I've been the imaginary friend of JB's since he first started mixing PCP and Diet RC back in the 60s. He always referred to me as Probiskits, so that's what I call myself. 

When he was being chased by state troopers across multiple state lines, I was the one that told him that tires were overrated and that he could outrun "The Man" on his rims.

When he bitch-slapped Dinah Shore during a party at Charles Nelson Reiley's house in Bel Air, I was there to assure him that that no talent ho was gettin uppity and probably deserved the beat down. (Unfortunately Burt Reynolds didn't agree and went Smacky and the Bandit on Jimmy's ass.) 

It was only fitting that I be invited back to be by his side as he did his final encore. Of course he was heavily medicated. That's when he's at his best. Here are some jewels that I recall from our last two days together....

"Pro-B, I think I was wrong about Michael Jackson...he do like baby penis..."

"Papa needs a brand new colostomy bag...."

"Women are like salmon.....I won't eat either one for the exactable same reason...."

"Are you holdin?..."

"Yeah I'm sick....but I can mos definitably smoke some of that..."

"Step back......I pissed myself...again"