I haven’t written a column in ten days, which seems like a lifetime—and it is, come to think of it. When I cranked out my last dose of wisdom, I still had a wife and two kids to go home to; unfortunately, all of that changed on Super Sunday when my wife disappeared for about 24 hours and then came to collect her things.
Love is a fickle thing. After not even four years of marriage, my wife became bored with our life and had some kind of spectacular breakdown in December, which caused her to go all to pieces and start drinking and fucking other men and sending her pics and videos to anyone with a pulse and an email address. She even swapped X-rated media with one of my groomsmen, who also happens to be married and have two children. I haven’t told his wife yet—I’ve been busy—but I’ll get to it.
Well … I suppose I’m better off, given the evidence; but what about the kids? She took my stepdaughter with her; as for my son, he lives with me. Now, the children are made to suffer as way of payment for their mother’s lying, cheating, and leaving.
So much for Valentine’s Day, which thankfully is just about over. I don’t write much about my personal life in this column—who would want to read it?—but the calendar says that it’s appropriate … and today’s date just so happens to coincide with me getting my mojo back.
The most surprising news since I’ve been bogged down in my own personal affairs is Rick Santorum’s unlikely victories in Colorado, Minnesota, and Missouri—none of which means a damned thing, but it sure has the voters fooled. According to three recent polls, Santorum is actually in first place; what’s worse is that Newt Gingrich is being pressured to drop out of the race and endorse the beady-eyed little twerp from Pennsylvania.
Jesus God. What does make me feel a bit better is knowing that last night in Washington, Santorum was just about driven right off his stump by Occupy Wall Street protesters before being glitter-bombed. The protesters, for their trouble, were tazed by police.
Right. And I’m still putting my money on Santorum as the next candidate to bow out of the race; I’m also looking forward to March Madness and the bets that it will surely bring.
Finally, Whitney Houston has died of unknown causes, which is too bad since it means that we’ve had to listen to twice as many of her crappy love ballads today.
Here’s your wisdom:
John T. Schmitz is the editor & publisher of Secret Laboratory; he is the founder of Maple Hills Press and has also freelanced as a writer and photographer, contributing to various local and international publications. Mr. Schmitz lives in Minnesota with his son, Calvin; he is the author of four books.
E-mail Mr. Schmitz at email@example.com.