Cheney's Mistress' Diary, part 1

 Pamela Pitzer Willesford was the Third Huntress on 2/11 When Dick Shot Harry on the vast Armstrong Ranches in South Texas. Indeed, Pamela P. Willesford, Ambassadress to Switzerland, was the closest witness to The Deed. Ms. Armstrong was so far away, she thought Mr. Cheney had been felled with a heart attack instead of his having blasted Mr. Whittington in the face and chest with a shotgun.



Note: This material is scurrilous, scatological, tasteless, and rife with raunch and contumely. If that ain’t your cuppo tea, I implore you to skip it.

   If it weren’t of such excruciating historical significance I would never print such nouveau faux upperclass smut. And this is the redacted version. For the unexpurgated filth and mindblowing world domination schemes, enter your ycn, yocto-code-number in the usual place.

   A copy of this was sent to me by Mr. Azul, a whistleblower in deepest cover as a servant for the Darth family. (‘Darth’ is the zetta-secret Knights of Light cryptonym for Mr. Cheney.) Mr. Azul has been Darth’s valet for decades. The mole of moles, it is the most dangerous job in the world. Like copying the Pentagon Papers, copying Pamela P. Willesford’s Diary entails an ultra-risk that neither you nor I can shudderingly imagine.

   Don’t birdshot the messenger aka Don’t be shooting the messenger – at least not in the face and chest.


 Pamela Pitzer Willesford’s Diary, Part 1


   When I got the note from one of my secret love spies (Lottie Libby, Scooter’s wife, who, by the way, steps out too) about GD’s trip to Rolling Rock Game Club in Pennsylvania where he shot 70 semi-tame pheasants before lunch, I, ahem, dampened my Parisian couture panties. (Paris is so close to Bern, that capital of Swiss chocolates and more to the point my favorite Swiss bank.) I’m the one who nicknamed Dick, ‘GD’ as our love-code for Gigantic Dick (Truth isn’t everything; staying alive is, as Eva would tell you.) The Secret Service even uses ‘GD’ now, as he includes quite a few of them in his harem.

   GD has young George completely on a string. (Prezzie we call young Georgie when we giggle, GD & me, after you know what, our heads on the pillows and GD with his dentures out and his gums pinkly glistening.) Anyhow Prezzie begs to be one GD’s mares, but GD tortures him by refusing this honor. Gigantic is so clever at torture. He was born to torture. In a past life he was Torquemada’s shadowy more vicious advisor. So sexy. So sexy to hear him talk about the rack and the Iron Maiden, especially the ghastly impaling dirty version.

    He calls me his Swiss Miss. It was my very veiled threat to go to the International Enquirer with ‘Sex Secrets of Gigantic Dick’ that won me The Plum – Ambassadress to Switzerland — as they say in Ambassador Scam circles where the hardest decision any of us makes from day to day is between Krug Clos du Mesnil 95 and Cristal 1990 for that night’s gala.

    Gigantic and I go at it hammer and tongs (He’s into tools) while that drip Lynne and that triple drip Laura go some middle-class stud strip club, stuff twenties into jock straps, and giggle. Zippety do dah. Now Condi always has had Prezzie (&/or Laura) as a toy boy, but I do not know what she sees in him. He is so callow and prefers cuddling while sucking his thumb to any manly action. Ick. (Dick is nothing if not all manly action.)

   I have a platinum key card to #1 Observatory Circle, the Veep Rez, and oh the raunchy times in the pantry off GiganDick’s EOB office! Before I got the Switzerland Ambassador plum, my fondest memories are of our many rendezvous in the Executive Office Building, our EOB.

   Now we mostly meet in St. Moritz for what I fondly call “our unspeakable acts.” Yes, that where He is all those times they say he’s in a bunker. A very posh bunker indeed, I can tell you, with great, apparently inspiring, views of the Matterhorn. However, my favorite Swiss rendezvous is at RBA Zentral Bank at Lagerhausweg 10, one of the many banks where Dick has his own huge private vault of Halliburton cash, ever readied for the tryst. We meet there and frolic, not so clothed, in millions of thousand-dollar bills, all new. $17,000 Champagne and bathing in billions – you have no idea the aphrodisiac that is.        

    Lynne hates me, but she likes her own perks too much to squeal. She shoots daggers at me when swan-like I am across the room at a White House bash and Dick takes little glances at me because he knows I have no knickers under the Dior couture and that she is a terminal frump. Do you wonder that he goes hunting with me? At these White House soirees, we always skip over to the EOB for a quick prod before the soup is served. I have dozens of  'blue dresses.' 

   Unfortunately Lynne found Dick scrawling a Valentine’s card to “Pammie Pussums, my Bouncing Buxom Cowgal” and freaked out. Dick has her restrained and retrained in the Veep Rez Dungeon when she gets “miffy.” My hubby ‘Boots’ Willesford III is just a convenient cover, el beardo. Like the good Texas ole boy he is, ‘Boots’ has always preferred she-hogs and sheep to women. “Jee-suss Kee-rist, Pammie, you ain’t even as much fun as a pure-bred Cheviot,” he said to me on our wedding night. I burst into tears as you might guess. Cheviots are sheep. ‘Boots’ is a gut doc, (a gastroenterologist) and makes lots and lots of dough, good for a cowgal from Breckenridge TX, a half-a-horse town if there ever was one. I hope ‘Boots’ makes the sheep happy. I couldn’t wait to get to a different continent from ‘Boots’ and play dungeons and dungeons, Inquisitors and nuns, with the most powerful man whoever slouched on the Earth. So, who are you & who do you screw?

   Yes, yes, so it’s all ultra-kinky and deeply disturbed. But what might happen if I weren’t willing to relieve certain pressures and tensions from GD? Then what? A floozy a day keeps the mushroom cloud away. All I’ll get in history is tsk tsk and condemnation from the closet adulterers, but I may be single-handedly saving the world from final meltdown. You should hear Dick’s schemes.

   I remember the night I went to Medline Plus and looked up paranoid schizophrenia: “In this type of schizophrenia, the individual has feelings of being persecuted or plotted against. Affected individuals may have grandiose (over-the-top) delusions associated with protecting themselves from the perceived plot.

   “The key symptoms are delusions and/or auditory hallucinations. Paranoid schizophrenia usually does not involve the disorganized speech and behavior that is seen in other types of schizophrenia. Patients with paranoid schizophrenia typically are tense, suspicious, guarded, and reserved.”

   Well, I realized that I was dealing with a lot of danger to me and the world. Dick is deranged. I know that. But where do you think I could escape to? Once upon a time I thought I might go to wherever Bin Laden is hanging out as he seemed to be safe. Then Dick told me that they were saving Bin Laden for early September 2006 just in time for a boost to the midterm elections. What – you thought they’d just sit there and take it in the shorts??     


   Of course by now you’ve guessed that Dick Shot Harry because Harry made lewd suggestions about his shotgun and me when we all got liquored up at Kitty Armstrong's little lunch on 2/11. I laughed and flirted a little. Dick meant to shoot Harry even lower, if you know what I mean. Dick’s the kind of guy who’s a mean drunk even when he’s sober.



Cheney's Mistress' Diary part two Pamela's Pomeranian


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