Forget Election Day. Forget voting. The big news today was that Britney Spears and Kevin Federline are getting a divorce. Was anyone as shocked as I was upon hearing the news? I have to admit I did not see that one coming. It was almost as big a shock as when I heard Liza and David Gest were splitting up. I mean if those two couldn’t make a marriage work, what chance do the rest of us have? Now it’s Britney and K-Fed. Do you think she'll be entitled to half of the profits of his recently released debut rap album? If so, I have no doubt that her share alone will be enough to buy a pretty decent pen to sign the divorce papers.

What about poor K-Fed? He discovered his marriage was over when he saw it on TMZ.com like the rest of the world because Britney never told him in advance she was filing for divorce. Damn, Brit, talk about being toxic. Apparently he is thinking of challenging her request for sole custody of their children. I personally think he has an excellent chance. After all, unlike his last girlfriend, he not only married Britney but didn’t even dump her for another woman when she was pregnant with either of his kids. If that isn’t the epitome of responibility I don’t know what is. I saw a picture of him recently at a gas station filling up his sports car. Since, according to news reports, Britney has an “iron clad pre-nup” perhaps he should return to that gas station and see if they’re hiring. I can see the promotion now: “Check it, yo, pull up to the Feder-line and get a free K-Fed CD when you fill up your tank.” Quick, Kev, call Mobil and hammer out the deal. Hurry up before your fifteen minutes of fame are over. If that doesn’t pan out for you then maybe you and Britney’s last ex can form a band. “Hello, Cleveland, we are the Disposable Husbands!”

Is it just me or has anyone else noticed it seems whenever a celebrity couple has their own reality show their marriage ends up doomed? Britney and Kevin. Jessica and Nick. Whitney and Bobby. Travis Barker from Blink-182 and…whatever the hell her name is. Do you think it’s some sort of curse like watching that tape in those “Ring” movies? Or partaking in yet another office birthday party for some co-worker you either don’t even know or don’t even like, lip syncing “Happy Birthday” because you hate singing only to find out the birthday cake has nuts in it and you’re allergic to nuts so that only pisses you off more because having cake in the middle of the afternoon was the only consolation of having to participate in this ridiculous farce in the first place not to mention the fact that you chipped in for the damn cake and now you can’t even eat it so you just stand there looking stupid with a napkin and an empty paper plate and it makes you think of the movie “Office Space” which reminds you that you too could burn this place down to the ground if you wanted to and…wait, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah, reality shows seem to ruin celebrity marriages.

One would think that the marriages of we mere mortals are safe since we most likely won’t be asked to star in our own reality show. However, when you stop and really think about it, isn’t life itself the ultimate reality show? Wrap your medulla oblongata around that one, my friends.

Contemplating all of this, I am faced with a hard truth that can’t be denied.  I worked at The WB for four years and chipped in for countless birthday cakes but I never got a cake on any of my birthdays. I mean, what the fuck? Sure, I always said I didn’t want to be treated to a birthday lunch but I wouldn’t have minded a cake. Pie would’ve been nice too. A brownie even.  

Of course, knowing my luck, the brownie would’ve had nuts in it….