Well, this is going to be a mess, all these dead people turning up. Of course they couldn't point a finger at him. And if they did, he’d just tell them a quick joke. He looked at the seven-word question again. Why did people die over this when he didn't even understand it? In a most peculiar and unfamiliar way this made him feel inadequate. Abruptly Frank called out, "Mr. Vice President!" "What?" Cheney snapped. "We have an emergency. I have at least seven confirmed deaths – we’re evacuating you immediately." "Seven?" Cheney thought. "I don't remember that many..." "Please hurry sir – Marine Two is on the pad." "Shit," he thought, "this is a damn pain in the ass." Soon the powerful whoop-whoop-whoop of the chopper was whisking him to safety -- safety from an incomprehensible joke in his own pocket. At this point protocol required the vice president to hand the copilot a note with one of the several destinations appropriate for evacuation dependent upon the nature of the threat. But Cheney wasn't thinking about protocol as he fished the killing joke out of his pocket. As he held it in front of him, the copilot turned and took it from him. In the noisy cabin of the helicopter the helmeted copilot couldn't hear Cheney shouting at him as he read the killing joke into his intercom. The helicopter began a slow spin and spiraled down, crashing on the White House lawn in a flaming Hollywood pyrotechnic explosion thus putting an end to two toxic jokes simultaneously. | 
