February 9, 2011

Unlimited Worry, Strife and Broken Homes.

Yes, I'm okay! I know that, like each of you, the sanity and clarity of your world has totes been ruined today. I mean, I'm usually really good at seeing things that are heading my (or in this case, our) way, but the news this morning has really fucked me sideways (shout out to "United States of Tara" and/or Toni Collette - she's a bad bitch for sure) -- what about y'all? Please, don't do anything drastic -- like get a horrible and very obvious nose job or slum yourselves out to the first drummer of a "Top 40" (or, let's be honest "Adult Rock") you encounter with a jacked dye job. For the love of God, I'd hate to see you in the same position.

No, not the same position as me, duh, as Ashlee Simpz. (That, is obvi a horrible combination of the two horrible last names of Simpson and Wentz. Anyway, as I'm sure you've deduced by now, the punk-rock princess (or was that Avril? Either way this is her story ("herstory"), too) and her sk8er boi (shut the fuck up, you love it) have parted ways in the very permanent way of filing for divorce, fingers crossed. Like me, you've probs got a million worries crossing your mind, so let's address them until I get tired of doing so.

First, the children! Or . . . wait, its just one, right? The child! Isn't his name Brooklyn or some shit? That's what you get when you hate your children - a double "f-you" - you end up with a child named after the main character in "The Jungle Book" and you lose your soul mate. Damnit to hell! If I've said it once, I've said it a million times - stick with traditional, boring names. Make it easier on us all for a change.