Jewish World Review Dec. 4, 2002 / 29 Kislev, 5763

Jeff Kramer

Jeff Kramer
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Consumer Reports

Now it can be told: I, too, was married to Lisa Marie Presley | I said nothing when her marriage to Danny Keough ended in divorce in 1994.

I stayed quiet when she and Michael Jackson split in 1996.

I zipped it when she and Hawaiian singer John Oszajca broke their engagement in 2001.

But with news that Lisa Marie Presley and Nicolas Cage have filed for divorce after being married just four months, it's time for me to speak out.

In March 1987, for nine breathtaking, wonderful, infuriating days, I, too, was married to Lisa Marie Presley.

Weren't you?

Momentarily, I'll provide details of my tempestuous union with the only daughter of the King of Rock 'n' Roll, but first a plea:

If you were ever married to Lisa Marie Presley, even for an hour, please contact me immediately about a Lisa Marie Ex-Spouses Support Group I'm forming at the Pond of Anaheim.

We all need to heal.

Now for the good stuff.

I first met Lisa Marie at a stop light in Boston in 1987.

"Let's just cut the B.S. and get married," she yelled to me from her Porsche.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Lisa Marie Presley," she replied.

"Oh," I said. "OK."

We spent the day shopping for a very large ring. Then we were married.

"This isn't working out," Lisa informed me the next morning. "You're suffocating me."

"Fine," I said. "I'll go to the gym or something."

But it was no use.

"How come you're never around?" she sobbed when I got home.

It went downhill from there.

Her tendency to belt out "One for the money, two for the show ... " at extremely critical moments created performance anxiety issues I'd rather not discuss here. She repeatedly nagged me to learn to moonwalk.

The little things that she'd found so endearing early in our marriage -- like my habit of appearing in public with dirty sweat socks wrapped tightly around my head -- began to irritate her.

Not that she was a picnic.

"What, exactly, is it that you do all day?" I asked her.

"I'm a professional celebrity," she said. "Aren't you?"

"No," I said.

We both stood there, struggling to make sense of us.

"I hate you and I want a divorce," she concluded. "But I want us to be friends."

Then she hurled her $65,000 engagement ring into the sea ? a gesture she would repeat years later for the benefit of Mr. Cage.

Our final divorce papers molder in an undisclosed Massachusetts courthouse.

"Presley-Kramer believes she would be happier with someone who has a brother named 'Tito' and a giraffe," the documents state. "Termination of the marriage agreement is mutually agreed upon."

We were together for nine insane days, and my career never recovered.


Poor Nick Cage was married to her four whole months, and now his career is toast.

Meanwhile, Michael Jackson is down to two facial features.

Guys, if she comes looking for you, my advice is to heed the words of her legendary dad:

"Return to sender."

JWR contributor Jeff Kramer is a humor columnist based at the Orange County Register. Comment by clicking here.

11/27/02: Every good dad is a thriller

© 2002, Orange County Register