Tony Mack

This is the story of a fella whose chick split. She flew the coop with some fink and took all the bread. So Charlie made his way into a small Italian joint in Hollywood called "La Familia." He proceeded to drown the vision of this dame in some high grade gas.

2:00 am, closing time, and he was getting ready to limp back to his empty pad when he was tapped on the shoulder. He turned to see the faces of Mr. Francis Albert Sinatra and Mr. Dean Martin. Dean just winked and downed his scotch. Frank reached into his pocket, pulled out his lighter, lit his smoke and said "You're gonna be all right, kid. Cause you gotta job to do. When we're gone, don't tell our story, be our story." With that, he handed the fella the lighter and left.

Well, that fella was me, and I'm here to carry on the torch.