Jesse,
I know a lot of your friends are probably telling you to try and keep it together with that award-winning, good natured and attractive woman you call a 'wife' but trust me, brah -- you finally have a chance at freedom from Sandra Bullock person, so saddle up and ride! Ride like you'd ride an ink-stained white supremacist on the couch in your office, Jesse!
Honestly, I don't know how you put up with that Sandra Bullock. She's no "one percenter', dude. She's obviously like a ninety-nine point nine nice percenter and you're like a twenty-six percenter so how was that ever even going to work out?
Did Sandra let you pass her around to your friends? Did she offer to tattoo your name on her face? Did she let you melt down her Oscar® to make a cool custom bell to attack to the handlebars of one of your choppers? Did she even let you melt down the little ® symbol that writers are forced to use whenever they mention an Oscar® because Oscar® is a registered trademark and service mark and the OSCAR® statuette is the copyrighted property of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences?
Look, you're a bad boy. You're so much of a bad boy that your agents and lawyers and the people who market your clothing line should look into trademarking the phrase Bad Boy. (I understand the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has some lawyer who know about that stuff.)
Here's what a badass you are, Jesse - if life were the musical Grease (as some Harvard theologians speculate that it is) then you would be Danny and Sandra would be Sandra. You're star crossed to point of being cliches of your own making.
Yes, I'm sure you hoped you'd bring that Sandra Bullock around. And I'm sure you tried your semi best. You dreamt that one day your Sandy would be like Sandy from Grease and she would turn all slutty and wear spandex and smoke cigarettes and go to an amusement park and throw your cigarette on the ground and stamp it out and sing a duet and then kick you with her high heels... but it didn't work out that way, did it?
Except for the kicking you part, probably. That may have happened.