Don’t Cry For Me, Tart-gentina

So, I’m trying to decide for whom I feel more sympathy; a rabid, garbage-eating, filthy-whiskered rat dipped in feces, or any one of Tiger Woods’ harem of hussies?

I’m going with the rat.

It’s bad enough that the public has been sucked into the private celebrity life of Woods in all its ingloriousness, but please stop assaulting my senses further with the constant loop of cry-baby sluts who think they actually have something to cry about. They don’t.

But cry they do, reading their feelings from a crumpled cocktail napkin moments before Gloria Allred wipes their noses with it, and then mugging for the camera with a look so indignant, it should growl.

Listen up bimbo brigade, nobody cares about what you’re “going though”, because what you’re going through, you created. “But I wuv him,” sobbed some bobble-headed porn star. “And, he lied (sniff, sob, blow). He owes me an apowogy. Wight, Glowia?”

Wrong. Nobody owes you a thing. When you make your bed with a married man, you lose the right – no -- you never gain the right to stake a claim to any real part of him. I suspect, as stupid as your behavior was, that deep down inside the further-most crevices of your silicone-surrounded hearts, you knew this.

But you traded reality for a ride on a unicorn with the hope of being tossed off right smack in the middle of Elin’s life. And, well, that wasn’t so smart, was it? Because if you had, for a minute, dismounted your rainbows, you would have realized that Elin’s life included a husband who was busy bedding more than Elin. And, you should have known this how? Um yeah, you were there.

And unless you also wanted a life that included a husband willing to turn that life upside down, your actions, all that you were “going through” with him, was about as illustrious as punching yourself in the face. And for that, you deserve no sympathy. Quit asking for it.

What you do deserve, is what you got. Behold the spectacle of being shot like shiny spit-balls from your land of make-believe! Praise the sweet sound of stupidity springing to life and peeing on your campfires! Toto, you are sooo not in Kansas anymore.

You see, Tiger Woods was never more than a flesh and blood figment of your imaginations. Unfortunately, some of you will profit from your dalliance. Others, perhaps the most honorable of the thieves, will fade away without fanfare, without pomp, and certainly without praise.

Look, I get it. Affairs happen. People fall in and out of love all the time. More often than not, we lead with our libidos, casting our promises aside without letting a little thing like our own, or someone else’s, marriage get in the way. This is so because, despite our ability to stand upright, the main ingredient in our imperfect recipe is caveman. Mix in three parts selfish, and a dash of intermittent guilt, bake over 50 or 60 sexually viable years, and voila! We have human.

And because we are human, we are wont to do dumb things. Okay, fine. The point is, our self-imposed stupidity is undeserving of a sympathy card.

My sympathy belongs to Elin. I’m sorry her husband drove a stake through her emotional well-being. I’m sorry he turned the sanctity of her bedroom into a potential Petri dish. I’m sorry he risked her physical safety, as well as the safety of their children (imagine if Amy Fisher’s bullet missed Mary Jo’s face and instead hit a child in the room?)

But most importantly, I’m sorry there was five thousand pounds of Escalade between his groin and her nine iron.

Reality bites.


  1. Dear Ms. Law B. Itch
    That was so well put! The only scene probably more ridicules than Gloria's crying client reading from her cocktail napkin, is the one as she sat filing her nails at the round table of Tiger's attorneys demanding more than an "apology" , give me a break! Even the rat has a brain.

    Gloria...Babe come on, this is not going to the creditability factor, yours or your client's. Maybe your advice should have been, there is a seat for every ass, yes even a much used one...go get your own!

  2. Yup !!
    Of course, we would not have to "experience" all of mr. wood's assignants, and thier inherant sub-75 i.q.'s, were it not for the consistant "incouragement" of news/media groups in need of more and more "sposorship".
    Jonna , your point is well taken; we have natural inclinations towards damn the torpedos behaviors, and greed.
    The 'news' folks, mentioned above, will never want less, and that means more commercial sponsorship. that, then, translates into more lurid-esque, yellow journalism ; because god forbid we should EVER think of a new way to attract viewer/listener-ship. okay, so i don't have any great ideas for them my self, so... but wow, wow, and... ah, wow.
    Great blog; i must say it was a very pleasant reminder of all the fascinationg conversations from 1,000,000 b.c.(or whenever it was that we last spoke in person); sharp skills, clever girl... the whole package!

  3. Dear Ms. Itch

    You were too kind to the Tiger harem...Tiger is known to be on the cheap side...he must have thought he was buying pussy (can I say that?)using some sweet nothings with them instead of their usual rates (a shot of ripple and five bucks)...after all he's Tiger. He didn't think the usual rates applied to him. Now allow me to be in the world did he find so many ugly, dumb, easy broads? "The harem" and Gloria Allred are a disgrace to human one with a brain is buying their crap...I for one am tired of hearing from them...Tiger's not my business...after listening to his "apology" speech, I know for sure his next career won't be on Broadway...The only thing I want to hear from Tiger is "I had a hole-in-one" and I he better be talking about golf...


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