Honey, I Want a Divorce

We had good run but we’ve grown apart and the rift between us grows deeper each day. Quite frankly, I can’t take your pre-pubescent outbursts anymore. The whining, the screechy preaching and the constant “sky is falling” mentality has pushed me over the edge. I’ve had it with you and I want a divorce.

You used to be so much fun with that carefree spirit of yours. Heck, years ago you went to San Francisco with flowers in your hair and I understood why. I had grown weary of war too and besides, there was some really great music cranking out of that city. But just like Janice, Jimi and Mama Cass, that dream died.

You came back to reality and realized that peace and love didn’t pay the bills and you needed a job. So you packed your bell bottoms and broken guitar into a colorful Volkswagen Beetle, drove home and reluctantly, I took you back. I thought you had grown up, learned a lesson and decided to become an adult.

It worked for a little while and we were even kind of happy. Sure you had a relapse or two…do I need to mention the bra burning incident again? But we moved on, discussed the issues at hand and agreed to disagree. We remained friends, became lovers and entered into a mixed marriage, so to speak.

Back in those days, your writers put out some really great scripts and the songwriting…nothing short of brilliant. Entertainment was exciting, funny and sometimes thought provoking. The late night shows made fun of us both and we laughed along. The news was…well…newsy. We had fun and even grew to have mutual respect for each other.

Perhaps it was ten years ago or so that I noticed a change in your behavior. You and your friends got harpy and needy like infants wanting constant attention. You demanded it your way. There was no compromise, no conversation. We just simply quit communicating. I thought you would once again find your way back to the center of reality but you just kept moving further left. I even wanted to do a psych evaluation but after the government took over healthcare, (at your request may I remind you) we simply couldn’t afford it. So we drifted even further apart.

For eight years I wasn’t overly fond of your guy. Truth be told, I didn’t like him at all but I didn’t wear a gigantic penis on my head representing the way he bent us over like a cho-mo in gen. pop at a federal penitentiary. Instead, I made my voice heard at the ballot box. Then all hell broke loose. Had I known the way you were going to behave in the fifteen months since the election, I would have invested in riot gear and Kleenex. I could have made a killing in the stock market.

Deep down, I’m a trusting soul and I really thought you’d get it together. Then you threw out my Russian salad dressing, called me a Nazi and burned my flag. Now you’re even trying to take away my gun and it has been with me longer than you have! For crying out loud, it just lays in the drawer silently next to our bed. I put it there to protect us in case someone should break into our home and that’s not even good enough for you.

When you suggested the other day that I needed to turn it into the police, I made the mistake of asking you why. You became unhinged and screamed that we needed to love people more so they wouldn’t hurt us and then added, “We really need to be like California and welcome in everyone!”

I didn’t bother asking if you had lost your mind. I already knew the answer.

The damage is done and our relationship is beyond repair. As for the divorce settlement, I’ll be retaining possession of my gun and regaining my sanity. You can have the kids. I’m too old to buy condoms and they would just snort them up their nose anyway.

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