Robin Fugt Penn

Well, Robin Wright Penn and Sean Penn are no longer getting divorced. It’s off. AGAIN. For the craptillionth time. Jessica and I just discussed how it kind of makes us hate them both, because seriously, love is hard and all and we know divorce is very painful and difficult and fraught, but YOU HAVE KIDS. To put it in really crass terms: Stop f’ing around and figure out your shit.

I contend they need to get divorced now more than ever, because it is sucking the hot out of Robin. Observe. Divorce on:

Delicious.

Divorce off:

Tired. Messy. Like she got out of the shower and shoved her hair out of her face to do her makeup, then someone rang the doorbell and handed her a telegram from Sean Penn — because the idea of him calling off his divorce by telegram amuses me — “DEAR ROBIN. STOP. DON’T THROW THIS OUT. STOP. I AM A DOUCHE. THIS DIVORCE SHOULD… STOP” — and she got all flustered and distracted, and hopped on the phone with her best girlfriend and was like, “You are not going to BELIEVE this,” and by the time they hung up she was twenty minutes late and ran out the door without a mirror-check.

So I am just afraid several more rounds of this nonsense is going to make her hair fall out and give her jaundice, or something. Even Princess Buttercup sacked up in the end — well, sort of — and so we all forgave her for the fact that Westley’s Dread Pirate Roberts disguise was even thinner than Lady Victoria Hervey and yet she still didn’t recognize him. Stand up and take back your hotness, lady. If that involves taking back your husband, then whatever, but save yourself first.