Many saw it coming way before Tuesday. A couple of years ago, some said it wouldn't last, even as the opposite was trumpeted across the land by the parties involved. And on Tuesday, well, the inevitable--and still somewhat shocking--thing happened. Britney Spears kicked her husband to the curb. And then went ice skating.

I'm not sure if she voted, though. I'm gonna guess not. One run in with the government (did she have to go to court herself with the papers or just send them with someone?) was probably enough for the day.

But I'm not gonna get political about this. I'm just glad that, in due time, we won't have to see the smirking face of K-Fed (now dubbed FedEx by the clever people who live in the Internet) anymore.

It's not that I'm jealous of anyone Ms. Spears might find cute enough to sleep with, it's really that getting in her pants seemed to mean we had to care about this guy. And that, somehow, he became an "artist" we should listen to. Because he was sleeping with a multi-platinum artist. And then knocked her up. Twice. Like her pussy changes frogs into princes.

Let me put it this way: if a lawyer marries a stripper, does that mean the stripper suddenly gets to be a lawyer by marriage?

People being famous for being famous--and nothing else--gets under my skin. It's gotten to the point where every time I see Paris Hilton (usually in print ads for whatever she's promoting--I think the last one was a perfume called Skanky Ho), I really just want to beat the living shit out of her. Which, I know, sounds rather brutal, but you have to understand. She's not a real person. She's just a symbol.

And it's okay to destroy symbols you don't agree with, right? As long as there isn't a Constitutional Amendment...

What's kinda weird, though, is they all seem to get recording contracts. I mean, Paul McCartney put his first wife in Wings--but they kept her microphone and keyboards turned off. All these fake celebrities get to put out an album--and no one is calling me up to record my band. We play our own instruments and everything.

So there is a bit of jealousy going on here. I'd be better about it if these people did something to get famous. I mean, other than sleeping with someone famous. I know, Paris Hilton was born into money. Which should have been enough. Most famous people say they'd take the money, but leave the famous part to other people. But not Paris. She wanted to be famous along with the rich. And then, she was in her own little porn movie. Suddenly, she was huge. She got a TV show. And recorded some "music." And, she made another non-celebrity celebrity (Nicole Ritchie, daughter of Lionel) so jealous, the girl stopped eating. Peer pressure between fake celebrities to stay famous is a bitch.

I'm trying to wait it out, except it won't end. There will be more of these people who leech celebrity from the stars and call it their own. It keeps me up at night. I start to wonder if I'm going to the wrong bars. There's never anyone famous for me to hit on at the rock n' roll bars.

But maybe it will happen for me. Like winning the lottery. I've been looking for a sugar mama for a while, maybe I'll find a lonely young starlet to fulfill my ambitions. They keep shooting all these movies in Albuquerque and the surrounding areas, maybe I'll run into one at the neighborhood grocery store. She'll be wondering what kind of chile she should buy, and I suggest red (because that's hot). My wisdom and almost full beard will impress her, and it'll be happily ever after for a couple of years.

When it's all over, well, I'll get a good lawyer and complain I signed away my alimony rights in the pre nup because I was inebriated with love.

As long as I can keep the house, the car, the recording studio, a few million, and that chair...

Matt Worley isn't greedy, he just wants what's his.