First of all, I want to apologize to all my friends and fellow workers at the Long Island Press.
I want to say I’m sorry to my Publisher Jed Morey, and to Editor-in-Chief Mike Nelson.
You all know me, and now every one of you has reason to be critical of me. I want to say to you—simply and directly like Tiger “Zombie Man” Woods said to a stunned and bored nation the other day—I’m sorry for my irresponsible and selfish behavior.
I want to say I’m sorry to my wife, the beautiful Judy Licht.
Unlike Elin, Tigers Woods’ wife, whom he says did not attack him last Thanksgiving night (although she sure beat the crap out of his car), I fully expect Judy to split my skull with a nine iron when she reads this.
I also want to say I’m sorry to my Aunt Mary and my Uncle Louie, who are dead but would have died even sooner if they had any idea how many thousands of women I’ve slept with since I was 14—er, make that 12. I forgot to include my arithmetic teacher, the wild and wonderful Miss Santini, a woman who was ahead of her time.
Did I say I’m sorry? I want to apologize for my actions to every woman who works at a McDonald’s from Manhattan to Southampton. I know that all I deserved from you was a Sausage Egg McMuffin and a cup of coffee and not any of the sordid things I have asked you for.
While I’m at it let me apologize to every woman who works at Burger King, Wendy’s, Applebee’s, Taco Bell, Blimpie, Dairy Queen, Dunkin’ Donuts, In-N-Out Burger (be still my heart), Pizza Hut, Subway, and White Castle.
Don’t look at me as a bad person. Just look at me as your run-of-the mill, hopelessly horny sex addict.
Did I say I’m sorry? Let me say it again and let me take the time to apologize to my “dates” last week. Mary, Cathy, Nancy, Emily, Abigail, Olivia, Hannah, Samantha, Sophia, Elizabeth, Alexis, Grace, Sarah, Natalie, Lauren, Anna, Jessica, Victoria, Julia, and I’m not forgetting you, Katherine. I hope you all had as much fun as I did. (Aside to Grace: That is a position that has worked for me thousands of times and I’m sure once you are out of traction you will find it in your heart to forgive me.)
While I’m apologizing I guess I should give my apologies to Valerie, Betty, Francine, Joan and Linda for last week’s debacle. I know now that a sixsome should never be attempted without the presence of a licensed chiropractor.
And I know that at least two of you were disappointed in my performance. I blame it all on the 12 glasses of wine and the cold weather.
Have I told you I’m sorry?
It is hard to admit that I need help, but for 45 days I have been in in-patient therapy for sexually compulsive behavior at the Pine Grove Behavioral Health and Addiction Services Clinic and Storm Window Company in Hattiesburg, Mississippi.
What a deal. David Duchovny, Billy Bob Thornton, Amy Winehouse, Lindsay Lohan, Madonna, Michael Douglas, Charlie Sheen and Tiger Woods all sitting around in group therapy talking about their sexual addiction. You’ve got this room full of male and female sex addicts telling all in group therapy, giving you all the details as to how they screwed up and got caught. If you don’t come out cured you still come out with a great list of available prospects.
I felt I had died and gone to heaven when one of them, the beautiful, delicious, sexy, wild Wendy, got up and described how she is addicted to sex. Now, Wendy has this cute face, sweet little pug nose, soft blond hair and the sort of breasts that can best be described as “perky.” And she has this whispery voice. I’ve got to get a hold of myself—no, that’s not such a good idea either.
It’s just that they make us all wear such drab, loose clothing here at the clinic and yet Wendy’s breasts are pushing at the fabric of her blouse, shouting to me, “Let me free.”
I have to pause now to cool down and the only thing that works to get my mind off Wendy’s breasts is trying to remember the exact starting line-up of the 1947 Brooklyn Dodgers.
Did I say how sorry I am for my past behavior? Well, let me just close by saying I’m sorry.
The good news is I’m back in Pine Grove and I just finished a session with my doctor and he had a good idea for something I might do to stop thinking about sex all the time. He suggested I take up golf.
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