Celebrities

Al Gore: Vice President Of The Champagne Room

Al Gore Divorce

In the wake of Al Gore’s separation from his wife, Tipper, there are all sorts of rumors floating around about what actually happened to cause a forty year marriage to suddenly implode.  Most people have always kind of assumed that there’s was a loveless marriage anyway – not because they were bad people, but more because the Al Gore Bot 3000 has never seemed like he was programmed to love or show real, human emotions.

Oh, how we were all mistaken.  If the rumors are true, it would seem that somewhere along the way, the Al Gore Bot 3000 was programmed to love, and love, and love, and then love some more, and to express those loving feelings by grinding against any woman who found herself in its path.  Naturally.

Yes, it’s now rumored that the reason why Al and Tipper cut the cord is because Tipper got pissed off because of Al’s chronic whoring.  Really, we shouldn’t be surprised by any of this.  Let’s not forget who Al Gore’s mentor was for the better part of a decade.  Working in the White House for eight years under Bill Clinton was probably a lot like working in the Playboy Mansion for eight years.  Sure, Al wasn’t Hef, but there had to be a trickle down effect in there somewhere, right?

Can’t you just picture a late meeting, called by Clinton, where he takes Al aside and is all “Look, man, I messed up.  I got these two broads coming over.  Now, I don’t know what to do, Al.  One of them can suck the chrome off of a trailer hitch but the other one is a gymnast.  You feel my pain, brother?  Now, what I was thinking, was that we could all hang out, you know, like as a group, and then see how the night goes.  I’ll take whichever one seems the most, uh, willing, and then you can have the leftovers.  How ’bout it, bud?”

I’m sure Al protested, but he was the Vice President.  He was bound by duty to assume the role of Whorer in Chief while the President was incapacitated by a lack of pants and dehydration.  It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it.

It was only a matter of time before Tipper noticed her husband staggering in late at night, smelling of sex and lies and then she probably spent hours hectoring him, telling him that his friend Billy was no good for him and that she wasn’t gonna take it anymore.  But it was too late.  Al was famous, and he had been seduced by the power of the lady flower.

The picture that is painted about the last days of their marriage by an article in the Daily Mail is one of a wife who simply can no longer ignore the obvious, which is that her husband can’t and won’t stop whoring, and of a man who just wants to keep on whoring and can’t take the harping of his old nag of a wife any more.

Is any of this true?  Who the hell knows?  But is it so wrong to want to believe that Al Gore stole the wife of George Costanza, as has been alleged?  Is it so wrong to want Al Gore to spend his twilight running through Hollywood like Caligula?  I mean, this is a man who should have been President of the United States but had that stolen from him and was left with the indignity of bitching about the weather.  He deserves to have some fun in his life.

And as for Tipper, don’t worry about her.  Now that she’s lost Al, she’s free to pursue Dee Snider, and finally take advantage of the chemistry they so obviously shared all those years ago when she was just a lonely housewife trying to clean up America and he was a cross dressing rock star out to preserve his right to be a degenerate.  That sounds like sitcom material to me.

Look, regardless of the reason for their separation, it’s happened and now everyone has to make the best of it.  They should just embrace these rumors and move on.  After all, if Bill Clinton proved anything, it was that the more random ass you crushed, the more popular you became with the public.  Al Gore is already pretty popular thanks to both his election day martyrdom and his film making acumen.  Now, the world is at his fingertips, or, I suppose, at his penistip.  Al Gore, the world, or at least the Champagne Room, is yours.

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