My big sister, Chyna, has said time and time again that I attract crazy folk. I think it’s true. One of those crazy folk happen to be this tantalizing tre-piece named Panama Jackson. I heard through the grapevine that he was the king of red meat.
Anyhow, I was in search of Friday Foolery fodder*, and he suggested something glorious. See, recently he sent me this hilarious divorce letter. Before you do anything else (and right after you read this sentence), please click this link and read the letter. Thank me later. Before Drake, though.
You done? No? Damn, cut Speed-Reading class, much? *taps foot to the beat of just one drum* Ah, you’re done now? Fabulousness.
He told me to use the above letter today and then suggested that I write my own. After one second of “Good Gawd, that’s a lot of pressure!!” thoughts going on in my head, I let him know that it was a fantastic idea. And it is. It’s still a lot of pressure though. After a bit of back back, forth and forth, I decided to go ahead and try it.
When I read the “Best Divorce Letter Ever”, I pictured it as a woman’s nightmare. I mean, he fired shot after shot, aiming directly for what generally hurts a woman most. So, I figured I should write my letter in that same vein. Only switching the roles, of course.
Before I dive into it, I just wanna say that this letter may or may not be in my voice (more like may not)…I’m just taking on the many voices of scorned women (in general) and made one character. Hope ya’ll enjoy…
Dearest Dick (née Richard),
I probably went through an entire box of Kleenex before I mustered up the courage to write this. My best friend, Kay (the one you can’t stand partly because she is always in our business and partly because you tried to hit on her when we were in college and she shut you down promptly, in front of your father) thought it would be best for both us to write to you so we can obtain some sort of closure.
Because, with every ventricle in my heart, that is what I want. I truly believe that it is the only way I’ll be able to push these memories out of my head.
Speaking of memories, remember that Super Bowl Party we had last year? It was a grand old time. I was thinking of it because I noticed football season was in full swing (something I’d notice without you there to explain it to me, for the record) and I wanted to make sure I was able to recreate the fond memories of chatter and cheering this year. So, I remembered that your best buddy, Michael, worked at the local Best Buy and I asked him if he could deliver a large screen HD television for me this past weekend.
And he did. We sat and talked about old times. The infamous Homecoming game when you scored the winning touchdown. You were quite the athlete. And you know how much I appreciate athletics. Michael knows this as well as I told him by going into Exorcist-level hysterics as he lifted me into the air with his schlong right after I thanked him for setting up my DVR. In that “Look Ma, no hands” sort of way. I was quite impressed and made sure to take his business card as I remember you mentioned he is a personal trainer on the side.
In the spirit of — as the more fiesty girls say — “getting my groove back”, I might as well start with my body. Heaven knows you made sure to tell me to tone up that little flab in my lower belly. I now realize you desired my toned abs to be the “ying” to your potbelly “yang”, which is understandable. You are such an artist.
Oh! That reminds me. Remember that picture you bought for me on our third anniversary? The one of the beach and the seashells near the shore? I ran into the kind artist guy that made it for us. He helped me find a resale shop to sell it to. It’s sort of a pity that I sold it for merely a third of the price you did, but I suppose that’s just the way the stale cookie crumbles when you bite into it three weeks after its expiration date. Anyway, I used that money to fill up my gas tank so that artist guy and I could drive down to that very beach and fufill every one of those unpure thoughts I had about him when we met him. You know me, I can’t hold water and since he listened to me rant about my womanly emotions, I couldn’t help but allow him to enter my backdoor. Boy, was it embarrassing to get caught by your supervisor, Officer Compton! I was probably much too loud expressing how pleased I was with the way he was making my no-no spot feel. But, the kind Officer let us crazy kids be on our way, mumbling something about he was looking forward to seeing you in the morning. You always hated him, didn’t you? You should work into channeling that into boxing classes or something. It’ll also help your arms since they are of the feminine nature.
You know, it’s a funny feeling, exploring my sexual life outside of you. You may call me something of the trollop variety since I’m drastically changing from the woman who would often withhold sex from you due to “headaches”, but there is only so much I can take of midnight vienna sausage snacks. Sometimes, I need a bit of bratwurst in my life, at the very least. A girl’s gotta eat. And eat well. It gives me a chuckle imagining someone such as yourself calling me a “whore”, when about this time last year, I drove you to the local clinic to get your VD shot when you decided to pursue that waitress down the street.
Oh, there I go rambling again. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m okay and I hope you’re okay as well. Tell your mother I said hello. I know she’s living with you now and I think that’s just lovely. I bet it’s a hit with the ladies! Of which, I truly hope you find luck with. I honestly want you to find the woman who can appreciate your obsession with that Madden game. I’d hate for that woman to be your mother for life. She’s such a sweet woman and deserves a life of her own. She’s expressed such to me on numerous occassions, even when we were together so I’m sure that applies now. Being the sweet man you are, I have zero doubt you’ll take that into consideration.
Thank you for giving me this opportunity to express myself. Thank you for tearing up that pre-nup while I orally gave you your birthday present via your crotch area. I’m enjoying a good chunk of your earnings, which probably wasn’t much to begin with seeing as I earned more than you anyway.
Oh, there I go again, nagging you again regarding financial matters when I should just be shutting my mouth. I’m sure your younger brother with the type of chest that makes women subconsciously rub it– who is actually just now pulling up in my driveway now — will be able to help me with that. Shutting my mouth, that is. In fact, I’d say I’m quite hungry for meat right about now.
Always sending good vibes your way.
Whew! Wow, chicks talk a lot, huh? *cracks knuckles* Anyway, I know I can’t live up to the greatness of the OG letter, but that was my up-late-at-midnight attempt. I was feeling extra foolish this week and decided to show ya’ll better than I can tell ya. Tell me how ya like it. Have you ever wanted to write a similar letter to an ex that wronged you? If you decide to and it’s chock full of hilarious shots fired and roasting, can you share it with me? If you had to add anything to that letter, what would you add? Do share in the comments. Let’s let our creativity shine on this glorious end of the workweek.
Also, don’t hesitate to follow Panama’s (and past readers’) lead and suggest more Friday Foolery topics and send it to me using the venues listed on my contact page. Or hell, keep it funky and send it through smoke signals.
Happy Friday, Pinchers!
Love ya like Tom (the cat) loves asking his love interest whether she is or ain’t his baby,