Ah, the lovely and always classy Heather Mills. I love this ho. Paul McCartney proved that anyone can be taken in by a gold-digger. It’s apparently a simple recipe that involves brassy dyed blonde hair, pretending an old guy is hot (even if he’s a wrinkled prune or fat pig), and throwing up a pristine image of charity & motherhood. Pretty simple and it works on anyone. Your basic classless gold-digger will usually just score a fat diamond, Mercedes, and maybe a house. But not Heather. She’s the patron saint of gold-diggers, asking for a divorce settlement of 125M sterling (a little under $250 millon USD).
I’m sorry to report that in yesterday’s judgement, Heather (oh, and her daughter. Heather forgot about her as well!) was granted only about one-fifth of her
asking price requested living costs. Clearly, our fair virginal lass was less than pleased and probably nervous that she might not make it to this month’s cover of “Gold-Digger Magazine”. So she had a choice to make: suck it up, or keep it real. Heather decided to keep it real.
Our favorite virginal blushing bride threw a glass of water at the opposing counsel, flattening her Camilla Parker Bowles hairdo. Damn! That is some ghetto-style justice! So hot. Normally, Heather just goes for the wet thing when she’s trying to trap a man through a wet t-shirt contest, but this time she was all about war. I can’t believe she didn’t pull a blade out of her mouth and shank that bitch for taking her money. Next time, Heather. Because you know she’s going to pull a Jackie O now (yeah, I went there!!) and find herself an old fat Greek billionaire. That’s how they do it!
What the hell is my problem? I’ve been working for my own cash all these years and actually lost money when I got divorced. That shizz ain’t right. I need to call Heather for some pointers.