THE STORIES YOU'VE HEARD ARE TRUE

Yes.

It's official.

I'm looking into starting a podcast.

Thanks to Jackie and all the others who said that I should give it a try.

Now ... let's just see if I can keep this interest going long enough to actually do it.

I mean ... c'mon ...

TOTAL AMOUNT OF MONEY SPENT TO BECOME A STAGE HYPNOTIST: $3,000.

TOTAL AMOUNT OF GIGS DONE SINCE RETURNING FROM VEGAS: 0

Need I say more?

We went to her funeral on Sunday which is asking a lot out of me because Sunday is my ONLY off day and usually you're lucky to get me to brush my teeth on Sunday if I do ANYTHING.

So we go to the funeral and afterwards I have to go and hug my buddy and say something totally awkward and out-of-place because that's what I do ... say the wrong thing when I really should think before I open my mouth.

"Ummmm ... mind if we open the casket real quick so I can get a tit squeeze before they lower it?"

Okay fine.

I didn't really say that.

But I was all "Whatever we can do for you ... call me, okay?"

"There is one thing," he said.

Okay.

Fine.

But hurry up ... I've got a kid I gotta go pick up from his Grandma's.

"We're all going to Millie C's Buffet for lunch ... I'd love it if you and Susie could make it."

Well ... shit fire.

I hate Millie C's Buffet. I ate there 20 years ago and got sicker than Nicole Richie after eating a whole slice of pizza.

It's full of really really really old people who try to eat their food but they're so old they miss their mouths and end up pouring chicken broth all over themselves while I'm supposed to sit there and quietly eat my meal without appearing totally disgusted by soup-soaked senior citizens.

"Ummm ... Billy ... jeez ... I'd love to man, but we've got to uhhhhh .... go pick up Andrew and ... uhhhh"

"We can go," Susie interupted my awkward stammer.

Billy's face lit up.

"You can be my guests!" he said, all excited.

I grimace, hug the guy and we retreat back to the car.

We get to Millie C's and it looked like the movie "Cocoon" had exploded all over the room.

We sat towards the end of the table which must have had about 30 people at it whose combined age was somewhere around 11,325.

"Billy's told me so much about you," grunted some feeble little man with more eyelid than eye sitting next to me.

"Yeah," I said. "Between you and me, I think he's always had some sort of man-crush thing on me."

The man quit talking to me after that.

Billy went on some long sleep-deprived and sedative-fueled monologue about how I was one of his best friends while I tried to convince him I didn't even have his last name committed to memory.

I ate my food ... baked chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy and fried okra.

I was sick all Sunday night.

Therefore I have a new rule:

I don't care if your mother died ... I'm not risking food poisoning for your ass just to make you feel better.

I don't care who you are.