You’re dead, Frank, man. What’s that like?
Los Angeles, Calif.
Dear The Dude:
You gotta love livin’, baby, ’cause dyin’ is a pain in the ass.
What does it sound like when doves cry?
The Artist formerly known as Prince
Minneapolis, The U S of A
Dear The Artist formerly known as Prince:
A rancid-smelling aphrodisiac.
I stole some lyrics from you for one of my songs. Do you know which one?
Do be do be do.
Where’s the beef?
Wendy’s, Anytown, Anystate, USA
Dear Stella Pevsner:
You only live once, and the way I live, once is enough.
Who can it be now?
Rock ‘n Roll: The most brutal, ugly, desperate, vicious form of expression it has been my misfortune to hear.
Mr. Sinatra, I feel your life could have been extended for a good 2-3 months had you not had so much to drink during your lifetime. Don’t you feel that drinking was a bad influence on your lifespan? Our group could use your endorsement, albeit posthumous.
Alcohol may be man’s worst enemy, but the bible says love your enemy. I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.
Who loves ya baby?
I love Germany. IÂ´ve even got a German car. At least I think itÂ´s German. ItÂ´s got power-steering, power-brakes, everythingÂ´s power.
I have a question. Am I supposed to treat a lady the same as a dame, or are the two separate sociological entities?
You treat a lady like a dame, and a dame like a lady.
Did you ever f*** my wife?
New York, NY
Dear Jake LaMotta:
If I had as many love affairs as you have given me credit for, I’d now be speaking to you from a jar at the Harvard Medical School.
Now, you must ask yourself one question: `Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do you, punk?’
San Franscisco, CA
Dear Dirty Harry:
Basically, I’m for anything that gets you through the night – be it prayer, tranquilizers or a bottle of Jack Daniels.
Uh . . . huh,huh, uh . . . huh,huh . . . Um . . . like, what is your problem with chicks?
My couch, Right next to your butt
I’m supposed to have a Ph.D. on the subject of women. But the truth is I’ve flunked more often than not. I’m very fond of women; I admire them. But, like all men, I don’t understand them.
I am writing a sequel to my best-selling film “An Inconvenient Truth,” about the toxic waste being spewed into our air. Would you like to write the introduction for me?
Dear Al G.:
Fresh air makes me throw up. I can’t handle it. I’d rather be around three Denobili cigars blowing in my face all night.