A wife can forgive the ‘other woman’, can’t she?Bernie Madoff is serving a 150-year prison sentence for hoodwinking investors out of millions. Now one of those investors, Sheryl Weinstein, claims Bernie also stole her heart. In her soon to be published book, she confesses to have been involved in an affair with Madoff for over 20 years. Despite this new scandalous revelation, Bernie Madoff’s legal wife, Ruth, sent the following letter to the judge overseeing Mr. Madoff’s case.
Dear Your Most Honored Honor:
Back in June, you sentenced my loving husband, Bernard Madoff (Prisoner #61727-054), to serve 150-years in federal prison for his crimes of bilking innocent investors out of countless millions, their precious dreams and the remains of their sacred lives.
My husband is a good man, an honorable man, a 71-year old man. I am writing you with a sincere request.
If he serves his full term, Bernie will not be released until June 4, 2159. Your Honorable Honor, if you would shed some mercy, I implore you to reduce his sentence to an early release date of June 4, 2158. Please, let him enjoy some free time before his time is up.
Thank you, kind sir. In closing, I must mention that Bernie told me that you appear to be gaining a lot of weight. He said even in your black robe, you appear to be morbidly obese.
Best wishes,
Ms. Ruth Madoff Standing By Her Man As Best She Can
See me? 281st row, 134th from left, wearing a porkpie hat. Winking.
It was supposed to be a little concert in upstate New York. Just some friends, some music, some good times. It became a legendary rock concert and historic event. Even though I was just a kid from northeastern Ohio, I was there and kept a haphazard journal. Here are my notes from 40 years ago (scribbled on a Big Chief tablet):
Met some black dude named Jimi. Says he’s playing guitar on Sunday and wants to make a political statement. Says he’s thinking of playing “The Hokey-Pokey” because in Vietnam, you’re either in, you’re out, or you’re shaking it all about. I tell him it seems kinda heavy-handed. I suggest he plays “The Star Spangled Banner” and let people draw their own conclusions. He threw me his guitar and said, “Thanks, kid.” I wonder if he’s really playing or just kidding me…
Some of the younger kids are talking. Rumors going ’round is that the yellow Pez are cool. Orange are nice. BUT DO NOT take the purple Pez. They’re really, really sour.
Have given up on the idea of introducing myself to everyone here. After 14 straight hours of doing it, feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface. It’s also nearly impossible to remember all their names.
Rain. Mud. Stink like a wet monkey riding a wet donkey. Apparently there is no deodorant concession stand. Moisture also makes hair unmanageable.
Met a dude named Willie and his old lady Mildred. She was having a hard time getting her walker through the mud.
Where’s The 1910 Fruitgum Company? I thought they were playing… No Cowsills, yet, either… Herb Alpert & The Tiajuana Brass?
A Woodstock Poem: Love is in the air. Love is everywhere. Love to love this loving love. Love. Love. I hate those who can’t love. Love or die. Love or die. Love or I spit in your eye. Love, for crying out loud–LOVE!!!
Been holding this pee in for nine hours. I wish this bathroom line would move.
All these incredible young people, free spirits, open minds, all gathered together– baptized by rain, rock, and love. This world is going to be such a trippy, beautiful, peaceful place when these hippies take over and everyone just loves everyone and digs on everything. No more war, hate, pollution, prejudice, pain, flat tires, hunger, fallen arches, poverty, charlie horses in the middle of the night… no, man, it’s all going to be better. The world will change and it’s all going to be cool. Of this I am sure.
All hail the creators of “The Most Interesting Man in the World” campaign for Dos Equis beer. Let us now sing the praises of this brilliant campaign.
It does not talk about beer ingredients.
It does not feature hot babes lusting for dudes who hold the product.
It does not perpetuate the battle of the sexes with sophomoric gags.
It does not exude fake sincerity and empathy for its audience.
It does not feature brewers or their brewing secrets.
For the love of beauty product shots, it doesn’t even have a beer pour!
Our hero is a man with robust facial hair and adventurous tales that would have made Hemingway pee his pants in fear and caused Norman Mailer to sit down and shut his pie-hole.
In commercials he is described this way: “His beard alone has experienced more than a lesser man’s entire body.”
“The police often question him… just because they find him so interesting.”
“His personality is so magnetic, he is unable to carry credit cards.”
“He once had an awkward moment just to know how it feels.”
“His blood smells like cologne.”
“He lives vicariously… through himself.”
Little wonder “his reputation is expanding faster than the universe.”
This campaign broke a couple years ago, and its legend continues as it breaks all the conventions of beer advertising and becomes a cultural phenomenon. Imagine the bravery of a client who approved the line “The Most Interesting Man” speaks toward the end of each spot, “I don’t always drink beer, but when I do, I prefer Dos Equis.”
WHAT! That’s the softest sell ever. “I don’t always drink beer”(hey, who’s paying for this spot?!)… “but when I do”(you better drink it, it’s in your contract, mister…) “I prefer Dos Equis.” (“Prefer?!” How about “I INSIST it be great tasting, double-hopped, crystal spring water cold filtered for extra flavor-liciousness Dos Equis!”)
The most interesting thing about “The Most Interesting Man” campaign is this: the execution IS the idea. Once, this idea would have been killed because “any beer could say it.” So what? Any beer didn’t say it. Dos Equis did, and they created a man, a myth and a beer legend that will endure for quite some time.
In a flat beer sales environment, Dos Equis is up, way up. It’s great when great advertising works.
Rush warned us, now Lou Dobbs confirms it: President Barack Obama is an illegal alien. But that’s only half the story, morning glories.
It’s not just that Obama wasn’t born in these United States, perhaps he’s not even from our planet– making him an illegal alien alien!
Cripes, people– what if when he loosens his tie, takes off the suit and peels back his skin, he’s some sort of hideous creature from another galaxy here for our tasty healthcare, delicious salty snacks and refreshing protoplasm.
Look, I don’t want to sound alarmist here, but RuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuN!
On July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong allegedly became the first man to walk on the moon. I say allegedly because 6% of the U.S. population believes it was a government hoax; that it was actually two chimps in the spacesuit and it was shot on Mars, dressed to look like the surface of the moon. You truly cannot fool all of the people all of the time.
Be that as it may, I’ve come across some of the other options the alleged Neil Armstrong had as his first words to accompany his first steps on the alleged moon. I share because I care.
"Look at me, everyone– look at me! Lookit!!!"
“That’s one small step for man and a really big leap forward for the human race of which the man is a part of, you know, the man who made the small step in the first place. That guy… me.”
“Hey, is everyone buying me being on the moon? I mean, really, this looks pretty authentic, right, because this is not a government hoax, I swear. I am on the moon! For real.”
“Now then, what was I going to say?”
“You just can’t beat a good BLT sandwich, no siree bob!”
“I’m on top of the world being on top of the moon. Did I just blow your mind, or what?”
“Looks like a full earth tonight. I love a full earth.”
“Hey, this ain’t no green cheese! It was all a lie! An awful, horrible lie!!!”
“They put a man on the moon, you’d think they’d be able to make a denture adhesive that didn’t slip. Well, now they have. Try new and improved PoliGrip…”
“All earthlings beware, bow to your new leader– Neil Armstrong!”
“I sure hope this moon dust comes out of carpets because I didn’t pack a second pair of shoes.”
The king is dead. Walter Cronkite gave earth 92 years and now has left it.
Back in the days before a 24-hour news cycle, before Ken and Barbie dolls learned to read Teleprompters, people like Cronkite applied the rules of journalism to their craft. They did the legwork, the homework and the back-breaking work of getting the story right, then presented it in as unbiased a manner as possible.
Back in the day, Cronkite was the heart, soul and face of television news. He was “The most trusted man in America” because he gave us the straight dope. He told us JFK had been shot and killed in Dallas and he paused for a moment, took off his eyeglasses, brushed aside tears, collected himself, returned his glasses to his nose and soldiered on. The only other time I saw him get teary eyed was the tears of joy he had reporting Neil Armstrong’s moonwalk 40 years ago.
He was the man who gave us weekly casualty counts from Vietnam. When Uncle Walter concluded that after so long and so catastrophic a casualty toll we should pull out, LBJ knew he had lost middle America’s support. He would not seek office again.
Whatever Cronkite told us we took as gospel. We thought and felt he would only tell us the truth. When he signed off each broadcast with “and that’s the way it is” we believed truly believed that’s the way it was.
Today we have pretty boys and girls relaying sound bites and pundits spewing talking points. We sensationalize everything and glamorize anything. But once upon a time, journalists roamed the earth, gathered the news and fed the masses truth. Cronkite was such a dinosaur and I am thankful he appeared in the magic box and talked to me.
