Mitchy Gets Dumped

Anyone else annoyed about the reptilian healthcare bill that’s being sneaked past right now? You might enjoy this piece – it’s loosely based on a true story, a reimagining of events if you will – it’s a made-for-tv movie based loosely around possibly true events.

It’s about Mitch McConnell being dumped by his first wife who became a feminist academic. Everything else is exactly how I imagined it.


Kentucky – 1961

High school had not lived up to expectation.

She had longed for an infatuation with knowledge,

A sacred institution,

From which to escape the sheer confusion

Of teenage life.

Alas, Instead the grubby hallways lined themselves

With future wives and elfen geezers,

Asshole jocks and asshole pleasers.

Even her beloved green sunglasses

Bought for a dollar, turned to molasses

In the Kentucky heat, in the only drugstore,

Couldn’t shade her from those filthy bores.


Every day she spooned her salad

Of sad tomatoes, jaded carrot,

She’d gladly have glanced any playmate,

They didn’t even need to be great,

Desperation peaked, a junky’s itch.

That’s when she noticed Mitch.


Mitchy sat alone as usual

Donning shorty shorts so casual

He lunched alone devouring mouthfuls

Of gutter snipe and cackling crab holes.

His eyes were twitching creepy & snitchy

That Crockett hat looked pretty itchy

He was locked in some kind of whittling frenzy,

While the other girls looked on all bitchy

She finally gave – all right I’ll zip free,

And spoke to motherfucking Mitchy.


Oh Mitchy Baby

I’m still hazy

But it seems that no one in this town likes you.

Oh Mitchy darling,

You’re not charming.

What would William Shakespeare think of you? ………………………………………………………………………………


Ten years later:

The hazy sun

Bleached the laundry like a skeleton

In the garden where nothing grew

In a town where there was nothing new.

Mitch’s suit, had never fitted him the way it should

Like a chipmunk wearing clothes for fruit,

Or a baboon in a winter coat.


She’d said I do,

On a freaky day all stuffed with June

Mama said he was a funny groom.

As he’d drooled throughout the wedding tune.

And now she was home in the whitest of houses,

Ironing away in the peachest of blouses

Sipping her “coffee,” pearls cut like a noose

Gulping down what she called her sanity juice.


She prayed that he’d work late,

Or just run away,

Or maybe drop dead on her luckiest days.


Oh Mitchy Baby

You’re half crazy

And I don’t like Half of those things you do

Oh Mitchy Darling

You’re not charming

What would Betty Friedan think of you? …………………………………………………………………………..

Ten years later:


The curried lamb had been a triumph

You wouldn’t think it

To hear that dumb fuck huff.

The sound of him chewing

A spluttering mewing, with spittle a-flying,

Aroused nuclear explosion,

As he begged for creamed corn,

His droopy chin forlorn

She dreamed of the phone call

That said he was no more.

She dreamed of the phone call

That said he’d been hung drawn.

She dreamed of the phone call,

That would send her in amour

Straight out of the front door

And into the peace corps.


Meanwhile she’d grown in his hours away

He’d fucked with the Senate,

She’d fucked with the patriarchal hierarchy that forced her to stay.

In a marriage to someone

Who on a good day

Would give her a lecture on how she’d invested.

While bitching as others lost hope or protested

Trapped in the kitchen her anger just grew

Wondering what in the fuck she would do

She cursed her decisions

Turned the room blue

Until she figured that the change comes from you.

Gone was the peach, gone were the dresses

In overalls she stood and protested

As a husband, a Senator and human you blew

Mitchy, Mitchy you bastard we’re through.



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