Cheney has taken a semester-long descent into addled behavior: A typical night might include a lie to his young sons' minders about how he's just popping out to the drugstore, a trip to some clubs where he gets so looped that he decides he must change into the ill-fitting bikinis worn by the waitresses, a substance binge that lasts until he vomits on himself, and, in a boot-and-rally move worthy of the Delta Tau Delta brotherhood, some 5 a.m. phone calls about what venues might still be open for his continued partying pleasure. All of this has been conveniently captured on celluloid for the perusal of the public.
Last weekend, things took a darker turn when he checked himself into rehab in Antigua only to beat a hasty retreat the next day, heading to a salon where he shaved his own head in full view of cameras and then melted into bald and tearful fretting about how his mom would be so mad. Cheney then got a pair of lips tattooed on his arm and a black-and-pink crucifix on his hip; some outlets reported a middle-of-the-night visit to Cedars Sinai Medical Center, but whatever may or may not have happened there, he was awake the next morning by 10, when he reportedly appeared alone at the pool at the Mondrian Hotel to sunbathe, drink mojitos and ask fellow guests to trade bathing suits with him. Rebecca Traister
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