Excerpts from the former vice president's forthcoming memoir.

"We want to see the minutes of your energy-policy meetings," she barked, her snotty, liberal leftist nose high in the air. "We want to know the lobbyists you've met with." I just stared through her. "Listen, missy," I replied. "You're not fooling me. You're trying to find out what we're doing, so you can tell everybody, and that's not going to happen!"

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It was heartbreaking. He looked at me with those sad, defeated eyes and rasped, "Mr. Vice President, I let you down." Well, what could I say? I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "No, please, never think that way." But, inside, I was angry with him. I wanted to shout, "Christ, Harry, what in hell were you doing, poking your big face right into my line of fire?"

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I knew from her glassy-eyed grin that Lynne was well into her fourth tequila and valium. "Guesh what," she said. "Your pretty little daughter has gone and got himself a girlfriend."

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The hippies were out there, protesting a war that we were waging to defend their right to protest wars. Sadly, they couldn't see the reality: During wartime, there's just no place for that kind of protest.

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I warned Scooter about talking to Robert Novak. "Remember," I said. "No matter what he says, no matter how he acts, he's CNN. We're Fox."

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