Charles Bronson, the actor, is a good pal of mine. You know, it’s probably no secret but Charlie likes the ladies as I do. We like to go down to Mexico and party with Hollywood starlets, in the nude. Charles is eight inches hard and my wanger is ten. We have really great times in Mexico and we’ve been doing this since God knows when. Sometimes he will just pop by to talk about philosophy or to pick my brain about world events and the meaning of life. A great chess player is Charles. Not my caliber but damn close! Judith calls this all a “Walter Mitty fantasy.” I won’t lie, we went through some tough times after that romantic first date and she quit believing in me.

Sometimes Judith can be harder than nails and she will just ride my ass. She let herself go after we got married and put on some major poundage. It is my bane! Seven wives and all of them fatsoes! The fat gave her energy—turned into a carping fishwife, a highly dominant woman of the sort who can only respond to men that are stronger than her. Men who are confident at every level of thought and action. Hugh Hefner and I have had many discussions on this very subject. Hef has made a life study of the opposite sex. Ordinarily I can chill Judith out with a love poem and five or six dozen roses, but when we went to the Marzuki family reunion in Skokie last week, my stupid brother, Calvin, threw food in my mother’s face. Jesus, what a dick! Well, he was completely out of control on Pabst Blue Ribbon. I had to do something so I hopped on the bastard, threw him out the window, and then ten cop cars show up. It took eighteen officers to pull me off of Calvin. Eighteen, and that is no lie. During the bloody scuffle, the officer in charge said, “Louis, please listen to reason; you’re going to kill him and go to jail. It’s not worth it for a man of your caliber to throw it all away over a senseless weekend beef.” He was right.