Chapter 1 Let me say this: Everbody makes mistakes, which is why they put a rubber mat around spitoons. But take my word for it - don't never let nobody make a movie of your life's story. Whether they get it right or wrong, it don't matter. Problem is, people be comin up to you all the time, askin questions, pokin TV cameras in your face, wantin your autograph, tellin you what a fine feller you are. Ha! If bullshit came in barrels, I'd get me a job as a barrel-maker an have more money than Misters Donald Trump, Michael Mulligan, an Ivan Bozosky put together. Which is a matter I will go into in a little bit. But first, let me bring you up to date on my sorry tale. A lot has gone on in my life in the last ten or so years. First, I am ten or so years older, which is not as much fun as some people think. I have got a few gray hairs on my head, an I ain't near as fast as I used to be, which is somethin I found out straightaway when I tried to make me some money playin football again. It was down in New Orleans, where I had wound up after everthin else happened, an it was just me there. I had got a job sweepin out a strip joint called