It’s come to my attention that, once again, rather scurrilous things are being said about me in these pages, the latest concerning “three day binges” or some such rot. Now, admittedly, I sometimes wake up in strange places:
and, yes, it takes me a bit to get going:
Dude, do you know where I left my car?
But, a little breakfast (or lunch, depending on what time it is):
and a massage:
and I’m good as new:
So don’t listen to what Mr. Krauss says. He’s basing his opinion on short episodes, aberrations, really. Would you like your entire life characterized by an unfortunate evening or two? Of course not.
As for Gracie:
she needs to get off her high horse and acknowledge the patently obvious: I am her father.
Now, I don’t really remember her mother and the circumstances, but it’s quite clear Gracie is my daughter. I mean, can you tell which of us is which?
Of course you can’t, and I don’t need a paternity test to prove it. Gracie is my daughter, and she needs to take care of me as I’m getting older. You know, a place to crash when I need it:
A meal or two:
all without the attitude: