
Marilyn. DUDE. MARILYN.
I get it. You just broke up with your jailbait girlfriend. The same girlfriend you left your wife for, probably. The same girlfriend who then morphed from a sweet, fresh-faced starlet into a sad, pancake-makeup-wearing clone of your ex-wife, Dita Von Teese.


You're hurting, man. All those chicken heart dismemberments have tolled on your soul. I got you.
But when you appeared on the town with an even younger-looking version of the girl who just left you, you had to have known you'd get some attention. It's sad that it's come to this - no one remembers the name of your last album, but they laugh at your predilection for 1940s tarts?
Well, congratulations. You figured out the only way to make me write about you. Now head to the powder room, honey, your lipstick isn't working out.
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