SANTA ANA, Calif. — Trust me, is the implicit message behind almost everything Michael Minutoli says.

Maybe because his stories are fantastic, each tale taller than the last, crazier, setting off alarms and whistles on the credibility meter.

"You're gonna like this one, guy," he says, and you do.

"This one's heavy, guy," he says, and it is.

"Long story short," he says and, well, it's usually not.

But who cares? Michael Minutoli is one entertaining guy — with proof that at least part of what he's saying is true. The proof lies stuffed in musty boxes and tucked in cheap photo albums — snapshots of him hugging Britney Spears, Paul McCartney, Barbra Streisand, President Bill Clinton. Snapshots of him hoisting the Emmy, the Oscar, the Grammy, the Golden Globe, the People's Choice. Hundreds of photos spill across a table: Michael Minutoli with Tom Hanks, Jack Nicholson, Keith Richards, Bruce Willis, Bob Dylan — you name it.

"Who's your favorite actor, guy?" he asks, in an accent often mistaken as Brooklyn but really from Attleboro, Mass.

Dustin Hoffman.

"I have him four times," Minutoli says. "As a matter of fact, I found his wallet in a theater chair in a premiere."

One story leads to another: the night he escorted Julia Roberts to the podium to accept her People's Choice Award. The night he introduced Keith Richards to Russell Crowe. The night he sat in the Green Room at the Golden Globes and chatted with Prince, Sean Connery and Jack Nicholson — where Tom Hanks said to him, "Gee, it's nice to see you again."

Minutoli never held a ticket to these affairs, let alone a backstage or VIP pass. He crashed them all. He's danced with Sharon Stone, dined with Frank Sinatra, sang with Brian Wilson, jumped up on Elton John's piano.

What's even more amazing is this: Michael Minutoli is living out of his car.

If Minutoli's stories are true, he's made a career of fooling people. So why believe him now?

For one thing, he has the photos. Sure, photos can be retouched. But 1,200 curled photos taken with nothing but disposable cameras? Unlikely. Especially considering that many include a third face: Minutoli's son Anthony, now 19, who accompanied his dad from age 6 to 15.

"No joke, every other night we'd go out," says Anthony. "My teachers at school would ask me to bring in the photos. They were more interested than my classmates."

For another thing, Minutoli has friends like David Zlaket, 34. "He's a nut," Zlaket says. "He's a B.S.'er, but I'd say all the stuff he tells you? All the stories are absolutely true."

Zlaket has seen it firsthand, time and again. When The Who played a concert at the Hollywood Bowl days after bassist John Entwhistle died, Zlaket and Minutoli were right up front.

"He goes up to the security guard, and says something to him and we just walk in," Zlaket says. "I said, 'What did you tell him?' He said, 'I told him I had to get something at First Aid.' We walked right in. I met Brian Wilson that night."

Finally, there is this seminal moment captured live, on TV, during the 2004 Grammys.

As usual, Minutoli had no game plan that night. As usual, he stopped on the way to buy a disposable camera. As usual, he ducked in a side door as someone stepped out for a smoke. As often happens, he made his way backstage. In fact, it was only because he got kicked out of the backstage area that he found himself sitting next to Lyle Lovett in the audience when the final Grammy nomination, for Album of the Year, was read:

"And the Grammy goes to OutKast," read the presenter. Suddenly the stage filled with young hip-hop stars and one paunchy, balding white man holding the award aloft and beaming: Michael Minutoli.

Minutoli merely rose when the band OutKast rose, walked down the aisle when they did, and followed them up on stage. It was an act of such bald-faced bravado that no one questioned him. Not the lead singer, Andre 3000, who handed Minutoli the Grammy, nor the presenter, who handed Minutoli the nomination card, which he still has.

"I thought, oh [no], I'm going to be arrested," he says.

But no one said a word. Not even when he walked backstage, kissed, hugged and partied with the band, ate, drank and took more photos.

In 15 years, he's only been tossed out a handful of times, and arrested once — outside the Oscars after 9/11.

"It's a fantasy addiction," he says. "I still don't think it's so bad to leave reality and step into a fantasy for a few hours."

No addiction is without its consequences, however. This one caused a split in Minutoli's 20-year marriage to his high-school sweetheart, Deborah. Six months ago, she moved out, and he couldn't afford rent.

He acknowledges his fault: "It's because of my lack of money management. I have nothing and she's of the age, she should have something. I've been irresponsible. I'm a kid at heart, 18, and I'm probably never going to grow up."

He works in the deli at a farmers market in San Juan Capistrano, Calif., where he regales customers with his pictures, stories and jokes.

"He goes off and everyone's just laughing," says manager Jeff Walker, 23, whose family owns the shop. "He makes people feel better. It was this 90-year-old's birthday and he got her a cupcake and wished her happy birthday over the loudspeaker. Sometimes you think he's faking it, but he doesn't fake it."

In the meantime, Minutoli sleeps in his car, washing up in gas-station bathrooms, and dreams of assembling his photos and stories into a book.

"I'm an emotional person," he says. "Remember we had the rains? I'm sleeping in this car with the rain coming down and I'm crying, not having good time."

How do we know Michael Minutoli — the man who wants us to trust him — is telling the truth? In many cases, we don't. But it takes an honest man to tell the world this:

"To tell you the truth," he says, "I'm basically homeless."