It's Not Me, I Swear

Call me naive, but I really, truly thought this whole tawdry scandal would go away.  I was wrong.  The ugly rumors have continued to swirl throughout the New York publishing world week after week after week.  Sleazy tabloid journalists by the dozen have been e-mailing me and phoning me, day and night.  And here in my bucolic New England village of Old Lyme -- better known as Dorset to readers of the Berger-Mitry mysteries -- my friends and neighbors have taken to hooting at me behind my back at the hardware store even more than they usually do.

So I'm going set the record straight right here and now.  This will be my only official statement on the matter.  After this, I will not say another word about it because, quite honestly, I'm sick to death of the whole mess.

This (alleged) Chelsea Handler Sex Tape that has been making its way all over the damned Internet is not, repeat not, a tape of me having sex with some hot babe in a chic hotel room in Chelsea.  For the record, I've never even had sex with a hot babe in a chic hotel room in Chelsea.  Actually, maybe I have.  But never mind -- that's not where I was going.

My point is that this (alleged) Chelsea Handler Sex Tape is a tape of a blond television personality named Chelsea Handler having sex with, well, I don't know who the hell the guy is.  Or where their sweaty encounter took place.  But I do know this much:

It's not me on that tape.  I have no connection to the tape whatsoever.

Chelsea Handler is not, repeat not, my ex-wife, as has been widely and erroneously reported.  Nor are we related, as has also been widely and erroneously reported.  Chelsea Handler is not my sister.  Chelsea Handler is not my cousin.  I've never so much as met Chelsea Handler, although she seems like a perfectly nice person.  Actually, no she doesn't.  But never mind -- that's not where I was going.

To many loyal readers out there: Anyone who has tried to download this (alleged) Chelsea Handler Sex Tape thinking that what they'll be seeing is a tape of a certain sleek, hard-muscled mystery writer named David Handler having sex some hot babe in Chelsea will be seriously disappointed.  I apologize for the confusion.  I'm truly sorry.

Actually, no I'm not.  The truth is, I've gotten a ton of attention from this whole fiasco.  It's the kind of free publicity that an author like me dreams of his whole life.  In fact, I've gotten so much free publicity I've been thinking that I may as well just cash in and make a sex tape of my own.  You know, a tape of me having sex with some hot babe in Chelsea.  Or, better, yet, having sex with Chelsea Handler.  In Chelsea.  I wonder if she'd go for that. It sure would give my book sales a huge boost.  Maybe I ought to have my people reach out to her people.  But never mind -- that's not where I was going.

My point is:  It's not me on that tape.  I have no connection to the tape whatsoever.

At least not yet.