Ask Marlowe that musical question

Ever wonder why Kurds suddenly appear, every time you have beer? Or how many roads a man must walk down before you can call him a cab? The answers, my friend, are blowing through the mind of musical advice columnist and private investigator (ret.) Philip Marlowe, who once operated a little nightclub and gambling den under the alias of Rick Blaine. Then time went by. Play it once, Sam. For old time’s sake.

Dear Marlowe,

How can I be happy for the rest of my life? — Jimmy Soul

Marlowe replies:

Never make a pretty wife your woman. Especially any dame named Ilsa, or you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.

Dear Marlowe,

Does your chewing gum lose its flavour on the bedpost overnight? If your mother says don’t chew it, do you swallow it in spite? Can you catch it on your tonsils? Can you heave it left and right? — Lonnie Donegan

Marlowe replies: Congratulations. You’re going to be happy for the rest of your life. Guaranteed.

Dear Marlowe,

Why do all the boys just pass me by? Could it be I just don’t try or is it the clothes I wear? — Georgy Girl

Marlowe replies:

I ... I love the colourful clothes you wear and the way the sunlight plays upon your hair. So yeah, Missy, it’s your pissy attitude.

Dear Marlowe,

Isn’t she lovely?

— Stevie Wonder

Marlowe replies:

Maybe, but what’s it to you?

Dear Marlowe,

How do I live without you? How am I supposed to live without you? Do you believe in life after love?

— LeAnn Rimes, Michael Bolton and Cher

Marlowe replies: Step one: Continue basic metabolic functions. Step two: Round up the usual suspects.

Dear Marlowe,

Where is the love? — Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway

Marlowe replies:

Have you checked under the black-eyed peas?

Dear Marlowe,

How deep is your love? — Barry, Robin and Maurice Gibb

Marlowe replies:

What’s size got to do with it?

Dear Marlowe,

What’s going on?

— Marvin Gaye

Marlowe replies:

Broadly speaking, everything.

Dear Marlowe,

Do ya think I’m sexy? — Rod Stewart Marlowe replies:

Put it this way, Chumley. I’m too sexy for your shirt. Too sexy for your shirt. So sexy it hurts. Baby, baby don’t get hooked on me.

Dear Marlowe, Listen. Do you want to know a secret?

— John Lennon and Paul McCartney

Marlowe replies:

Literally my job, gents. I’m the kind of guy who chisels a sodden old wreck out of her life secrets to win a ten-dollar bet. Now get a haircut, you simpering moptops.

Still wondering whether you should go or should you stay? Where have all the flowers gone? Are we human or are you going to Scarborough Fair? Send your questions, quavers and crotchets with a self-addressed F-clef to: Marlowe, P.I. 

℅ Mean Angel, Mean Angel

Answer Me, Please 16 Parkside Lane

Music City, USA

(Ph. Pennsylvania 6-5000. No collect calls will be accepted, sweetheart.)