A Couple of White Guys Sitting 'round and Blowin' Smoke Up Each Other's Ass.*

P.J. O'Rourke died of lung cancer -- print that, lung -- NOT anal cancer like Farrah... -- in recent days at a relatively respectable 74, for an old boy...  

I'm reminded of the character Rob Lowe played in St. Elmo's Fire way back in the fast and furiously wealthy 80s ("we were the best, we'd ever be... just you and me.")

O'Rourke leaves behind a cascade of readers and writer friends, two ex-wives, and three children -- a respectable family man. 

He was remembered in the respectable NYT today for his now-dated humor ("bad boy for life" has cultural betters now in the humor game, "bitch") by his friend Christopher Buckley, son of the respectable Wm. F. and author of the critically funny book Thank You for Smoking, back in the day

By Christopher Buckley

Mr. Buckley is a novelist and humorist.

“How many feminists does it take to change a light bulb?” my friend P.J. O’Rourke asked me one less-than-sober evening years ago. The answer was “One — and that’s not funny!”

He was a fellow of infinite jest. I can scarcely recall, over the 40 years we were friends, P.J. saying anything that wasn’t funny.

Of all human failings, he found humorlessness the funniest.

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* H/t  "A Couple White Chicks Sittin' Around Talking."