactly. It's our duty to oust Saddam to defend our freedoms. Make war, not love."

All my poor parrot could get in was: "Chicken-hawk. Chicken-hawk."

The next question was about Democrats who questioned the need to oust Saddam, and the timing during the election campaign. Cheney: "Only un-American terrorist-sympathizers would dare imply that the main purpose of the war is to cover up our fraud and incompetence."

My parrot started saying "Wag the dog. Wag the dog."....

But it was on to the next tough question about Halliburton: "Dick, you did a fantastic job leading Halliburton, but now a few Democrats have questioned the securities fraud you instigated, and they keep replaying the advertisement you made for Andersen -- that Andersen showed you all kinds of ways to save money that went above and beyond the law." To which Cheney replied, "I'm not allowed to comment on any pending investigations, so I can't defend myself today against these unfounded, baseless charges that the Democrat Party operatives are spreading in a craven effort to protect Saddam. But if you go to www.haliburton.com -- that's w-w-w dot h-a-l-i-b-u-r-t-o-n dot com -- you'll find all the details there."

My parrot apparently gave up trying to ask questions, and just chanted "Not a crook. Not a crook. I am not a crook." And his head bobbed up and down. Both the Faux "journalist" and the faux veep were severely irritated at my parrot's constant squawking.

The last question was something about the perp-walks for a few corporate Republican mega-thieves. My parrot kept saying "Kenny Boy, Kenny Boy.... Kenny Boy, Kenny Boy."

Dick had had enough, and lunged for my parrot's throat. But parrots are pretty flighty, and mine was already airborne when Dick's hands closed around the space previously occupied by my parrot's neck.

Then my parrot was hovering just over Dick's head, squawking "Coup d'etat, coup d'etat," when one of those unfortunate pet-bird incidents occurred. It wouldn't have been quite so bad, except Dick was looking up, shaking his fist.

When the poop splattered across Dick's face, the shit hit the fan, and the secret service swooped in.

Now my parrot is an enemy combatant on the lam; the nation is on Red and Blue and Green alert; and General Ashcroft's storm-troopers are training all the Neighborhood Watches to be bird watchers. Osama bin Forgotten is out, and my parrot is public enemy number one.

Meanwhile, I'm still hoping to wake up from this nightmare.