You know, I talk a lot of shit about America, but there’s one thing I don’t give this country enough credit for: Welcoming bleached blonde gold-diggers like Gretchen Rossi with open arms. Here’s a woman who’s done absolutely nothing but sell a few pieces of real estate to trophy wives who got her on The Real Housewives of Orange County, only to divorce her husband for an even larger mark that conveniently died a year into their engagement. So, basically, the type of Cinderella story you tell your grandkids so they’re not afraid to dream the impossible dream.
GRAMPA: And that’s how an Iraqi took my leg fighting for.. whatever the hell that war was about. Putting Burger Kings in the desert? I can’t remember.
KIDS: We want to hear about fancy hooking!
GRAMPA: Dangsnabbit, you kids and your hussies. Alright, but it’s gonna be a Holly Madison one.
GRAMPA: Once upon a time, a magic pill named “Viagra” helped a very old prince have three special lady friends who by all rights should’ve been no more famous than your run of the mill stripper, but George Washington didn’t stab the King of England to start a country where fake titties don’t let you write your own ticket. Why I reckon that’d be communism.