April 7, 2005

Below the Belt

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Of course, I’ve never been in a celebrity marriage, so perhaps I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure the following is a comprehensive guide to beating the odds and surviving those notoriously short-lived celebrity marriages.

1) Do not, under any circumstances, enter the desert oasis known as Las Vegas.

Look, I understand that you really want to go to Vegas. It’s your buddy’s bachelor party this weekend. The secret garden of Siegfried and Roy, with its large, ferocious cats and lush floral arrangements, is supposed to be lovely this time of year. What’s there not to like about a town entirely populated by sex workers, aging celebrities and the most famous tiger trainers that I am aware of. But here’s the deal: you can’t go.

If you should venture towards Las Vegas, you will get a lap dance. Perhaps you recall that there are literally hundreds of people whose entire function in life is to find you in the midst of a Las Vegas lap dance, photograph the aforementioned lap dance and then subsequently see to it that the known universe sees said photographs of said Las Vegas lap dance. This sort of thing generally strains marriages.

2) Do not have sex with a prostitute, a transsexual or a transsexual prostitute.

“God, women are just such emotional firebombs! Why can’t my wife understand that, every once in a while, a celebrity needs to have sex with a transsexual prostitute and it has nothing to do with my feelings for her?” Well it’s a cruel world. Women always get upset when you leave the toilet seat up and they always get upset when you commit adultery with a transsexual prostitute. So just try to avoid doing that.

3) Do not name your children after household objects, colors, emotions, days of the week, historical eras or schools of philosophical thought.

Actually, I’m really not sure that this has anything to do with the dissolution of celebrity marriages. Nevertheless, it would be greatly appreciated if you could put an end to the time-honored celebrity tradition of inhaling dust, closing your eyes, remembering the first word that comes into your mind and adopting that word as the name of your child.

On a related not, I would try to avoid giving your child a royal title. If, for example, your name was, let’s just say “Michael Jackson,” it may be unwise to name your newborn “Prince Michael Jackson.” I would also strongly advise against hanging the young royal off of a fifth-floor balcony.

4) Do not videotape you and your spouse in the act of proving your undying love to each other in a horizontal fashion.

I already offered an entire column on this topic, but this is such a crucial point, so I’ll have to say it one more time. There’s this thing out there called the Internet, which exists for the sole purpose of providing a forum where the entire world can unite and bridge cultural differences by watching homemade celebrity sex tapes together. Keep that in mind next time you feel an inexplicable urge to press “record” during your bone-storming session.

5) Do not allow a TV network to document every second of your marriage.

As it turns out, Lucifer himself no longer had enough space on his mantle for the souls of newlyweds Britney Spears and Kevin Federline (it’s pretty crowded already with the souls of Lindsay Lohan’s dad, Star Jones and that weird Australian man who has a show on Animal Planet where he chases crocodiles), so he did what we all do with the assorted clutter we no longer need: sell them on eBay, where the opportunistic folks at UPN were the highest bidders. The result is a new reality show in which Britney and her tattooed, beer-guzzling, back-up dancer will have a chance to prove their devotion towards each other for an audience inevitably consisting of myself and a bunch of 11-year-olds. I know that Mr. Federline believes this show will be a “documentation of love.” But I’m sure that buying Ms. Spears a new trucker hat and bottle of Jack would be a much simpler and more effective means of love documentation. Nothing good can possibly come out of this.

Archived article by Talia Ron
Sun Staff Writer