It was, by his own admission, "one of the worst days of his life."
Not, by any stretch, the worst, but certainly one of the worst.
As he agonized over whether or not to accept Harry Whittington's apology for having the temerity to get his face in front of the veep's birdshot, Vice-President Dick Cheney recounted some of the other dark days that helped put this latest episode in perspective.
Here, laid out in chronological order by Mr. Cheney, are his 10 worst days.
1978 - The first heart attack
Oh, boy, you never forget your first. That one came up on me out of nowhere. I guess the stress of running the presidential campaign of the guy who pardoned Nixon finally caught up to me. A couple of the later heart attacks would be more painful and more debilitating, but there's just something about your first heart attack that really gets you down. I know I sure got moody. At one point I remember barking at the doctors, "Damn it, just tell me what I have to do so I'll only have to experience this four or five more times!"
1983 - Cheney votes with the majority to make Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday a national holiday
To be honest, this day is tough to talk about. I get it from both sides on this one. For the record, I voted against this holiday in 1979 and people who know me know where I stand. Did I flip-flop? Look, I could read the writing on the wall. But was it a mistake to reverse my position? Absolutely. Particularly given that the very people I was trying to curry favor with turned out to be so typically ungrateful. Well, guess what: every day is now Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday in the ninth ward of New Orleans. Hope you're enjoying the jobless, wageless, shelterless recovery. A-holes.
1984 - The second heart attack
It took a while to hit me that not only did Martin Luther King, Jr. have a national holiday named after him, but I had actually voted for it. As you can imagine, this put a real strain on the old ticker. It was scary, sure, but I'll always have a soft spot for this heart attack. This was the one that grabbed me by the neck and said, "Don't be a pansy. The next time you get a chance to vote up or down on someone considered a hero by black people, do the right thing." That's how I took it anyway. Funny thing is I'd never even heard of Nelson Mandela.
1985 - The U.S. House votes to ban "cop-killer" bullets
I like to call it National Cowards' Day, 1985. Only 20 of my 434 colleagues in the House of Representatives had the balls to join me in opposing the ban on armor-piercing bullets, dubbed by the liberal media elite as "cop-killer" bullets. One day they're telling you guns kill people, the next day it's bullets. The point is they will say anything to attack the American sportsman's way of life. A very sad day.
1988 - The third heart attack
This one had some bite to it. The quadruple bypass that followed was no picnic either. But being hospitalized after having your third heart attack before your 48th birthday does provide an opportunity for contemplative reflection. And a pansy might do just that. But I took this opportunity to noodle on ways to parlay my public service into a bonanza in the private sector. After they uncranked my ribcage and closed me up, it came to me almost in a dream: public money... private sector... no-bid contracts... corporate donors... My toughest but most productive heart attack.
1988 - House votes to ban plastic guns
This day was even worse than National Cowards' Day. This time, of the 435 so-called Americans in the House, only three joined me in opposing a ban on plastic guns that could slip through airport security machines. Even the NRA turned all namby-pamby on me on this one, failing to oppose the ban. I wept when I saw these 431 radicals gathering in the well of the House to relieve themselves on the second amendment to the Constitution.
1990 - Nelson Mandela freed
Imagine how you'd feel if all the work you'd done to earn the nickname "Apartheid's Congressman" had come to nothing? Am I proud to have voted against calling for the release of Mr. Mandela? You're damn right I am. When I think about him walking out of that prison after 27 years - in that light brown suit - so smugly... it pisses me off all over again. Look, the African National Congress was a terrorist organization, the very kind of people we would have had to keep plastic guns from if the U.S. Congress hadn't already surrendered our country's right to defend itself.
2000 - The fourth heart attack
Nov. 22, 2000, I remember it well. With those liberal activist judges in Florida threatening to count all the votes, is it any wonder my motor started knocking? (Note to self: Explore legal action against Florida Supreme Court.) Luckily, thanks to my doctors and five friends on the U.S. Supreme Court, what could have been the worst and last day of my life turned out just fine. November 22nd. I remember telling the docs to at least keep me on life support until midnight so I wouldn't be a footnote every year when the liberal media elite renew their love affair with Camelot. Talk about dodging a bullet.
2006 - Libby implicates Cheney
I have to admit it, the day that commie prosecutor flipped my pal made me want to shoot someone in the face. If Scooter didn't keep rejecting my hunting invitations, I'd have a chance to give him that "I know it was you, Scooter" kiss on the lips. The really sad part is he didn't have to betray me to save his skin because I had already decided to retroactively and unilaterally declassify the information I instructed him to blab to his ferret at the New York Times. Scooter panicked. It happens. But it will never be right between us.
Date unknown - "Mom, Dad, I have something to tell you."
Yeah, we thought ol' Mary had wandered pretty far off the reservation on that dark day. But after we sat down and discussed just how much (or how little) of my $43M in Halliburton money could possibly be hers one day, she decided to play ball. Smart kid. A lot of out-of-the-mainstream liberals have accused her of being self-loathing, but she's not. It's other gay people she hates. And that, more than anything else, has deepened the bond between us.
So you can see, while shooting Harry was one of the worst days of my life, it certainly wasn't the worst, or even in the top 10. I'd put it somewhere between that day when my fourth deferment from Vietnam was initially denied and that weird day when Tim Russert had the impertinence to press me for a clarification.
But it was pretty bad. Still, I'm going to take the high road and accept Harry's apology.