When Celebrities Break Up, We All Break Up

Officially, for the record, the lyrics to Steal My Sunshine are among the weirdest in music history. Butter tarts? Okay.

Anyways, with all these breakups headlining news stories this last week, I feel the need to reiterate something... how I couldn't give a fuck less what the hell is going on in celebrity relationships. What can make our lives feel any more empty than news about an argument between two pop stars scrolling across a CNN newsticker? People actually get worked up about this stuff. Guess what, America? Two people who, if they knew you would hate you, broke up.

Sheryl Crow and Lance Armstrong split up. Better run it front page, guys, because I'm pretty sure half of that couple sang a song called "D'Yer Mak'er." It's pathetic enough we leech onto these stories for sustinence, but then we have to pry. Why, oh why did these two break up? Let's see... she's a rock star and he has one testicle. Isn't that like Christina Aguilera announcing she's dating Lance Bass?

But wait a second, Tom Cruise may have broken up with Katie Holmes. Holy shit. I need a new pair of pants, this pair got too excited and got pants juice on itself. Does this affect anyone? What? So you mean now I can touch myself to pictures of Katie in my sleazy basement by myself without having to look over my shoulder about it? Then please run it top story on every news show and plaster it on every magazine cover I come in contact with. Glorious day.

Mike Myers splitting with his wife wasn't nearly as hot a topic. Maybe because neither one is very fun to print on your magazine cover when you're actually trying to sell them. Them splitting doesn't really shock me too much. Seeing the two of them together always made me feel awkward. I sensed the rift. But, then again, I always felt the same way about Phil Hartman and his wife.

The photographer knew this would make a classic breakup shot some day.

But what the fuck is so unimportant about everything else going on in the world that this is what piques our interest? So the chick from Melrose Place is on the market again. What difference is that going to make for you, pal? You still weigh 290 pounds with perennial Cheetos stains on your shirt, and now you own an issue of Star Magazine. Doesn't look like life's getting any better. This is why the rest of the world hates us.

The Beginning

My grandmother once told me I'd never amount to anything. Hey Grandma, suck this. It's today speak for go to hell.

Okay, maybe she has a point. I haven't accomplished a thing in life outside of sucking up to her for her inheritance. But there's one thing I have that my grandmother doesn't, outside of long-term memory and solid stool. And that's the ability to author a blog. The point of this blog is to painfully dissertate the things that piss me off; not limited to grandma. See, we can all be optimists and look at Wednesday's Child. But it takes someone fantastically jaded to review Wednesday's Abortion.