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Ow! Don't touch me. Ow! Don't touch me.Richie Sambora is setting the record straight. In his quest to raise the bar of substance abuse denial, Sambora has already checked himself out of rehab. But don't you dare call it rehab. He prefers the term "treatment facility".

In all fairness, Richie has had a rough year or so. First came a very messy and public dissolution of his ten-year marriage to Heather Locklear. And then there was Denise. Lovely, toothsome, tenaciously carnivorous and fiercely ambitious, Denise dragged him around like a limp dishrag, and the miles were starting to show. Of course leaving him out in the sun for ten hours without sunblock probably didn't help things much. This pathetic last-ditch attempt to save a foundering relationship with an exotic vacation only sealed their doom, and they broke up soon afterward.

So what's a doddering guitar hero past his prime to do? Counting the days by the bottles that he drinks has just gotten old, and times when he's alone, all he does is stink. It must have been his publicist who suggested a trip to rehab to boost his media profile, if for no other reason. I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time, but then the reality must have set in: No cocktail service. No shot girl. No hair of the dog when the shakes set in. So he checked out, and will be heading out on tour with the band soon. At least he'll be in the shade.