I have met Tex Winters twice. The first time was at a charity event for muscular disease. He stood out in the crowd immediately. He's incredibly tall; my best guess would be somewhere around six feet two inches, but that is only an approximation. I make no claims to be a doctor or a seamstress.

He was also dressed inappropriately for a blood drive, decked out to the nines in a crushed velvet nudie suit, with a foppish hat tilted garishly to the side, and on his ears-- a set of diamond earrings the likes of which Ivana Trump would've returned to De Beers, her dilapidated conscience finally arousing a shred of guilt.

He recognized me from the magazine that I write for, Your Birthday Party, and approached, his platinum grill sparkling as he spoke, his words dripping soporific, intoning slowly with the hint of a Texas accent, "Nice to meet you," he opened, "I've read a lot of your work,"

I told him that I had listened to his music and that I very much enjoyed it.

His reply was cool and disaffected, "Sucked."

He spun on his boot hills, flicking his cape into my face, and proceeded to use hundred dollar bills to snort cocaine off of various pieces of medical equipment.

He was removed from the children's hospital having donated no blood or money though he seemed to have ample amounts of both.

Reportedly, he propositioned nurses with sexual requests, and the matter is under investigation by the medical board as to what acts were performed in the hospital.

The second time I met Tex Winters was at a photo shoot for Maxim magazine. I had been sent by Your Birthday Party to interview Mr. Winters upon the release of his most recent album, "The Old Golden Age," which has sold fifty-thousand copies and counting.

Throughout the interview, he was openly hostile, discourteous, and incredibly vulgar.

He then pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and rubbed it about his breasts.

"This is tit money, Wright. I got this money from showing my tits."

He threw the stack of hundreds into the air and said, "I'm making it rain on you bitches. Don't nobody touch my money until it hits the ground."

The models had left by then, and he seemed upset that I didn't drop to my knees and collect the pile of scattered money.

He drank a pint of whiskey during the interview, and by the end, was entirely unintelligible. At the front desk of the Maxim office, he repeatedly demanded Maxim drive him to his limo, which was right outside the front door.

When he was denied his request, he vomited into the planter of a fake ficus tree.

"I am bigger than God," he yelled as his bodyguards shoved me against a wall, crushing their elbows against my spine.

I must say that I view Tex Winters to be an intolerable human being, and one of the lowliest pieces of human scum I have ever encountered. From his music he seems to have, at one time, been a genuine human being with interesting thoughts, advanced creativity, and a sense of self respect, but since the money has been rolling in, he has become one of the most debase cases we've ever seen in rock and roll stardom. I am eager to witness the epic downfall that will inevitably ruin this once great country singer.