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Location: Twin Palms, Palm Springs, CA

I figured they'd show up sooner or later. I've got casinos bein' built, I'm chummy with Momo again, I'm flyin' around the world, hell, I'm Frank Sinatra (and I'm supposed to be as stiff as a starched shirt). So, it wasn't a surprise when 4 black suits show up at my door this morning.

"Good morning Mr. Sinatra, may we come in?" They had their badges out and their shades on, cheap Sears & Robuck suits with worn out faux wing-tip shoes. The shoes were brown! Brown shoes with black suits! Pathetic.

"Sorry kids, Halloween's next week. Come back then and I'll have some candy ready for ya'."

"Mr. Sinatra, we're from the FBI, here on official business."

"Do your parents know you guys are out dressed like this? Look at your shoes. I wouldn't donate those to the poor."

In unison (because they do EVERYTHING in unison), they all looked down at their shoes. While they were preoccupied, I took the opportunity to close the door on 'em and head back to my breakfast drink. It's amazing how slow these guys are. I was pouring my 2nd glass when they finally knocked again. I took my breakfast with me as I headed back to the door, grinning ear to ear and shaking my head.

"I already gave at the office guys." I said as I opened the door. I could see Mickey, my attorney coming up the walkway behind them. This had to be more than a pester job by the government, hassling me about Momo. He ran up to the door, between me and the mini goons.

"I represent Mr. Sinatra, what is the nature of your visit gentlemen?" Then he turned to me, "Not a word Frank."

"We have a warrant to search the premises," the oldest one answered.

Mickey shot back, "Yeah, well, I don't see it. Produce it or we're filing harassment charges, and believe me fellas, we can get real public and vocal about this."

One of the "Hoover carbon copies" pulled the warrant out from his suit pocket and handed it to the goon that was talkin' to Mickey. Mickey, God love him, grabbed it out of the agent's hands and started reading it.

I still saw a little levity in the scenario and said, "Easy Mick, these guys had a rough morning. Just look at their shoes." Again, in unison, four government heads went down in unison.

Mickey finished reading the warrant and handed it back to the agent, "OK boys, you break anything and you'll wish you were mailmen. I am going to accompany you throughout your search as a representative to Mr. Sinatra, that's not negotiable. Frank, you may want to go hang out by the pool or something. We'll talk after."

At that point, the brown shoe squad started to enter. I decided to go for one more stick at 'em and put my hand up. "Uh-uh. If you're walking through my house, you lose the shoes at the door boys."

"Mr. Sinatra, don't make this any more difficult than it has to be..."

"Hey, I can make it real difficult kid. You're not bringing those shit kickers in my house. I knew Hoover and he'd a sent your ass to Siberia for dressin' like that, believe me."

Mickey interceded, "Guys, Mr. Sinatra is willing to comply with your baseless warrant, the least you can do is comply with his one wish that no shoes touch his carpet. It's simply a house keeping issue gentlemen."

"No, it's a taste issue Mick," I said, staring straight at the older agent. "You better be wearin' black socks under those slippers boys."

They looked at each other and then again, in unison, started removing their shoes. I turned to walk back to the pool. It was all I could do to keep from laughing my ass off. Sinatra 1, G-Men 0.

They're still goin' through the house, I've got no clue what this is about yet, so I'll fill you in as soon as I get the word from Mickey.