I'm Here For You, Sandra

Disclaimer:  Despite what you're about to read, there is only one love of my life, and that would of course be my wonderful Theresa.  I can't imagine being happier with anyone, and under no circumstances would I ever leave her for another woman, no matter who that woman would hypothetically be.  Even if this imaginary fantasy babe threw herself upon me, I would only scoff and send her on her way with nary a second glance.  That's just not the kind of man I am because, as I said, Theresa is the only one for me.

All right, now that we've got the "survival instinct" mumbo-jumbo out of the way, Sandra Bullock, if you're reading this, I'm here to mend your broken heart.

I've had a slight crush, and by that I of course mean "delusional obsession," on Sandy ever since I first saw the film Demolition Man.  Honestly, what's not to obsess over?  She's gorgeous, but in a real-life human being way, not the plastic-and-airbrushed-Pamela-Anderson way.  She seems like a sweetheart, kind of like Mary Ann and Ginger all rolled up into one breathtaking package.

And guess what, folks.  Looks like I just might be back in the running for Ms. Bullock's affections.

It seems that Sandra has been yet another casualty of a cheating dirtbag husband, the dastardly Jesse James.  You'd think that she would have been prepared for something like this, given Jesse's sordid history of train robbery, bank heists, and the shooting of innocent bystanders.  Remember the episode of the Brady Bunch where Jesse was Bobby's hero?  Well, Bobby learned his lesson after a terrifying nightmare illustrated just the kind of man Jesse James was.  A mean, dirty killer.

No, seriously, the Jesse James in question (Sandra's white trash husband) has apparently been having an affair with something called, and I'm not making this up, Bombshell McGee.  First of all, what the hell kind of name is that?  It sounds like a nickname that a Marine would be saddled with if he blew his hand off with a grenade.  "Hey, look!  Here comes Bombshell McGee!"

Bombshell is (surprise, surprise) a tattoo model and as such, barely qualifies to be a member of the same species as Sandra Bullock let alone a challenger for the poor woman's husband.  But, as a wise man once said, "De gustibus non est disputandum" (Translation: "Don't ask me what he sees in that skanky bitch"), and against all that is logical and decent, Jesse James discarded Sandy for 140 pounds of ink and bacteria.

I have to wonder what was going through Jesse's mind.  I mean, sure, men are by nature idiots and we've been known to make some really shit-brained decisions from time to time.  But screwing around on Sandra Bullock?  Even Charlie Sheen would say, "Damn, that's pretty fucking stupid."  Was Jesse lying in bed one night, all comfy-cozy in their million-dollar mansion, Oscar-winning wife lightly massaging him with cinnamon-scented body lotion when all of a sudden the thought occurred to him, You know, I gotta be able to do better than this?

Well, apparently so.

And to think, in her Golden Globe acceptance speech, Sandra went out of her way to thank this douchebag saying, "I finally know what it's like for someone to have my back."  Yeah, he had it, and then he shoved a knife in it.  Talk about the blind side, where was Michael Oher when you needed him?

I guess it was just a matter of time until Jesse answered the question that was on everyone's mind from the time the two of them got married.  That is, "What the hell does she see in that scuzzball?"

De gustibus non est disputandum, indeed.

So Sandy, darling, I understand that you're going through a rough patch right now.  Getting jilted is never easy, especially in such a public and utterly mind-boggling manner as this.  You've got to be wondering, "How in the world did I lose my husband to a bitch named Bombshell?"  But don't beat yourself up over it.  What you need is a knee-jerk, self-esteem boosting, purely physical rebound fling to get your life back on track.  Reboot the system, so to speak.  All you need is a nice guy willing to let you use him to fulfill your immediate needs, and then disappear without another word.

I'll bring the cinnamon-scented body lotion.


d