"Anyway, up to our tables comes this chick... not bad, but full of gush, who turns around, flips up a miniskirt and asks Truman to autograph her buns. Not batting an eyelash, he takes out a felt-tipped pen and scrawls his name across a plump little buttock. It wasfunny, really sort of nice.
"Then, not two minutes later, comes this kid bartender, Joey, they call him, who's obviously been eyeing the proceedings. The thing is, he's got his jockey shorts in his hand and not where they should be. One quick cruise and -- everybody's listening now -- I turn to Truman. 'You can't sign your name on that,' I said, 'but maybe you could initial it.'"