Hot on the flat, comfortable heels of California overturning the gay marriage ban, Ellen DeGeneres announced on her show that she's marrying the stunningly hot Portia de Rossi.
She got a standing ovation and I could tell Ellen hasn't been this happy since she professed the same love for Anne Heche — also on TV — a decade ago. As you know, seeing Ellen happy, makes me happy. Everyone should be happy with the one they love, be they straight, gay, transgendered, bi-curious, master-slave, S and M or even Belgian — especially Belgian. Those miserable bastards deserve it.
But Ellen already knows that once you publicize your love, it applies undo pressure on that relationship to survive, even if it's not meant to be. And then, resentment grows, leading inevitably to something named Coley Laffoon — such a stupid, stupid name.
The fact is, if you ever want to live "happily ever after," you need to shut the hell up about it. Professing one's love publicly only works in sappy commercials, bad movies and perhaps dungeons in the East Village where the survival of your scrotum depends on it.
For me, public exhortations of love are no different than telling everyone how great your bowel movements are since switching to All-Bran: No one gives a sh_t, except you.
And so, this is why I never discuss my marriage with anyone — which is the main reason why John Stamos and I are so happy together.
And if you disagree with me, then you sir are worse than Hitler!