Saturday, July 18, 2020


The very first day after coming out of prison, I called a friend/influential guy in the music business to announce my freedom. When I told him all about bunking with Paul Manafort and suicide watching Jeffrey Epstein, he fairly exploded that I had a story worth six figures - and that I should go to the Daily Mail or Enquirer to cash in. 

During the negotiating process with the Daily Mail (which he set up by the way), my friend suggested I just make shit up about Prince Andrew and anything else that might fatten the payday. I balked at the prospect and took the high road - telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

But when I think about it, who would have known if I just made a bunch of stuff up? There was (and is) proof that I watched Epstein on numerous occasions, that I was the number one prisoner on the inmate companion beat, and that I took copious notes every 15 minutes while I watched Jeffrey. So I easily could have told the media "yeah. Jeffrey told me that he and Prince Andrew tag-teamed a 14 year-old" and who would have been the wiser?'s too late for all that now. I made my decision and I stand by it. Making up a bunch of lies to cash in on an unfortunate circumstance would have been wrong. Or worse, I could have made up stories about Epstein and our current commander-in-chief. Although I get the idea that if I had, I'd be back in the clink - whether those stories were true or not.

Regarding the entire bizarre events of my incarceration, the bottom line is that my 15 seconds of fame have elapsed. I'm stuck in a job which feels like I'm still in prison. I'm stuck in a pandemic. And I'm stuck in probation - which means I can't do any meaningful traveling. 

The one year sentence I suffered will eventually turn out to be a 7.25 year sentence if you count from the day I was raided to the day I'll get off probation and be free to travel anywhere in the world except Canada and England (US felons can't go to those two countries). 

In the meantime, I bide my time, mind my p's and q's, and live on absolutely nothing even though I'm a man of means. But that's gonna change come November, as I have vowed to heed the advice of my old accountant: "You don't want to be the richest man in the cemetery."

Right now I'm researching places I can retire in the country (and to a country) where the cost of living is low, the mountains are high, and the hookers are legal and cheap. Hey! A guy can dream, right? In the meantime, I tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth hoping that will help me reach the Promised Land.

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