A Mill Yon Lit Ill Pee, Says
It has been widely reported that some of the elements in my recently published and best-selling memoir, "A Time for Pancakes", were fabricated.
Before I address those accusations, I would first like to thanks the legions of devoted "Tony Danza Book Club" members who have made my book a success. Some have purchased four or even five copies apiece, saying they leave copies behind in public places so others will stumble upon it and discover the emotional truth contained therein.
To be frank and to the point, I must say that most of the charges leveled against this important and groundbreaking personal examination of the heart's darkest places, while containing perhaps a kernal of truth, are mostly just the minor semantic arguments of jealous pedants.
For example, I write in ATP (as its followers have come to lovingly refer to it), that at age 15 I was living as a runaway on the streets of Bombay, selling my body to German tourists for nothing more than a sip of old bongwater.
Now, several "news" outlets "investigating" the "facts" behind my autobiography have suggested that I spent the summer of my 15th year at my family's home in the Hamptons, before returning to St. Hubbins Prep school in Vermont for the Fall.
This is splitting hairs. The fact is, I was in absolute Hell that year. While I may have sublimated some of the more horrific facts in order to cope, the underlying universal truth of my despair and hopelessness remain.
While I do not have the space here to address all the rest of the emotionally false statements my detractors have made, I will deal with one more. One that strikes very close to home...
They say that my name isn't Basil Valentine, that it is a pseudonym I stole from the classical writers of alchemical texts and mystic tomes.
To those accusers, I say that my lawyers have advised me to stop writing anything more about the subject.
Sent from my wireless