I was so happy for Brangelina, finally getting engaged after all these years, that I almost wet myself yesterday.
The kids will no longer be bastards, in the old sense of the word.
They can now legitimately adopt a few more.
Give them cool names, like Peach or Cherry.
Move to the suburbs of Atlanta and do a reality show.
Adopt Erma Bombeck's slogan: If life is like a bowl of cherries, why am I always in the Pitts?
News of the impending nups made the twitterverse go crizazy with comments like "I thought they were already married" and "who cares?".
The entertainment media cares, that's who.
The studios are creaming themselves.
Entertainment Tonight broke into its 24-hour coverage of Dancing with the Stars. Elizabeth Hasselbeck is fuming that Angie's ring is better than hers.
Now don't get too excited.
Billy Bob put down that dildo.
They haven't set the date; he's only given her a promise ring, meaning Brad might marry her maybe when they're old and grey. Or if neither of them has found someone else when they're, say, 100, they'll get hitched.
Throw caution to the wind.
Wouldn't want to make another mistake like Jen, hey, Bradeo?
And don't get me started on Gwyneth!
Being a born cynic, I suspect the engagement was announced because award season is over, and they aren't getting covered enough. There isn't some natural disaster that Brad could put his name against. Or maybe there's a bad action movie that Angelina got her lips around and she wants everybody to know about it.
In any case, it's done.
The wait is over.
We can all breathe a sigh of relief.
Too bad there isn't any real news in the world.
Like trouble in Syria, or some serious shit happening in North Korea.
A presidential race. Or tornados ripping Oklahoma a new one.