Divorce American Style

God Bless Divorce.

You know, if it were not for that time honored institution I would still be working for an Insurance Company.

I would still weigh-in at the sumo-weight of two hundred and sixty some pounds.

I would be spending my days staring at a computer and answering the phone to be excoriated by some venomous corporate pigface in his/her/its unflattering gray-carpeted cube farm (just like the one I was in) safely out of the range of my raging kung-fu grip.

I would still be having no sex (and the sex we did have was not so good at that).

I would still be hiding the fact that we smoked from her mother.

I would still be linked by a governmental paper-trail to some scrawny cherub who was just as unhappy as I was, and this is where I would like to stop and hurl a King James sized booger at the religious do-gooders in the world who are attempting to handcuff the remaining fifty-percent of unhappy married couples together for eternity.

At least half the time marriage is one big ouchy with no ace bandage big enuff. So please, thou shalt not cram the Good Word down the throats of barren, debt-laden marriages. As it was in the beginning, so it always shall be: marriage is for the movies (at least fifty-per-cent of the time).

Impeach George Bush.