Vice President Cheney spent many a pleasant evening at the undisclosed location being transfused with a concoction of blackmarket stem cells chased with excellent bourbon.

The windowless apartment - its whereabouts so secret that even Wolfie and Chalabi always arrived under escort and blindfolded - was furnished in the manner of an Edwardian men's club with certain striking eccentricities. There was a splendid display of taxidermy; the Lowland Gorilla became a droll hat-rack and the Clouded Leopard a footstool. There was a single massive chandelier, borrowed from the West Wing one amusing night in '04 and replaced with a clever replica.

We have it on good authority that George W. Bush's college cocaine dealer was detained here, and allowed out of his cell on social evenings to serve as under-butler. The rest of the household staff were Nubian serving girls and Turkish eunuchs.

A library wall concealed a bank of monitors by which the Vice President could track the movements of enemies and "friends of interest." Presidential press conferences were a favorite entertainment, rare as they were. Mr. Cheney and his intimates enjoy a good laugh just like you and me.

Those were good times, but there are better ones to come. The experimental transfusions worked and the patient can now be exposed to full daylight with little danger of combustion. Mirrors remain an inconvenience, but a kidnapped Romanian scientist has done some promising work in that area as well. With Dubai's economy slowing, plans for Halliburton Island have been put on hold. No rest for the weary, eh?

One grows bored with secret power. It is time you bastards know who pulls the strings. No more lurking in the shadows. No more Mister Nice Guy. 

It is time. Yes, indeed it is time.