When I broke up with my boyfriend, Kanye West – again – I knew he was quite angry and heartbroken. He cried. He threw things. He begged. He fired, like, six people (one of whom didn’t even work for him). His theatrics were really rather embarrassing. I even heard he had some sort of weird outburst involving Taylor Swift during the MTV Video Music Awards.
The poor man was distraught – but had no one to blame but himself…cheating on me like that. And with the likes of Connie Chung and Bill O’Reilly? Granted, Bill is a hot piece of ass – so I really couldn’t blame him for that. But Connie? That was just insulting. I don’t care if she can crack walnuts with her woo-ha. Sending my no good, cheating boyfriend Kanye West packing was the best thing I ever did.
But I had no idea he could be so vindictive.
For years now, I’ve been raising chinchillas and white Bengal cats in my backyard. It wasn’t something I really planned on – it just sort of happened. Uma Thurman showed up at my house in the middle of the night (something she does more often that I’d like, frankly). And as usual, she was up to some shady business. She had lipstick on her teeth, yet oddly wasn’t wearing any lipstick – and she was only wearing one shoe. She rushed into my living room and immediately closed all the curtains.
“You gotta keep this for me.” She said, eyes darting around the room, breathless, ”Don’t ask questions – just take care of her, ok?”
She pulled out a plump chinchilla from her Berkin bag and handed her to me. Then she ran out leaving the door open behind her. I wasn’t exactly sure how one should care for a chinchilla – but how hard could it be? She was adorable, and we bonded almost instantly. I named her Florence.
Well, Uma does this shit to me all the time. She abandons this poor defenseless creature without telling me why – and then neglects to tell me that little Florence is knocked up. In a few weeks, I was the proud father of three bastard baby chinchillas. Well, I don’t know if you know this – but chinchillas are a randy bunch. Every time I turned around, they were mating – so before I knew it, I had a little farm.
The Bengal cats came later. I won’t bore you with that story – but suffice it to say, Paris Hilton is indebted to me for life. She should have known that Bengal cats wouldn’t be as easy to train as a chihuahua.
Incidentally, in case you ever find yourself in the same situation – it is NEVER a good idea to put chinchillas and Bengal cats in the same pen together. I’m just saying.
Anyway, I came home the other night to a surprisingly quiet homestead. The Bengal cats (Jennifer, Bernadette and Howard) were gone. Florence and all her bastard children (and all her children’s bastard children) were gone. I sat in front of the mirror and watched myself cry (because I look truly fetching with tears streaming down my cheeks).
Then I saw this picture.
Well listen up ex-boyfriend Kanye West – I am TOTALLY not taking you back this time. We are OVER.
And I want my Josh Grobin CD back.