Saturday, February 12, 2005

You know what we haven’t done in a while? Answer reader mail.

Dear Lex;

Why not more Michael Jackson jokes?


Dear Tito:

Good question. Leno must have a new rule of ten Michael Jackson jokes a day. Personally, I cannot warm to the topic. Sure, I had that hilarious;

“Give the judge credit, it has not been easy finding a jury of Michael Jackson’s peers. You try and round up a dozen, rich, crazy white women.”

But for the most part, I don’t like this topic. If Jackson is guilty it is disgusting, if he’s not, it’s pathetic. Now give me a guy cutting off his testicles for a rugby bet and I can run all day with that.

Dear Lex;

What is with the fascination of the Royal Family in the U.S.?

George Michael

Dear George;

First, you don't mind if I don't shake your hand. Second, let me say I am glad you and Elton patched up your spat. No reason why gay British singers with first names for last names shouldn’t get along. Same goes for Boy George.

Third, I have no idea why Americans care about the Royal family. For me, the Royal Family is like the old Saturday morning show “The Monkeys.” I thought these guys really did drive around solving crimes like a bunch of rock and roll Batmen. When I found out it was a fake, that they didn’t really all live together and engage in hilarious capers, I felt ripped off.

Same thing goes with the Royal Family. I thought they ran England and fought in battles, and swilled wine in cool metal goblets while eating a leg of lamb with their hand before tossing the bones to their roaming dogs, like the Sunday afternoon movies with Errol Flynn and such. That entire Royal Family doesn’t do anything except breed within.

Dear Lex;

It has been raining like crazy, but still people stand outside of their offices and smoke. Any thoughts?

Keith Richards

Dear Keith;

I’ll get to your question in a second, but first let me say thanks for hanging in there and rocking out to help make my prediction right that, one day, someone will say, “That Keith Richards looks pretty good for his age.”

Do not knock the smokers outside of office buildings. It is the greatest gift ever to the single male players out there. Why? Everyone knows that women that smoke are goers, i.e., they throw down at the toss of a hat. As a result you have these little packs of wonderful, well-dressed little sluts huddled outside of their building smoking and all the guys have to do is go cut the slowest one out of the herd.

And when I say slut, I mean that in a really good way. And certainly not towards my lovely Torn Slattern readers.

Dear Lex;

Forgot Michael Jackson, how about some jokes period? These jokes couldn't suck more of they had rubber lips.

Your inner tirade

Dear Lex's Inner Tirade,

What are you doing in here? (I can write a letter if I want) No you can't, you don't even know how to spell. (Oh, and you do? If I had a nickle for every time you wrote too for two or hear for here, or four for fore or for . . . ) Hey, it's not my fault if spell check sucks and can't figure out something as easy as what I mean instead of what I write . . . (Just start writing something that resembles comedy, spelled write or not . . .) Ah ha! You just did it! (Did what?) You wrote write for right. (I did not) You did two . . .

And that's how we play Lex's inner tirade messes with reader's mail.

(Polite applause)

I am off to go work out like the crazed weldabeest that I am today. Bike, lift, steam. Tonight? Grilled T-Bone with a bourbon sauce. Red wine. Movie. When it comes to a wild night, Colin Ferrell has nothing on my moderate behind.