In my last life (when i was a fat Jew living the high life), Le Cirque restaurant was one of my favorite troughs. For those of you stupid, ill-bred jerkoffs, Le Cirque was a 5 Star Michelin restaurant frequented by the likes of Henry Kissinger, Jackie Onassis, Gay Talese, and other notables.

The owner, Ciro Maccioni,(a really classy Italian with a big prick and a pallate for young pussy) welcomed me 2 times per week. Plastic surgeons and Wall Street lawyers with fat wallets would beg for a table... Cirio would usher me past the hordes of phony scumbags pretending to be important. The snarls would echo throughout the room. "Al Fucking Goldstein! That fat scumbag got a table before me!?" Yes, of course I did! I had the power of pussy . . I was the Prince of Free Love! I mattered more than some prick who made millions on Wall Street! Those assholes had a tie shackled to their necks! Cirio appreciated me because I did not have to pretend to be somebody!

I never paid at "le Cirque." never... Cirio ALWAYS picked up the tab! A gentleman!

One story in particular I will always fondly recall about Cirio. The night before i was sentenced in the Brooklyn fiasco (the one in which I told my cunt secretary I was going to "..take her down" ) Cirio invited me and my lawyer, Charles DeStefano, to Le Cirque.

We were sat in a round booth (usually reserved for the Prince of Wales). I wore my snake skin vest, Cazal frame glasses, and flip flops. Walter Cronkite (seated to my left) scowled as I paraded into this elegant, opulent dining room. Charles (as usual dressed in a designer Italian suit and $500 tie) could not believe the fuss . . He whispered to me, "Al, you REALLY ARE a fucking prince!"

Cirio personally greeted us and hugged me. He really loved me - probably because I was a cunt magnet and he was an Italian with a big dick. "Al, I am a very worried abouta you. . .are you a really gonna go to the jail?!" Yes, I replied, but I had been arrested 27 times and beat every fucking case. And my lawyer here, Charles, is a fucking jurisprudential scholar and master in the courtroom.

He then turned to Charles (one suave dego to another) and said, "I wanta to give a you some a food to take to Al to a Rikers Island... Can a you bringa food in the jail?" Charles said that he would look into it (and later confessed that me might have to smuggle the meatballs up his ass!

I was probably the only prisoner in the history of the New York State Prison system that was eating "Le Cirque" take out. Not even Leon Helmsley's fucking dog could claim that!

Now I am eating green Nathan's franks that have rotted in my moldy refrigerator.

Al

My Savior, Penn Jillette

I have not been able to write this blog for some time. My fucking body has degenerated to a near corpse state. The couch has become part of my body. I ooze strange bodily fluids from various orifices (must be from all of that bad pussy i ate - maybe the rancid pussy of my ex-wives!) I ache from head to toe. My fucking teeth have fallen out, I have bed bug bites on my arms from an old couch in my living room. All I would like right now is to be pain free and to meet a nice Jewish cunt, in her 80's, who could keep me company all day while i watch CNN and the History Channel.

If it wasn't for Penn Jillette I would be erased entirely from public memory. Last month he met me in a Mexican restaurant - sort of "Weekend At Bernie's" starring Al Goldstein. I sat there and listened to Penn (a fearless intellectual who defies God to send him straight to hell upon his death!). The man is a fucking genius - his conversation runs from genetics to national politics to tango dancing (and his brain stores a plethora of information on all topics).

My lawyer, Charles DeStefano, brought me to Manhattan from my shit hole apartment in Ozone Park, Queens. Charles is my last living real friend. He cares about me. We are unlikely bedfellows. He is a handsome, articulate guinea WOP dego lawyer from Staten Island who could charm Hitler, Stalin, and Rasputin over cocktails. He is married with children, but he manages to make time for me. I would suck his dick, but his wife is Latina - she would hunt me down, split and quarter me, then spit on my rotting corpse. Charles is too masculine for me anyhow.

So, getting back to Penn. We sat at a long table straight out of the Friars Club. Gilbert Gottfried, "Ratso" Sloman, Jamie Gillis, Penn, Charles, and I sat for hours...it was like the old days, when I was in with the In Crowd. They all ate (since my gums are toothless, I drank a club soda and had some soup). I felt as though a taxidermist stuffed me and I was plopped into this group to be viewed as a relic from the past. All is needed was a fucking small metal plate on my head that read "Scumbagus Corpsus."

At hte end of the night, they shook my hand (I wished they had shaken my cock...although my prick hasn't had blood circulating in it since fucking Reagan was President). It was nice to see all of them. It resurrected me for a night.

Maybe I will get another free meal next month. (I'm sure it will not be from Gilbert - that cheap cocksucking faggot)

Until next week,

Al