And our next story comes from Jose. Mr. Canseco?

By Erik Cassano
210 west Writer [send email]

Hi, I'm Jose Canseco. You might know me from my new book, "Juiced," in which I offer proof that I alone know all the dirty little steroid secrets of baseball's best players.

Oh, you didn't know that? Well, it's true. And I am in full disclosure mode because I think the rampant selfishness of baseball's so-called "heroes" is a disgrace.(By the way, anybody want a 2000 New York Yankees championship ring? $1,000. No, make that $750. I didn't play that much for the Yankees. Not like my ring from the '89 A's. That I won't let go of for a penny less than $1,001.)

Unlike Pete Rose for 15 years, I am totally straightforward about my vices. I was a big-time steroid user. I shot them up, mixed them in my protein shakes, smoked them, sprinkled them on my chef’s salad and absorbed them through osmosis.

You didn't know that? Man, you really need to buy a copy of the book. Or six. Do you know anybody you could, say, blackmail into buying the book? Any compromising photographs of a friend or something? Yeah, I was part of a vast conspiracy to destroy baseball with excessive, unrepentant steroid usage. Now, with my once hall-of-fame career deader than a doornail after globetrotting to a half-dozen teams in the 1990s (the part after I got so big, I couldn't even swing at a curveball, let alone make contact), I am outing everyone.

I know everybody's dirty little secrets because I talked to everybody. Even the surliest, most introverted sluggers of the '90s. Bonds, McGwire, Juan Gonzalez, Albert Belle, they all confided in me. I shot them up, and even produced little pamphlets for them to consult when people wondered why all those needles were sitting in their lockers (um .... diabetes?).

I know it all. And it doesn't just stop with baseball. Stay tuned for my next book, "The Creditors are Breaking My Windows and Keying My Car," when I try to save myself from bankruptcy yet again by outing the dark side of figures throughout history. You didn't know I could do that? Space aliens gave me the power to travel through time. Or maybe it was Tony La Russa.

Here are some advance excerpts from my next book:

THE BROKEN LEG

I told John Wilkes Booth his leg was broken.

"Man, that thing looks sick," I said. "You need to get to a doctor or something. You said you hurt it jumping off a balcony?"

Booth looked at me with desperation. He seemed to be on the verge of tears.

"Look... uh, Washington, D.C. probably isn't the best place for me to seek a doctor as of now. Can you perhaps help me across the river to Virginia?"

I found a wheelbarrow and pushed Booth down to the Potomac, where a ferry boat was about to leave.

"Thank you. Please take this as a measure of my gratitude," he said. Booth handed me a silver pistol. The barrel was warm. I don't know what ever happened to Booth, or why he was so nervous that April night in 1865, but I did know I had a really sweet gun to sell on eBay. The trouble is, metal doesn't travel through time so well, and I lost it. The "Back to the Future" movies, with that big DeLorean travelling through time, is a load of crap.

THE LAST DAYS OF HITLER

Adolf Hitler knew the end was at hand when he heard the bombs falling on Berlin. It was spring, 1945 and the Allies and Soviets had central Germany in a vise-lock.

Adolf (we were on a first-name basis by then) was picking up his pistol repeatedly as he paced around his bomb-proof bunker.

"What are you doing, Adolf? What are you thinking?" I was getting nervous. Kind of like when I knew a curveball was coming. Adolf stroked the barrel of his gun and turned around slowly. Luckily I had watched a lot of German Internet porn prior to my sojourn and was able to understand what he was saying.

"Do you want her? Do you want the woman?" He gestured toward Eva Braun, his mistress, sitting meekly in the corner. "Adolf, I couldn't..." The weight of the situation suddenly hit me. "I can't let them take me. The bombs are falling. Soon there will be the footsteps of soldiers," he said. "There is one bullet in the chamber of this gun. I have two more in my pocket. Everyone who stays in this chamber with me must die before the Americans come."

"Adolf ... this isn't ... this isn't ... I'm sure the Americans will be good to you..." I was grasping at straws.

"Go, Jose. Go now. You have no reason to be caught in this." Adolf looked me in the eye, and I could see he meant it. "Eva, you may go too."

I walked to the top step of the bunker, turned around, and made eye contact with the Fuhrer one last time. I looked to Eva, and she merely shook her head.

I never played for the Cincinnati Reds, but for the next year, I felt the strange presence of Marge Schott with me every time I turned on the History Channel.

AFFLECK GOES WRONG

Ben Affleck was incredulous. "What do you mean it's a bad idea for a movie?"

"I'm just saying people aren't going to dig this movie, even with Jennifer Lopez. I know I won't." Turns out I was the only voice of reason at this restaurant table.

Ben was in love with J. Lo and in love with this newest project. "Look, Gigli is going to gross enough at the box office for me to buy a baseball team. I'll get you your career back." I could see in Ben's eyes he was saying what he wanted to believe, not the truth. I tried again to reason with him.

"I can't let you do this, Ben. As a fellow A-list celebrity, listen to me..."

But Ben would have none of it.

"You're just jealous because your career is in the crapper and everything I touch turns to gold," he half-shouted. He got up from the table and left. I wished right then I had Matt Damon's cell phone number. He'd probably listen to Matt.