True story. Years and years ago, I went on a date. It didn’t go particularly well from either viewpoint. After the meal, she told me that we wouldn’t be going out again (to my relief, actually). “Don’t you want to know why?” she asked. I didn’t really, but I figured what the hey. “Sure, why won’t we be going out again?” “Well, frankly, you don’t make enough money,” was her explanation. I pulled out my wallet and laid a $20 bill on the table. And then another. And then another. “What are you doing?” she asked. My reply: “Well, we both know what you are. We’re just dickering on your price”. (My one and only time – and deservedly so – I’ve ever had a drink thrown in my face.)
And so it was with Joe Jackson. We know what he was; he was just dickering on the price.
Okay, one more dating story from the archives.
Years ago, at least 30, I was set up on a blind date with a vehement anti-smoker. Bad idea, since I’m a smoker. One of my biggest pet peeves is noisy gum chewers. Anyway, towards the end of another less than satisfactory date, she had the gall to say “Ya’now, kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray”. To which I replied: “Ya’now, kissing you would be like licking the bottom of a theater seat.”