ATLANTA, Georgia – Crack-addled, damn-near-toothless Whitney Houston has filed for divorce from her free-loading, booty-chasing, boorish lout of a husband, Bobby Brown. A publicist for Ms. Houston, address unknown, declined to reveal where or when she had filed the divorce papers, and said the singer had no statement to make, “even if she could make one.”
According to sources near an overpass where Ms. Houston had been living recently, the former singer filed documents last Friday and Brown was served with them on Tuesday.
Ms. Houston and Mr. Brown enjoyed four years of wedded bliss. Unfortunately, they’ve been married fourteen years. The couple has one child, a thirteen-year-old daughter, Baba Ghanoush.
Ms. Houston, who might well be the oldest-looking forty-three-year-old living in a First World country, had her greatest musical success in the 1980s and ’90s. She has not been ambulatory during much of the last decade and has battled drug problems. At last report, the drugs were winning.
Ms. Whitney and Mr. Brown, 37, co-starred in the reality series Being Bobby Brown (BBB). The series proved that apart from the fawning sycophants, the mountains of blow, and the fancy hotels, the lives of the rich and famous are as tedious, devoid of meaning, and lacking in elan as the lives of the people who help to make the rich and famous rich and famous.
BBB is also an important reminder that contrary to perceived wisdom, which sees celebrities as “America’s royalty,” celebrities are, in fact, America’s low-rent rendezvous made morality play—more to be looked down upon than emulated. Even if the repo man sends you Christmas cards and your next door neighbor has candid digital photos of your common law wife, you’ve got to take some comfort from the fact that your daughter living in the basement with her two out-of-wedlock kids didn’t go and marry some Bobby Brown lookalike and then appear on television with him.
Once you have accepted the premise that reality shows exist to take the worry out of being real, the BBB show hit you right in the vein. See Bobby get out of jail just like a real man, just like your uncle Rasheed; see Bobby visiting his kids just like a real dad, just like your dad and his new bling visit you; see Bobby waiting at an Atlanta hotel—a hotel where he would be working instead of staying were it not for the prima donna on whom he waits—just like a real whipped husband waits on his wife.
”That’s my family,” said Mr. Brown with a wry, existential shrug. ”We live hard, play hard, and try to stay out of Whitney’s way.”
Apparently he was not successful in this last regard.
In other news, Canadian officials say that although they can no longer be America’s drug store, they would consider being America’s fifty-first state if the price was right.
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