I was slinging hash at the local greasy spoon when this man in a trenchcoat walks in flanked by two or three or eight bodyguards. He asks if we have any more mud and I tell him a new pot just went on, give it a minute or five. I guess this wasn't the night to test his patience, because right then I saw a shadow move real fast, and before I knew it, I hit the ground hard, blood dribbling from both knees. That's when Dick Cheney shot me too.