In Which He Has Nothing Else To Do But Watch Lost

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Everything’s Not Lost

by Dick Cheney

Lost

executive producers Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof

Not two days ago, I woke in a drunken haze. A woman was slapping my face, and after a fashion I noticed she was also cupping my sugarlumps. My eyes flickered and then closed. At least, despite everything else, I was home.

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The comforts of home, for most, aren’t as large and testicularly comforting as they are for me. The Earth that Jack Shephard returned to three years ago disappeared in a pill-popping, painful existence where Kate was doing things for Sawyer on the side. Soon enough, he was sharing a hotel room with Benry Gale, who flushed all his good meds down the toilet.

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At least he didn’t have to wave goodbye to Osama and that Amtrak rider on his way out of the White House. It wasn’t a proud moment last week, as we got booted from the White House and all we got for our trouble was manifold jeers and a poem by a woman who had clearly never written one before. Then again, can you blame them for giving us the finger on the way out?

If we spent 170 million on an inauguration, Jon Stewart would have done a two hour special on what assholes we are. Meanwhile, Nightline just did a two segment special titled “If Barack Had A Vagina, It’d Be Supertight, Wouldn’t It?”

To be fair, neither he or us is truly responsible for the current devastation of the economy, and what has and will become of this world.

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But goddamnit those eight years were a bunch of fun. They can’t take that away from me. And even though my left leg feels like it weighs over 300 pounds and I haven’t peed on my own in damn near over a month, it’s time for my retirement to begin. Like Desmond, it’s all boat hotties and nautical pregnancies from here on in.

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Lynne wheeled me in front of the television for last week’s two hour premiere of Lost. I was more confused than Larry Summers at a wedding shower, or Rahm Emanuel if his penis accidentally got inside a woman.

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At the beginning of Lost‘s run, the island was a maudlin place all wanted to be free from. Now it’s a paradise with endless energy that can be tapped into. No wonder Widmore wants to get there – he probably invested with Bernie Madoff.

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Back on the island, Daniel Faraday went from a guest appearance to running the whole f’n show. “I couldn’t explain what’s happening here to a quantum physicist,” he blabbers to Sawyer. The wobegone face on the blond castaway’s mug was a sad sight, and the prospect of giving Juliet a hard bang isn’t much of a consolation prize.

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desmond’s purple disguise

Lost is as confused as we are. It’s nobody’s fault. America: the dream had to end sometime. Presiding over the apocalypse is Sun, who is all of a sudden a powerful executive with the presumably multibillion dollar settlement she received from Oceanic Airlines. Can I get that betch’s lawyer, please?

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“mommy likes to run, aaron. mommy likes to run.”

Sun practically told Kate that Ben was responsible for the paternity suit, but she still didn’t get it. Who else would benefit from Kate deciding it would be super-great to head back to the island with a baby that isn’t hers? “They don’t want to expose us,” Sun tells her, “or they would just do it.” Next week’s episode, titled The Little Prince, promises more Aaron-based drama.

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Breaking Hurley out of prison may be Ben’s tougher task. The former Hugo Reyes upset his mother by telling her the truth, although she does still have his vast millions to console herself with. Ben’s planning on bringing quite a few folks back to the island, along with the corpse of John Locke. Considering Oceanic 815 fell to Earth with a coffin onboard, that’s not such a terrible idea. But fuck the rest of the world: the island’s the place to be.

The incredibly young looking Richard Alpert indicates that there’s a lengthy process by which the Others choose their leaders. Since Ben was able to get the job done, let’s guess that the qualifications include undercover reconnaissance and sleeping head to foot with Jack in hotel rooms nationwide.

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There’s ample evidence that the Others are a distinct race of beings, possibly descended from the four-toed statue. Unlike the sons of Kenyans who bang our native Kansans to produce devastatingly smooth politicians, the Others have aristocratic roots. The coming Daniel Widmore flashback episode will reveal the answers to questions you didn’t know you had, like “Is Penny’s mother somehow Claire?” and “Will Daniel Faraday necrobang the British chick’s corpse if it comes to it?”

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Widmore’s been trying to get back to the island since he first left it. His falling out with Richard Alpert is both about the island and over that sweet piece of military ass they both coveted out there in the jungle. Cocooned in my little chair, watching last night’s acid trip of episodic television that is Lost, I realized what my future holds. Things were so much better in the 1950s, when Daniel Widmore was just a baby. Things made sense then.

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I’m going to go back there. I’m going to find Daniel Faraday’s mother in Los Angeles, introduce her to the kama sutra, and force her to make me ovaltine and send me back to the 1950s. Lynne never did a very good job of massaging my sugarlumps anyway.

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I want jungle pussy, too, but do you know what it costs today? You could get island ass for a fucking nickel back then. 2009’s for the birds. 1954 is all unprotected sex and speaking in Latin. If there’s a bomb threat, all you have to do is bury the thing underground. In 2009 you shyly confess your love while begging for your life, and  the bomb goes off whether you like it or not. In 1954 you get your balls rubbed by a chick who knows how to operate a rifle. The only advantage of 2009 is that Driveshaft’s greatest guitar player has been memorialized by the demon spawn of Desmond and Penny Hume.

Dick Cheney is the former Vice President of the United States.

my former residence

“The Shrew” – Beirut (mp3)

“On a Bayonet” – Beirut (mp3)

“The Akara” – Beirut (mp3)

“My Wife” – Beirut (mp3)

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PREVIOUSLY ON THIS RECORDING

The hair makes the man in No Country for Old Men.

Venus and Serena remind us of the future.

John C. Reilly’s beautiful singing voice.

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6 thoughts on “In Which He Has Nothing Else To Do But Watch Lost

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