Viva Los Vegas: Part Three.

As the fog cleared I had a dim, mortifying recollection of trying to impress a cocktail waitress with rollickingly (in retrospect) unfunny anecdotes about my celeb bro Bruce's childhood Tourette's.  "He kept calling out mailman a whore -- and he didn't even know what a mailman was!" That sort of thing.  Which made me want to bite my own face.  There was nothing left to do but slink out and hope nobody who had overheard my idiocy was old enough to tweet.

Jerry Stahl takes over the FiveChapters ...