Toilet sitter Alex Rodriguez. Back in the toilet. He’d grabbed headlines that he and his ladyfriend — whose clothes flash flesh and cloak mostly the truth — would buy the Mets.

No. Bull. Not a shot. I knew it wouldn’t happen. I told you so. This month he admitted he couldn’t buy them. Last month I already reported he couldn’t buy them. And never did his paid p.r. Lilliputians deny my story. The problem is this pair is itchy. Needy. Desperate for attention. Last year stories were circulating that she was being nominated for an Oscar. No. Uh-uh. Hollywood pros even told New York pros it wasn’t happening.

So why does their BS get furthered? Because types exist who need access to them and, thus, need to please them.

Now — surprise! surprise! — last week Pinocchio Rodriguez announced he pulled out of this phantom purchase. Wait. See what else he pulls out of.

If Moses had a computer, he might type: “Thou shalt not con the public.” Will we learn more?

Tales of Siegfried & Roy

In 2008, my plane from Kazakhstan changed to Austrian Airlines in Vienna. On it came illusionists Siegfried Fischbacher and Roy Horn, whose Vegas careers were finished after an onstage tiger nearly killed Roy, whom we just lost.

On the plane, Roy sat first-row at the window. Attending him was an aide, a male nurse and a female nurse, who rubbed his fingers with cream, tucked a blanket around him, guided his wheelchair. After stem cell therapy in Bavaria’s Leonardis Clinic plus orthopedic surgery in Graz, Roy — whose speech was unaffected — said: “We’re not stopping off in New York. After six months in Austria, we’re going straight home to Vegas.” Siegfried, wearing a large crucifix on a chain: “Overcoming barriers is in God’s hands. Maybe a charity benefit, but no more working for us. Show business is done.” Exiting together, Roy gave me a tiny, stuffed white tiger with: “Please. Keep this.”

Fitness fluff

Quarantined Ramona Singer’s crashing her 25-year-old daughter Avery’s Kamps Fitness livestream classes from Avery’s Florida home. In a corner twice a week, the Realish Housewife huffs and puffs with the youngsters who are doing it. Oldies are just bitching: “Y’know how bad it is in New York?” Millennials are saying, “Y’know how boring it is in Florida?”

Guest unclean

Val Kilmer’s new bio, “I’m Your Huckleberry,” is on the best-seller list and talks of 40 years in movies, sexy women and his recent illness. A great story: Once Val and a mutual friend came for dinner with me. They stayed in my library while I kept an hour’s appointment.

When I came back, Val had taken off his clothes and was helping himself to a shower.

This story is not in his book.

Dem’s the breaks

Democratic Rep. Sean Patrick Maloney of NY’s 18th District once ran for NY Attorney General and lost. Now he wants out of Congress. Now he wants to be a lobbyist. If not that, a talking head on MSNBC. Forget what he wants. He needs a career coach.

Pay attention

The Tao Group launched takeout in its Chicago place. They’re hoping to do ditto here …SHOWS, still filming when things went kaput, are using animation. Like NBC’s “The Blacklist” and Pop TV’s “One Day at a Time” … Trump Tower residents down from maybe 240 to maybe 28 … Staying home isolated has fried the psyche. Christie’s jewelry auction was highest ever — a 99.9 sell-through.

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As Earth went into quarantine this lady had a face-lift. Now, wearing her mask, she says: “Whatthehell good was it? Nobody can even see my face!”

Only in New York, kids, only in New York.