Fuck you people who are all “Who cares about Brad and Jen!” like you’re above all that stupid gossip. YOU ARE THE STUPID ONES. Brad and Jen can bring this country together, if you’d just let them!

Brad and Jen, or is it Jen and Brad? You’d think I would know, given how many stories I made up when I worked for the tabloids. All the years of those fake magazine covers…I just saw one tonight that said, “Brad finally introduces Jen to his children, now they’re a real family!” As if!

We made fun of them, sure, but now is the time to turn our lonely eyes to Brad and Jen. They are mom and dad, the people next door, they are you and me! They can go through a million traumas and still patch things up! Let them! In fact, MAKE THEM DO IT, for their country.

If Brad and Jen are you and me, let Angelina be Trump, the larger-than-life monster who deceives everyone into thinking she/he can make our dreams come true. Soon, Angelina/Trump could no longer maintain the ruse. She/he was actually a maniac who would do anything to hurt and humiliate us!

Poor Brad was fooled by those big lips and those adopted children. He lost himself. Everyone knows that Brad morphs into someone new each time he changes girlfriends. With Gwyneth he was one thing, with Jen he was another. With Jen, he was his Best Self, and we know how important it is to be your Best Self. With Jen, Brad could sit around all day smoking weed and minding his own business. With Angelina, he had to be Mister International, flying around pretending to care about shit.

And Jen! She had to marry that awful guy with the big dick, what was his name? Anyway, what a gigolo he turned out to be, no surprise there, right? We knew it wouldn’t last even if Jen didn’t.

Now Jen has her dream house and all her friends and she is good without having children because a woman can be fulfilled without being a mother, god damn you haters. STOP MAKING HER EXPLAIN HERSELF.

Jen is in great shape for 50 and has never been happier, alright? And Brad has been taking time to think about what really matters. I saw this in GQ, so I know. He’s been rethinking his priorities. And god knows he’s learned his lesson about hooking up with a big-lipped woman who won’t eat and keeps acquiring kids who she then turns against him.

Let Brad and Jen be happy. Let them rediscover how great it is to just sit at home and smoke weed. Let them patch up their production company and start looking for a project they can star in. Let them go to their plastic surgeons together and maybe loosen up their faces. Their faces are starting to look like puppets. But at least they eat!

Let’s come together, people. It’s time. We need to heal and we need to start now, as the impeachment threatens to erase what’s left of our common humanity.

Thank you Brad and Jen! All is forgiven! Begin your new journey together, preferably with a star-studded wedding, and just allow us to love your Best Selves. God bless you and God Bless America.

When I heard this morning that Brad and Angie are getting divorced, I was filled with a deep joy that spread through my being like one of Sting’s tantric orgasms, only better.

Who among us has not been waiting for this day, silently wishing they would shut the fuck up about their relationship and commitment to their kid collection.

Coming in the midst of the pestilence we call Donald Trump, their break up is just what this country needs and I for one would like to thank them for pulling it out just in time.

Thank you, Brad and Angie!

Thank you for everything, not just for getting divorced!

Thank you for the scandal that brought you to fame, thank you for elevating Jennifer Aniston to a national symbol of betrayed womanhood, thank you for the red-carpet PDA’s, thank you for the international photo ops, thank you for the self-adulating interviews, thank you for the awful Louis Vuitton and Chanel ad campaigns, thank you for letting us share your love of your children when you take them to toy stores, thank you for teaching us about cancer genes and refugees, thank you for being such great humanitarians and art collectors and real estate developers, thank you for letting Shiloh be a boy, thank you for calling everything “great fun” or “grand” and finally, thank you for the botox.

There is so much more, and in time it would be great fun if I could remember it all.

Meanwhile, as we wait patiently fir the stories and counterstories to emerge, let’s try to guess what happened.

Brad cheated. Brad ‘s temper. Brad’s substance abuse. Brad’s IQ. Brad’s hats.

Or

Angie’s eating disorder. Angie’s drug addiction. Angie’s jealousy. Those fucking neutral colors.

Who even cares?!?

Let’s just be grateful for what we are to receive, amen.

While laying in my death-bed, I’ve been able to read the new Vogue magazine with a fine-tooth comb, so to speak. It’s filled with horror this month. I haven’t even begun to dissect its many insults, but a feature on the style of ‘real’ women introduced me to the self-centered Trophy Wife of John Mellencamp.

Former fashion model Elaine Irwin and John Mellencamp have named their two sons “Hud” and “Speck.”

What were they thinking?! Hud is just awful, but Speck? Did they name him after serial nurse-killer Richard Speck? Or was he just really tiny, like a little teeny speck of a baby?   Whatever, the Mellencamps are fucking idiots.

I am also a little disappointed in Brangelina’s name for their new boy, “Knox.” I see it is imperative that all their boys have an X in their names. Maddox, Pax, and so on.

But “Knox?” It cries out for the suffix, “Fort.”

Here is my list of suggestions for their next son (leaving out the too-conventional “Max”)

Tex
Tex Mex
Text
Fax
Lox
Vox

That’s it, I’m worn out. Any one got some more?