not quite what dr. seuss had in mind, but i think he’d approve:

you’re a dumbass, mr. hat.

you really are a tool.

you’re as welcome as a hemorroid,

in a public swimming pool.

mr. hat.

you’re a dingleberry

in filthy underoos.

you’re a fucknuts, mr hat.

your brain is wired wrong.

your soul is full of malice,

you’ve got lemons in your bong.

mr. hat.

i would’t fuck you with a -

nother dudes’s big ol’ hairy schlong.

you’re a loser. mr. hat.

you’re so ugly in and out.

you have all the sex appeal,

of a tranny with the gout.

mr. hat.

given the choice between the two of you

i’d take the tranny with the gout.

you’re a giant baby, mr. hat

but you made a ton of bucks.

your wallet will soon be empty,

you truly are so fucked.

mr. hat.

merry EX-mas, mr. hat

xoxo,

swv

i could blather on about how grateful i am for my delicious children, supportive family, beloved friends, all my abundance, & yada yada which, of course, goes without saying; but here are a few more things a girl like me is thankful for this thanksgiving…

my young well hung boyfriend.

that my young well hung boyfriend doesn’t give a shit about the 5 extra pounds of muffin top that now pours over my jeans since we started dating.

that after losing my father, i still have a wonderful man in my life (see above) that supports me, gets me totally, thinks i am fabulous just the way i am & loves me unconditionally.

smart food white cheddar popcorn & carbohydrates in general.

the wonderland that is sephora.

joss stone, & alana davis.

chelsea handler & all talented, strong, & funny women, famous or not, who aren’t afraid  to speak their minds.

my lawyer.

my lawyer’s staff.

not having to spend anymore time with the in-laws or pretending to like any of them ever again.

flavored vodka.

texting.

pendente lite.

butt wipes.

the freedom from giving a shit about what The Asshat (a.k.a. ex husband to be)  thinks about anything i do. actually, what he thinks about anything at all.

the wonderful sense of humor my father had and how he taught me to see the humor in everything, every day.

not having to sleep next to a Snoring Fat Ape ever again.

never being seen in a yellow car/suv again.

not pretending to care about anything that has to do with the “the market or “work.”

not having to wash stained underwear, rush (a.k.a. The Worst Band Ever) t-shirts, or filthy socks.

not having to care about how foul the bathroom i don’t use anymore now is.

finally feeling completely free to be myself.

having the fortitude to show some people that payback is a bitch & consequences for bad behavior are real.

ebay, facebook, google mail, zappo’s, nordstrom, & online shopping.

talk soup, the dish, family guy, the simpsons, & the like for making me laugh daily.

my DVR.

ipods & limewire.

paige petite jeans.

flat irons.

high heeled clogs & wedges.

my mom’s new kitty, dexter.

the incredible strength my mother possesses & passed on to me .

the bright future that i know lies ahead of me.

my dear friend mary petto who invited my mother and i to join her family dysfunction this year. she ended up putting out her back & spent it flat on her couch while the rest of us ate ourselves into a tryptophan induced coma in her dining room.

having happy memories of my father being with us last year on this very day.

as soon as the papers were filed, The Head Mental Patient started assaulting, daily, my poor inbox with nasty, mean-spirited hate mail. i have enough to publish a book which i plan to name, “How to Divorce a Crazy Man,” or something along those lines. my response to his vengeful emails was normally to ignore them, because he is a manchild & really just wants my attention, and, they are, after all, the rantings of a madman. over the months, the emails would ebb & flo: eventually subsiding from my lack of attention and then returning when he went on a new anger bender from the lack of control he had over me. once in awhile i would respond with logic in an attempt to make his head explode. lately, i usually respond with, “sounds good. have a smurfy day, ” or “ok, hugs and kisses, sweetcheeks,” all of which make him foam at the mouth & me giggle.

of course, i forward all of these emails to my bfbff (swv lingo for boyfriendbestfriendforever), and after we catch our breath from laughing hysterically, we think of all the sarcastic, annoying, silly responses we can. last night was one such night, where inspired by a new resurgence of asshat rage, i waxed poetic. i would like to share my poems with you since not only are they amusing and are going to be a new line of svw greeting cards, but they make great filler until i finish all of my 1/2 done posts on other topics.

the svw line of happy divorce (tm) greeting cards:

roses are red, violets are blue, we no longer fuck, but i am still screwing you.

roses are red, you never had a clue, you were a really sucky husband, i’m glad i’m no longer married to you.

rose are red, you smell like dog poo, i hated every disgusting minute, i had to fuck you.

rose are red, you must be very blue, i’m taking 1/2 half the cash, sucks for you.

roses are red, giraffe’s necks are long, you have a miniscule penis, and i knew all along.

roses are red, my lingirie is new, my boyfriend fucks me awesome, hope you’re gettin’ some too.

roses are red, these sweet shoes are brand new, you made tons of cash, and i thank you.

roses are red, wine has a cork, you were an awful husband, and a giant fucking dork.

roses are red, your brains are full of goo, it was a horrible 16 years, happy un-anniversary to you.

roses are red, some carnations are blue, i always hated your mother, and your dad’s an asshole too.

roses are red, life isn’t fair, you are a hairy troll, here’s a gallon of nair.

roses are red, cows like to moo, you think you’re a ka-ra-tay master, but you can’t throw a shoe.

roses are red, this was the best decision, keeps the checks coming, or you will be imprisoned.

roses are red, copper is shiney, i want all the world to know, your cock is quite tiny.

rose are red, my boyfriend is young, your wiener is small, but he is well hung.

roses are red, violets are blue, you are a worthless human being, good riddance to you.

i’m taking orders for the holidays. personalization is free.