Any road up, one of the reasons I left Minneapolis back in May, other than being dumped for someone my ex met on the Internet -- and that I drove her to her first date with, come t'think of it -- and who dumped her ass like a bad habit shortly after I left -- and if you don't think I felt just the tiniest bit of schadenfreude about that, given I got a teary, crying-on-virtual-shoulder phone call about it, you're confusing me with someone much closer to Sainthood -- damn, how many embeds is that? -- right, start over.
One of the reasons I left is that a one bedroom, no matter how spacious, just wasn't big enough for two adults and three cats.
Oh, and a pug.
Not that I really miss that annoying, yappy little bitch.
Claim: Ordered by a judge to hand over all the profits from his next album to his ex-wife
as part of a divorce settlement, singer Marvin Gaye deliberately
recorded a wretched album designed to sell poorly, which he
sardonically entitled Here, My Dear.
Damn. Another perfectly good gag, ruined by the facts. And I grew up hearing that story. . .