WTF?

I haven't been that unhinged since '74 when I casually forged his autograph 18 times. Came pretty close in '94 when "His Ex" wanted me to mount a live Pay-per-View "Comeback" (like I did for Dylan and Columbia). Thousands of fans actually mailed us physical checks, absolutely convinced the King was about to come out and grab a microphone again. Elvis’s management? Absolutely zero sense of humor. They shut it down immediately. Me? I thought it was comedy gold. Since they killed the gig, I did the only logical thing: I wrote a book about the whole fiasco called Searching For Elvis.

My fellow Americans, transparency compels me to address the daily, unmitigated chaos of that era, populated by extraordinary national figures like Mr. Evel Knievel and the esteemed Telly Savalas. Specifically, I must report on the New Year's Eve summit at the Belushi residence, which was regrettably neutralized when the Secret Service breached the perimeter for Governor Jerry Brown and his sidekick, Linda Ronstadt. This intervention occurred amidst a severe breakdown in diplomatic decorum, notably when Dr. Hunter S. Thompson initiated an unprovoked physical altercation on Ms. Penny Marshall's crotch. Furthermore, I must accept full responsibility for a profound failure in visual intelligence on my own part: I erroneously identified the iconic Cher as Ronnie Wood, an oversight that resulted in a swift and decisive slap from a marvel of modern cosmetic science. We faced unprecedented challenges that night, but the state of our union remains strong.