We won our first Rehab Clinic League volleyball game last night. The other team was tough. Tom Sizemore was their captain. He's kind of intense. He wore three headbands and stared at me like I had just made out with his mother.

Before the game started I reached under the net and extended my hand to wish him good luck.

"Bring it on, bitch," he replied.

I was pleasantly surprised by the play of our team. "Tony" proved to be quite agile in his bunny suit, and "Warren's" height (he's 6'11") provided great defense, as well as a couple of awesome spikes that landed right in Tom Sizemore's face.

"Fuck-ing bitch!" he'd yell every time he got plunked by the ball.

Pat O'Brien wasn't bad, either. He had trouble staying in his designated area and called "I got it!" when he didn't really have it way too many times, but he held is own. He insisted on playing bare-chested ("Gotta give the lady addicts a little eye candy," he said), so it wasn't a lot of fun bumping against him when going after a ball. But fortunately his presence seemed to annoy Tom Sizemore more than it does even me, and it clearly threw Heidi Fleiss's ex-boyfriend off his game.

"That bitch O'Brien is a little bitch cake," I heard him mutter.

But Whitney Houston was by far our most valuable player. Her sweat-soaked serves were no match for the other team, as she sent spraying ball after spraying ball over the net. Her serves were near impossible to defend because the ball was so wet with her sweat that it slipped off their hands before they could muster a return.

"Sweaty bitch! Sweaty bitch! Sweaty bitch!" Tom Sizemore yelled at the end of the game.

Then he buried his face in his hands and wet himself.