Six Outrageous Truths, One Outrageous Lie, or Vicey-Versey

All right. Usually I don't do this kind of shit, but the peer pressure is getting too intense. So at the insistence of Keith Rawson and Greg Bardsley I'm participating in a Meme. This one is "Six Outrageous Truths and One Outrageous Lie About Me," or else "Six Outrageous Lies and One Outrageous Truth About Me." You all get to decide which is which:

1. I used to know a guy, a friend of my girlfriend at the time, who claimed to have embalmed Lawrence Welk.
2. I once discussed the Manson Family murders and his 1977 rape conviction with Roman Polanski over dinner at a fancy French restaurant.
3. Groucho’s son, Arthur Marx, made this Grouchoesque comment about my first novel: “Very violent and disturbing. I read it in one sitting.” (That’s not verbatim, sorry, but that was the gist of it.)
4. My old cat Max was having a series of weird health problems, and finally the vet convinced me to allow exploratory surgery. As a result I owned the first cat diagnosed with Heliobacter pylori, the bacterium that causes ulcers in humans. Her veterinarian wrote and presented a scientific paper about her at some big vet’s conference. (The infection, oddly, was on the outer lining of her stomach, not the inside.)
5. The only bone I’ve ever broken was my skull.
6. When I was a teenager and still experimenting with masturbatory techniques, I made the mistake late one night of using dishwashing liquid as lubricant. The next morning in class I felt a very uncomfortable stinging situation in my pants and, upon retiring to the restroom, discovered that my penis had swollen to the size of a smallish grapefruit. Panicked, I got a sick pass and went home where, thankfully, the swelling subsided before I had to seek medical help for my difficult-to-explain condition. Big flakes of dried skin peeled off of it shortly thereafter, not unlike the aftereffect of a bad sunburn.
7. I once sat around in an LA hotel bar for a couple of hours discussing the music business with a very knowledgable gent, and when he left I asked the bartender “was that guy a record executive or a producer or something?” He looked at me, unsure of whether I was putting him on, then shook his head and said, “man, you’ve been drinking with Bobby Womack.” The great man came back the next night and told me he was helping the Stones pick a new bassist after the departure of Bill Wyman.

Leave your guesses in the comments and I'll reveal the truth in a few days.