Dear Bret Michaels,
I am very, very sorry that you are not Liza Minnelli. For one thing, whatever her failings, Liza knows how to avoid the scenery when moving about the stage, probably from attending rehearsals. Also, I had no idea that you had "Feelings."
I am so, so sorry that I made only one small joke in my Tony Awards Show review about your attacking that innocent piece of scenery, instead of mocking you at the same kind of length I employed affectionately chiding Liza for having an off night. As a fellow member of the Wildly-Promiscuous Sex Community myself, I am grateful for your tireless work in seeking respect for the often-derided lives of disease-ridden nymphos everywhere. When asked to name my poison, I will henceforth always name you.
Please do another season of your Find-a-Slut reality TV series. I understand Carrie Prejean needs a new gig. I'm sure you would give her a new appreciation for gay men. Thank you in advance, and God bless you.
I sincerely hope that your injuries are not as painful as listening to your performance was. I wish you well with your recovery. Avoiding all cameras and microphones forever should speed your healing.
Please accept my humble and always-abject apology. In penance, I promise to try my best not to smirk the next time a clip of you licking skanks shows up on The Soup. And I look forward to one day seeing your highly-original interpretation of Sally Bowles. You are what Broadway Theater is all about. You are a True Drama Queen.
However, the piece of scenery you attacked is still waiting for an apology from you, given that it has now been diagnosed with a case of Trench-mouth.
To read more of Tallulah Morehead, go to
The Morehead the Merrier.