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L.A. Innuendo editor/amateur stuntman Richard Rushfield indulges his taste for Mountain Dew-style extreme risks and courts grievous bodily injury for Slate, donning the t-shirts of both political campaigns and plunging headlong into the city's most partisan neighborhoods. Amazingly, he survives the ordeal in this charged climate without so much as a bite mark or kicked shin, though he is called an "asshole" by a Silverlake hipster. He does, however, manage to spook a toddler with the spectre of Dick Cheney:

I enter the faux-rustic Brentwood Country Mart, a collection of shops intended to look like an olde-time barnyard...Dining nearby is a young girl who looks to be about 6-years-old; she gazes at my shirt with a look so forlorn, I expect to learn that Dick Cheney just stole her crayons. Her mother arrives and gives her a hug of consolation. The girl starts to talk, but I can only make out "Bush shirt," which she says to her mother as she points my way. The mother turns and glares, shaking her head at me. I start to wonder what sort of person I am to inflict this on a poor child.